Jewel Amongst Stones

{Disclaimer} I do not own Harry Potter; it belongs to JK Rowling.

{Warnings} This is an AU fic, which means that the entire universe can be different whereby the grasses are pink, skies are yellow and the seas are orange. However, even if this fiction will not go to the extremes, the geography/history/timeline of the world may change.

{Summary} AU, Slash LVHP– Voldemort never created Horcruxes, having attained immortality through his Slytherin bloodline. Entering the Ministry of Magic, he rose quickly through the ranks to be the Deputy Minister. In 1978, he hears of a prophecy, and leaves his job, successfully entering Hogwarts… becoming their DADA Professor.

Prologue

The night was cold.

The wind was harsh upon trees, causing the strong branches to be flung around. The leaves on the ground rippled as they tore through the land.

A long distance away, two men stood, seemingly unaffected by the weather. They were both well dressed, and a regal air especially surrounded the taller man. Yet even when they were dressed simply in robes, neither seemed affected by the chilly night.

There was a long, unbroken silence until the shorter man, with a halo of blond hair, spoke.

"My Lord?" Abraxas Malfoy asked softly, cautiously, his eyes falling upon the sharp, aristocratic face of the taller man.

Voldemort raised a pale hand slowly. His eyes were crimson, and the usually cold glare softened slightly as he gazed reminiscently at the faraway castle, deep in thought. It had been years since he had returned to Hogwarts, the only home he had ever known.

Headmaster Dippet had been wrong about him, he thought. He had returned for the position he coveted only so many years later, after immersing himself in the works of Slytherin.

It had been a long and arduous journey, but it was worth every bit of time he had put in. Shortly before he turned thirty, he had attained immortality. It was Slytherin's immortality, gifted only to his one true heir. And yet, it was Hogwarts that had lit the candle, that had spurred him in his search of immortality by giving him his first clue yet.

The basilisk, he remembered with a pang of nostalgia. During his younger days at Hogwarts, he had searched desperately for the Chamber of Secrets, like countless others before him. But while they were bound to fail, he was different, gifted by his birth right as the heir Slytherin had recognized.

It had not taken him long to find it, in comparison with the time he took to search for his weak-minded parents, but it had changed his life.

Wizards and witches often said that basilisks lived to a long age, but were not immortal like the vampires were.

They were wrong, Voldemort mused amusingly, his eyes unseeing. Basilisks, which were a distant cousin of the phoenix, were reborn every nine hundred years or so. Their physical appearances were changed slightly with every reborn unlike the phoenixes; whether from the shade of their killer eyes or the patterns of their scales, so their immortality secret was never discovered.

Until the first parselmouth, Salazar Slytherin appeared.

Slytherin had been as obsessed about immortality as his heir was, and he had discovered it from the Serpent King himself. Throwing himself into late nights of research surrounding the basilisk's second and immensely rare and unknown venom, he even built a chamber within his school to house his experiments.

But Slytherin had died, even when he had achieved the key to immortality. Love, Voldemort recalled tragically, thinking about the diary preserved within the chamber at Hogwarts. He had flipped through the dusty old pages years ago, eager to know more about his famed ancestor. But he had been disappointed with his findings. Slytherin had chosen death, in face of his lover's demise. He was brilliant, Voldemort admitted as much, but love was a mistake that Voldemort would never commit himself to. He would not go down the path that Slytherin took.

"My Lord, we should leave. Our appointment with Dumbledore starts soon," Abraxas began.

Cold crimson eyes turned to face the blond, who immediately cowered back under the fierce glare.

"You forget your purpose here, Abraxas. If I had wanted you to hold my hand as I face Dumbledore, I would have told you so," Voldemort sneered.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I merely wanted to-" Abraxas began quickly but was held down by Voldemort almost at once. He immediately shuffled behind Voldemort, knowing the clear line of his boundaries.

The Dark Lord gave one last sweeping glance before he turned and left.

The tension in the air was stiff.

"Good evening, Tom," Dumbledore said lightly, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the pair. "Take a seat."

Albus Dumbledore peered behind his moon glasses as his blue eyes surveyed the figure before him. His normally twinkling blue eyes had lost his glow as he faced his former pupil. It had been his mistake, he lamented. He had let Tom Riddle become the man he was now. Although outwardly, there was no change in the handsome Tom Riddle, he saw the subtle changes surrounding the man.

He had carried himself differently now. The young Riddle had been proud and quite justly so, but the thirty-year old Riddle had an arrogance that was surrounded with sheer dark power. It flickered around him calmly now, but it was there nonetheless. Normal witches and wizards could not feel the the affinity of auras even if they could sense them, but he could see the darkness… His eyes were also burned a deep crimson, a slightly startling change from the old brown. It was one of the rare signs that he had been immersing in the Dark Arts, but it only seemed to add to his charm. And the confidence within the man… he now held himself as a Lord, as Dumbledore knew he was now.

Even young, he had been astounded by the brilliance and charm that Tom Riddle had shown, and was even more disturbed by the cruelty that lay in the man's warped mind. He could have done great things, perhaps even become the Minister of Magic, had he not been so absorbed in the Darkest of Arts.

He waved a hand to motion Tom.

"Thank you," Tom said, moving to the chair before the him. "I hear you have been made the headmaster," he began slowly, as he unclasped the cloak around him. It pulled around his chair, casting a faint shadow around him. "A worthy choice, I believe. Hogwarts seems to be flourishing better than my years at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore smiled lightly, looking at Tom straight in the eye. "You flatter me," he said. "So Tom… to what do I owe this pleasure? You have come a long way; the last I heard, you were travelling the world."

A light smile curled upon the edges of Tom's lips. "I have," he bowed his head slightly. "But I find myself weary of such travels and alas, the time has come for me to settle down. I feel inclined to coming back to Hogwarts, teaching the students where I myself was taught once."

"I remember your attraction to teaching too, but I wonder why do you not take up a post at the Ministry of Magic? You could do great things there," Dumbledore said, still smiling.

Tom did not answer at once, his eyes travelling to the window which showed the grounds of Hogwarts. "I'm afraid," he said slowly, eyes back on Dumbledore's relaxed form. "I find myself more inclined towards teaching as opposed to the workings of the Ministry. A similar trait I see within you, I see, for you have rejected the post of the Minister himself a time too many."

"A similar trait," Dumbledore agreed quietly. "I never quite saw myself as the Minister and the Ministry has never attracted me as a career."

Tom surveyed Dumbledore carefully with his guarded eyes. After a long silence, he spoke, "I have returned," he began. "Much later than Headmaster Dippet had expected of me. But I was, and still am interested in the position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Dumbledore's smile wavered slightly, his eyes clouding. "Your real purpose, Tom," he said, surprising Tom slightly at his bluntness. It appeared that Dumbledore was growing old and frustrated with their word games. "We both know that you are here not for a position you never wanted."

Tom's eyes narrowed slowly, and his voice was cold. "On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want that position very much."

"What could it be in teaching that would be of your desires, Tom? You never were the teaching type, to coach the young minds into greatness. Your desires lay elsewhere. News of your travels has reached me, Tom, about a brilliant young Lord, intent on discovering the secrets of Slytherin. While it is not unusual, it is curious to many your intent for searching on the secrets of the founders…"

"Greatness spawns envy, and envy spawns lies," Tom replied curtly, irritated. "Nevertheless, my ancestor is Slytherin after all, as you had always known… Surely, it wouldn't be surprising for me to know more about my ancestor?"

Dumbledore's eyes were sad. "It wouldn't," he conceded. "After remembering the time and effort you took in searching for your parents, I wouldn't be surprised."

"I do not wish to delve into the topic of my parents. That was a past, and it will remain as such," he said coldly, refusing to allow Dumbledore to dictate the direction and rules of their conversation. "Now, as for the position of the professor, I am very interested in it. Professor Merrythought has held on far longer than I imagined, but you do need a new professor do you not? I could teach your children of Hogwarts great things, Dumbledore. There is no better candidate than myself."

"You are right," Dumbledore admitted. There was a long pause. "But I'm afraid, I cannot allow you the position, Tom."

Sharps eyes pierced right through Dumbledore. The hand resting on the chair tightened, the white knuckles flashing through the darkness of the barely lit room for a moment before it relaxed. "I am the best candidate for the position, Dumbledore. I can teach the children great things," he repeated, eyes fixed on Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "Great, but terrible." The twinkling blue eyes were sad as he regarded his former student.

His expression did not waver as his eyes fixed upon Dumbledore. He seemed to struggle for the correct words as he paused, savoring the bitter taste of rejection. "You do not trust me," he said slowly. "I never expected you to… after all, you had never done so even in my childhood years."

The gaze in Dumbledore's eyes softened slightly, but he ignored his previous statement nonetheless. "Which brings me to my question, Tom. Why have you returned so many years after your travels, for a position you know I would not allow?"

The Dark Lord too disregarded the question completely. "Is that your final answer, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore did not respond while Tom pulled out a piece of paper from within his robes. He stiffly pushed it across the desk to the Headmaster. Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly but he accepted the paper and glanced through the contents.

"This is what you give me?" Dumbledore said in slight disbelief. "The signatures of the governors?"

The paper flitted to the desk. Upon it were the twelve signatures of the governors, with Abraxas Malfoy's signature right at the top, scrawled neatly.

The corners of Tom's lips lifted slightly. "I'm afraid that the governors do have a say in the matters of Hogwarts."

"Not regarding the professors," Dumbledore said sharply. "The governors control only the management affairs of the school – its location, security, classes and Ministry rights. The employment of a teacher still lies within the right of the Headmaster."

Tom lost his smile slightly, his crimson eyes darkening. "The Headmaster can be replaced."

Dumbledore's smile was benign. "Not quite soon, I assume," he said merrily. "I hope I do have a good many years more at Hogwarts…"

The Dark Lord stood; the aura emanating from him was darkening in his silent fury. "You will find no better candidate than I am, Dumbledore."

"Perhaps, if things were different Tom, it would have been you in this office. But this is my final answer, Tom. I cannot allow you a position that would directly influence the minds of the young witches and wizards."

Tom's hand tightened around his wand beneath his cloak momentarily. He gave one last, long stare at Dumbledore's infuriatingly blue eyes before he nodded sharply, and turned towards the door.

With his hand upon the door knob, Tom paused for a moment. "You do realize I will be back for the position, no?"

Without waiting for an answer, he turned the door and stepped out, stalking down the hallways where Abraxas was waiting for him.

"My Lord?" Abraxas scurried over upon seeing him emerge from Dumbledore's office. "How did it go?" he asked quickly.

A cruel smile flickered across the Dark Lord's face, now that his cover as Tom Riddle was no longer needed. "As expected, he did not allow me the position," he sneered, walking off at a fast pace. Abraxas followed behind him.

"But my Lord… what will you do now that he does not allow you the position? The governors have no say in this matter –"

"I'm well aware of what the governors control at Hogwarts," the Dark Lord interrupted darkly. "Which is why I'm afraid I require a position at the Ministry now."

"The Ministry, my Lord?" Abraxas voice was surprised as Voldemort turned the corner. He hurried to catch up, his robes trailing behind him. "In which department are you interested in? I would recommend the -"

"The Ministry is merely a stepping stone, Abraxas," Voldemort chided lightly. "There is no need for you to be so uptight over it. Meanwhile, your mission is to gather followers and do nothing more."

Abraxas understood immediately. "So my Lord, you mean to say that the position in the Ministry-"

"Is only temporary," the Dark Lord finished."I will rise to the top of the Ministry within fifteen years and no more. Find me a position within the Department of Magical Law Enforcements set up an appointment for me."

Abraxas's eyes went wide as he understood Voldemort's intentions. He bowed his head in submission, a small smirk gracing his flawless lips.

Chapter 1

TIMESKIP – 9 years later

Whisperings; Uneasy whisperings were what greeted Tom Riddle as he made his way towards the Ministry, in the bright morning. A glance left and right explained much. Ministry witches and wizards were crowded over a shared copy of the Prophet, furiously discussing the latest news on the Dark Lord. It appeared that there had been a raid in one of the magical villages when they were peacefully asleep.

The Dark Lord, Tom thought as he smirked. Just thinking about it made his day seem so much better in comparison.

It had been a long time since he had started out his arduous career at the Ministry of Magic nine years ago, but his efforts had paid off. He was now the Deputy Minister of Magic, and he was poised to be the next Minister once Cornelius Fudge stepped down. People were drawn to him like moths to a flame; some were attracted by his charms, some by his looks, and some by the sheer power he held. Abraxas's connections within the Ministry had ensured him a smooth career, but his peers at Hogwarts had remembered the brilliance of Tom Riddle and had eagerly welcomed him back… as if he needed their welcome.

But he was much more than a Deputy Minister. He was the Dark Lord Voldemort. Granted, he was also the influential politician Tom Riddle, but he would be the politician for one lifetime, and a Dark Lord for all eternity. Immortality had its perks, he mused as he made his way to the lift leading to his office on the floor above. He had patience because he could afford the time to wait. Even now, he could sit back and wait for Dumbledore to die of old age, but he very much preferred the game.

He was so much more than using senseless killing in order to take over the Ministry. He would not confront the enemy outright. He would scheme like a Slytherin; get right under the enemies' folds before he attacked. Thinking about him made him excited for the action, but he would wait as the plan unraveled into motion.

As he turned around the corner, a hand grabbed onto him and he took a step back immediately, narrowing his eyes at the person who dared intrude his private space.

"Deputy Minister Riddle!" the man said excitedly.

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes and the sheer impudence of his subordinate as he brushed his robes inconspicuously. He arched a brow and motioned for the man to speak while he continued on his way to the lift.

"Did you hear?" Riley buzzed quickly as he trailed after him ungracefully, the parchments of paper scattering all around his full hands. "The Dark Lord has attacked again and the Aurors are severely wounded. The Ministry is in an uproar over it. It's the fourth time they have attacked in this month alone, and the morale of the Auror department and the Ministry is dampening with each attack."

"I am well aware of the on goings with the situation, Riley," Riddle snapped. "Nevertheless, the Aurors would have to improve on their strategies or it would not be the Dark Lord breathing upon their necks, but myself. Submit a new report about the mistakes made in the battle and the new battle strategies to me first thing by tomorrow morning."

Aurors, Tom scowled. Over-rated witches and wizards who could duel that always seemed to ruin his day. Being the Deputy Minister meant a lot of paperwork he had to sort out, and it was the Aurors that loved to contribute to his burden.

But of course, if not for his other half, there would be peace within the Ministry and he would probably have less paperwork. Karma, he thought, scowling inwardly.

"Yes sir," Riley said, his mood dampening slightly but he quickly brightened again. "But sir, did you hear about the Dark Lord's forces? The number of them attending the raid last night doubled from the previous. The Aurors could barely hold up and at least three-quarters were injured and the death toll reached a peak last night. Oh and before I forget, Minister Fudge requires for you to pay a visit to the Auror Department personally. He said something about …"

"Skip to the specifics," he interrupted, cutting across Riley's babblings. He was going to murder Abraxas for assigning him Riley as his personal assistant. The man never knew when to keep his mouth quiet, but that also meant that he knew more about the workings and relations between the Ministry.

But still.

"Yes sir," Riley said again, stumbling over his over long robes, causing the stack of paper in his hand to fly out. With an irritated wave of his wand, Tom had ensured the papers were returned neatly into a stack. "Thanks, sir," Riley chirped brightly in awe. Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Riley continued, "As I was saying, Fudge requires for you to visit the Auror Department. He wants you to coach the Aurors personally, sir."

Tom's eyes widened in blatant amusement. "He wants me to coach the Aurors?" he said, in slight disbelief. My, my, how far the Ministry had fallen, he thought to himself in triumph. Cornelius Fudge was one of the main reasons, he knew. He had the tendency to lead the Ministry from one hare-brained scheme to another, usually resulting in disastrous consequences.

"Yes sir. I told him in full confidence that you would do a very good job of coaching the Aurors. After the previous annual Dueling Contest, there is not a person in the Ministry who wouldn't agree with me sir." Riley was sporting a large grin and the Dark Lord fought the urge to curse it off his face.

"Too right you are," Tom muttered in irritation, as he remembered the wide-eyed awe he had received after triumphing the contest. The Aurors had been winning the cup almost every year, so it was a surprise that someone else from another department had triumphed over them. It was their specialty after all.

"Morning, Riddle," a voice said from behind him. Tom turned to see a familiar face standing near him for the queue of the lift.

"Amelia," he greeted. Amelia Bones had been his superior back when he worked at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but he hadn't stayed for long before he was promoted. Though, he had come to respect her in her own right during his short stay at that department.

She was a very Light witch, but very capable as well. It was a shame that he would most likely be the one ending her life in the future, but he couldn't allow such talents to live so as to oppose his regime. That was the nature of war.

"Being the Deputy Minister suits you," Amelia said cordially, offering a brief smile. Riley finally skidded to a stop behind them and he irritatedly waved him behind them. "Cornelius is not giving you too much trouble, I presume?"

He took his time to answer her as the lift doors clanged open. They both stepped in, followed by Riley behind them and as the doors slowly clattered close, the lift rose.

"As well as it could be," he replied. "Nothing too much, but he hasn't been letting me free easily."

"That's how Cornelius could be, but…" her voice hesitated slightly as she fixed her stare on the door, contemplating. No, Amelia wasn't one to gossip, but it seemed like her natural curiosity had won out eventually, the Dark Lord noted in slight amusement. "The Department has started speculating that you would be taking over his position."

He arched a brow mockingly now, but hid it under pretense modesty. "Really now, Amelia? I'm sure the Minister has a good many years to go… but I'm flattered, in any case."

"I… right," she said, stuttering a little under the intense gaze he had fixed upon her. Now he was getting even more amused, having gotten under Amelia Bones, the stern witch who never took a word of nonsense.

The lift door open shrilly and he stepped out of it, nodding to Amelia as he went and motioning Riley to follow him. The pair of them made their way through the second floor of the Ministry, bypassing several of their colleagues who he nodded to before they reached his office.

Glancing at the new stacks of documents on his desk, Tom nearly sighed right there and then. He was supposed to be a Dark Lord, out there staging more raids day after day and being involved in senseless killing for his cause, but here he was, stuck in the Ministry with a fool of a Minister and an assistant with hyperactivity.

Damned Dumbledore for rejecting him a position at Hogwarts, he thought angrily. But he would be back.

He just didn't know that it would have been that soon.

A large pudgy hand made its home on his shoulders. Tom gritted his teeth angrily, fighting off his frustration as he maintained a wan smile at Fudge who was happily jabbering away. Resisting to the urge to curse Cornelius into a pile of goo right there and then, he forced himself to remain calm.

The remains of a peaceful day had instantly flown out of the window the moment Tom spied Cornelius huffing down the corridor leading to his office. Instantly, he mentally prepared himself for an hour or two of nonsense that the Minister could come up with.

"So Tom, as I was saying, do you think that red and purple are great colours for the Christmas Ball theme? I would go for red and green, but you know how the colours clash… Slytherin and Gryffindor, can you imagine?" he chortled loudly.

"Yes, Cornelius," he said shortly, wishing for it to be over quickly. He took a step back inconspicuously and managed to shake Fudge's fingers off his robe and muttered a silent cleaning spell.

Fudge cleared his throat loudly and twirled his bowler hat – now a bright, sunshine yellow – in his hands nervously. Tom narrowed his eyes mockingly at the change in the Minister's behavior, pleased and sure that the Minister was finally, after two hours of rambling, going to divulge his real reason for seeking him out. And he had a perfectly good idea what made the Minister so uptight.

"So uh- Tom, a good lad, especially in dueling, I see!" Fudge said, making an attempt at one of his raucous laughter.

He nodded stiffly, inclining for the Minister to continue speaking.

"And … do you wish for a change in position? I mean to say, the Auror Department will suit you very well, and of course Britain and the wizarding world. With you in the department itself – what with your spectacular dueling skills last year…" Fudge rambled on, going round and round and Tom regarded him in bored suspicions.

"To the point, Cornelius," he offered a smile, as he pointed at the clock in the wall, signaling that he had to leave soon.

"Oh- right. That is to say, Tom, would you like a change to the Auror Department? I would gladly assign you as the Head of Aurors if you so wish to," Fudge said, looking eager as he twisted his hands together.

And Tom was right. The Minister, despite having the thick skull he had, was not blind to the on goings of the Ministry either. He had seen the way Tom rose, department after department to become the Deputy Minister in a short span of nine years. He knew that Tom was well on the way to becoming the next Minister of Magic, essentially taking away his position from right under his nose and needed to bump him down a level. What was a better way than to play to his strengths, and hide everything under the cover of the greater good for the wizarding world?

Fortunately for Tom, he wasn't an idiot like Fudge was. He knew how Fudge felt, and had seen the whispers and awes of admiration trailing after him where ever he go, as well as the hushed whispers about his possible candidacy in the upcoming Ministerial elections. If he had been loyal to the Britain Ministry of Magic, he could have played blind with Fudge's motives and gone along to the Auror Department, but he had no reason to fight with himself. His frequent disappearance in raids – or Voldemort's – would be questionable.

And he had all the information he needed on the Auror Department from Rufus Scrimgeour himself. Not to say that Rufus was as dim as Fudge, but Tom could be charismatic when he wanted to be. The added bonus of providing brilliant schemes did wonders too.

So Fudge, regardless of how much tact he put into phrasing his words, certainly wasn't going to get rid of Tom. But Fudge had miscalculated. Tom didn't want to be the Minister of Magic. He wanted to be the Minister of Magic to serve as his gateway to the Hogwarts – there was no other way.

Dumbledore, for the love of Merlin, could no way not appoint the Minster of Magic as one of the Hogwarts Professors. It would not settle well with the public, and in times of war, it was all about public support, especially with the precarious and less-than perfect name of the Order of the Phoenix currently.

"What about Rufus, Cornelius?" Tom said carefully, watching for Fudge's reaction. A surprise expression flew through Fudge's pudgy facial features quickly before he smoothed his expression into a jolly, carefree one.

He slammed his hand onto Tom's shoulder once more. "No reason to fret Tom. I'm sure Rufus would be glad to learn from his betters, especially in times of war. Now now," Fudge's voice took on a disapproving tone and he shook his head left and right. "That is no way to argue when we are in times of war. The greater good of the wizarding world Britain is the main priority, isn't it?"

"Yes, Cornelius. But I'm afraid that I have to decline your offer. You see…" Tom trailed off, shifting into complex sentences with full of twists and turns, effectively losing Fudge midway and leaving him gaping at him, not understanding the long speech he was churning out. He flashed another perfect smile at Fudge and grabbed his files at the table.

"It's time for me to go now, Cornelius," he said, making another pretense at checking the clock. "I have another meeting with the Department of Mysteries… perhaps we could continue talking about this another day." As-bloody-if.

He noted Fudge's crestfallen face, and would have snickered to himself if he wasn't so irritated already. Hurrying out of the door, he made his way to the Department of Mysteries. He didn't exactly have an appointment per say, but he did have something important that he needed to know.

There had been rumors flying left and right in the Ministry for the past week, revolving around the Department of Mysteries. It made him unsettled, for he was sure that this matter had great relation to the Dark Lord. Was the Department of Mysteries creating new weapons for the war? It was not a common occurrence, but the Ministry of Magic in other European countries had done so during the First War with Grindlewald.

And if it were worse… Tom needed to get to the bottom of it quickly, he thought determinedly as he stepped into the lift which led him down to the stone-cold floors of the Department of Mysteries. Although his contact assured him that there was nothing out of the ordinary, he had been persistent, and eventually, it was let slip that something was going on in the Hall of Prophecies.

And he had a hunch that a bloody prophecy had just been prophecized. To what, exactly, was the question. Would it be to his advantage of against it? And he couldn't just strut in to the Hall of Prophecies without raising alarm. Only the people mentioned in the Prophecy could retrieve it, and he could not, not without his cover of Tom Riddle being blown.

He made his way quickly towards the Department of Mysteries, having worked here briefly during his illustratious career in the Ministry. He wanted to know the Ministry from inside out, and what better way was there than strutting in and working within all the important departments himself?

"Morning, Deputy Minister Riddle," one of the Unspeakables greeted him reverently as he stepped into the main hall of the Department of Mysteries.

"Morning…" he cleared his throat slightly, and glanced down at the man's robes where his name tag was pinned. "Stanley. I require a word with Martha Rookwood. Is she around?"

Thankfully, it wasn't suspicious for the Deputy Minister to enter the various Ministry departments. Stanley went to fetch Rookwood for him while he waited in her small office at the far end of the room.

The room, although small was filled with several inventions on shelves, the table and even some bulkier ones were placed onto the floor, cluttering the place. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and sat down on one of the chairs, waiting patiently for his faithful Death Eater to arrive.

Moments later, the door pushed open to reveal Martha Rookwood, who immediately bowed and greeted him, her cheeks coloring slightly. Tom ignored her wide-eyed admiration and surprise to cast an advanced warding spell around the room for privacy and to deter eavesdroppers.

"Martha," he greeted, turning back to the blushing witch. "I required a word with you… I'm afraid that the recent disturbance in the Ministry has unsettled me."

Martha frowned slightly, her gaze not upon him, but on one of the moving paintings on the wall as she shifted uneasily. "Yes, my Lord," she said, reverting back to the customary greeting. Her eyes met his, but they quickly darted away as she flushed red. "I have checked since your request, and there is indeed a new prophecy regarding the Dark Lord in the Hall of Prophecies."

"Really?" he raised his eyebrow delicately and motioned for her to sit. "And in which shelf would that be?"

She told him and he carefully mulled over her words.

"And how did the Department received intelligence of the prophecy? Surely some form of method must have enabled them to encase the contents into the orb."

Martha was taken aback by the question. She pursed her lips slightly as she thought hard. At last, she replied cautiously, "I… There is a pensive, no, a bowl or some sort that resembles the pensive. I believe that the orbs are created there, as are the prophecies."

"Explain."

"I heard that… there is some form of a charm, or a spell that allows the Department seventeen hours before hand to know when a new prophecy within a certain range – that is to say, Britain, most probably – is created. There have been rumours that the Unspeakables capture these Seers to record the prophecies, before oblivating them. But none of which has been verified, so it's only speculation," she admitted.

He sat up straighter, interested now. "There is a high possibility that Dumbledore does not know of the prophecy?"

"There is a high possibility," she echoed, looking highly pleased at his undivided attention. "None of the spells have failed thus far. But it would be wise to assume that Dumbledore must have some sort of idea on the on goings."

Which translated that Dumbledore was after the prophecy too. But he had the advantage here, for he was one of the masters of the prophecy. And he needed to know how to retrieve it, lest the prophecy played a role too important in the war.

"Have you been able to retrieve the prophecy?" he asked, knowing full well what her answer was.

She shook her head petulantly, her head down, not wanting to see his disappointed expression. "No, my Lord. Prophecies require for their masters to retrieve them. The orb will cast any other who touches it into oblivion, except for its maker within the Hall of Prophecies. There is a spell that will enable you to touch it, but," she cleared her throat, looking slightly nervous as she continued, "I have not been able to find it. It is one of the top secrets within the Department, and only the higher levels working in the Hall of Prophecies have access to it. Even so, their lips are sealed with the Unbreakable vow."

"I see," he said quietly, carefully considering. "Tell me, Martha. Are there any charms or wards placed around the shelves of the prophecies? Any alarms of such?"

Martha considered his question thoughtfully, her brow furrowing. At a long last, she shook her head. "I don't think so," she admitted, leaning forward slightly, her arm almost touching his. "The prophecies are supposed to be untouchable so there is no form of defense required."

A small smirk graced his lips. Logic was something wizards took for granted, having been so accustomed to magic. They did everything with their magic, relied so heavily upon them that their common sense had long flown out of the window. Even the Department of Mysteries, which supposedly held the brains of the Ministry, was testimonial of that fact.

"Excellent," Tom smirked, his eyes darkening in anticipation. "Now, Martha," he purred silkily now, his charms coming out at full force. "I require a favor…"

"Anything for you, my Lord," she replied in anticipation, her eyes wide and shining in her eagerness.

Her last thought was that she would do everything in her power to get the approval of the Dark Lord.

Then she fell into a haze.

TIME SKIP – 2 years later

A loud cry echoed through the silence in one of the luxurious rooms at St Mungos, effectively sealing the fate of the summer-born baby. There was a sound of hurried rustling as the Healers moved within the room, taking care of the newborn while the mother craned her neck for a better glance.

Minutes later, Lucius Malfoy emerged from the room, exhilarated. There was a satisfied look on his face and in his arms was a bundle of joy, the baby he would later name Draco.

"My Lord… I present to you my newborn, Draconis," he said reverently, holding up the newborn for his Lord's inspection. The Dark Lord looked pleased as he took a long glance at the sleeping baby, and Lucius exhaled in slight relief.

There were two things that the Dark Lord favored: power and blood. A combination of them made you important within the Dark Lord's ranks, but his son was something different. The Dark Lord was interested in him since the news of Narcissa's pregnancy circulated amongst the wizarding society and Lucius had been curious, very curious.

In the last breaths of his father Abraxas, he had disclosed that there had been a prophecy surrounding the Lord. High up in his position Abraxas was, he only knew a selected few details that the Dark Lord felt comfortable with sharing.

And Lucius thought he knew the reason to his Lord's fascination with his son. The prophecy, Abraxas had breathed, had spoken of a baby born in summer, which was the exact season that his son had been due to be born in. But his baby, his Draco had been the one their Lord chosen because of his blood. The prophecy meant of a child with a dark wizarding bloodline… and the Malfoys were known to be notoriously so.

He might not know what the Dark Lord intended for the child, but Draco was someone important already. With his son, the Malfoys would hold high power within the ranks of the Death Eaters… higher than his damned sister-in-law Bellatrix.

"You have done well," the Dark Lord said as he trailed a finger down Draco's cheeks. There was something unreadable in the Lord's eyes… a perplexed expression that bordered on disappointment. But Lucius quickly brushed away that thought. There was no reason why the Lord would be displeased with his child… was there? It was everything that the Dark Lord had been hoping and looking for.

"Draco will serve you to the best of his abilities," Lucius vowed and the Dark Lord met his eyes.

"He will," Voldemort affirmed. "Raise your son well, Lucius… I do not want him to grow up spoilt for he needs to be trained well to survive within our ranks."

Even as he said those words, Voldemort could feel it, feel the power that shimmered around Lucius's son which meant that the newborn was destined to be someone powerful…but there was something wrong. There was something different that he couldn't put his fingers on. The prophecy had spoken of the summer-born baby with a dark heritage and only Lucius's child had fitted the bill. Yet the connection that the prophecy had hinted at was missing. He did not feel a draw towards the newborn like he had expected.

Or perhaps there was a mistake, and the Chosen One did not speak of Lucius's son, Voldemort mused. But it was impossible, for the other newborns in this season came from normal wizarding lines, or Light wizarding lines.

He wouldn't put all his hopes into that one child, he decided. It would be a foolish thing to do.

But if the Chosen One was indeed Lucius's child, then the war had was already won. A cruel smirk graced his lips as he contemplated slowly. Dumbledore never knew of the prophecy and Martha had been taken care of. Nobody knew of the prophecy, safe for a selected few. His motives with the child would be virtually unknown, until it was too late.

How things had changed over the past two years. His plans had been completely disrupted by the revelation of the prophecy.

This child… the child he was finding was the balance between the Dark and the Light, and he – not Dumbledore or himself –would be the crux to the final victory. The child would be the one to tip the scale over.

He would control the Chosen One, Voldemort vowed. And he would control the war in turn.

A/N Guess who else is born in Summer 1980? 8D *grins*