And it all begins
Choose.
The voice echoed through Death's head once more.
Choose one. Neither can exist while the other lives.
Death shook the thoughts out of his mind.
No. He wouldn't choose. Not today.
Staring down at the two scenes in front of him, he sighed.
He couldn't stop this. He knew that. No one could stop Fate. Not even Fate herself.
But he could delay it.
Perhaps delay it long enough for the situation to be forgotten completely.
He knew it was wishful thinking.
Of course it was.
It was Fate.
And no one dared to try and change it.
But perhaps, he could be the first.
Just this once.
He would let them live. Both of them.
Just this once.
Just until he had to choose. Just until there was no other choice.
00:07am. 1st August. 1980.
It could be attested that Thomas Marvolo Riddle was most definitely almost always a perfect picture of calm and resourceful. Despite his young age, he had very quickly risen up within the ministry of magic and charmed his way into attaining many powerful political alliances. One reason, however, being his title of Lord Slytherin. A title however attained after his rise to fame. A title that had only either hindered his attempts at pleasing the light and deepening the dark's desire to join his 'ranks'.
However, now, as he paced back and forth on the pale marble floor with his hair dishevelled and his footsteps echoing around the silent corridor disrupting the falling moonlight, someone could protest that they had viewed it all wrong. Upon the eve of August, he had rushed in harried and disorientated. His usually impeccable appearance long gone and his charming words failing on his tongue as he pleaded with the mediwitch to help his wife.
But, if one is in the hallway of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical cures and injuries, especially if they are in the corridor which Tom currently is residing in, they are almost never calm.
The sound of a door being opened suddenly overpowered Tom's footsteps.
Tom's feet suddenly pause in movement as a slim figure dressed in white uniform emerged from the room he was continuously pacing outside of. Standing in the middle of the doorway, stood a middle aged mediwitch with greying black hair swept back and tied into a tight bun and amused dark brown eyes.
He rushed to her and blurted out the only words he could bring himself to speak.
"How's my wife?"
The mediwitch took a moment to answer. Smoothing her hair back and tucking a stray piece of hair, that had fallen out behind her ears, she answered in a smooth, calm voice.
"Your wife is perfectly fine Lord Riddle-Slytherin."
Tom's brown eyes, completed with flecks of gold, purple and red, examined the mediwitch for a minute, and when he seemingly found what he was looking for, he finally asked the question he dreaded to find the answer to.
"My son? How is my son?"
The woman let out a tired but pleased smile. She stepped out of the doorway giving him access to the room.
"Why don't you find out for yourself? He was born perfectly. No complications. 11:59. 31st of July. In the nick of time if you tell me."
Tom didn't spare another minute dwelling outside. Quickly giving the healer a thankful glance, he hurriedly glided into the room.
The inside of the room was a pale blue colour in contrast to the stark white of the hallway. He looked around the room till he finally found his target. His feet, though sore from pacing, led him to the bedside of his wife, Bellatrix Druella Riddle-Slytherin nee Black. Her exhausted and weary face broke out into a weak and shaky smile at the sight of him and gently motioned to the bundle wrapped in white cloth she held in her hands.
Upon seeing the bundle, Tom's breath hitched and despite knowing the answer, he still asked the question.
"Is that..." He trailed off suddenly breathless and unable to speak. His son was alive. His son was alive.
"It is." Bellatrix whispered nodding. She leaned down and adjusted the blankets.
As her fingers gently pulled the blanket away, a small angelic face appeared with soft brown curls peaking out above its forehead. Tom's lips twitched into a large smile. He reached out and gently caressed his son's cheeks before leaning over and kissing his forehead.
Sensing his father's presence, the baby stirred and slowly opened his eyes to reveal beautiful dark blue orbs with flecks of gold, red and purple inside. Like stars. It was as if there was a constellation inside his eyes. It was mesmerising.
"What should we name him?" Bellatrix asked breaking him out of his trance.
"Hadrian. Hadrian Cepheus Black Riddle-Slytherin." He whispered back never taking his eyes off his son. "Rian. Rian for short."
Bellatrix let out a small laugh. "A bit common don't you think?"
"Rian's not a common name!" Tom said indignantly looking up. "Now I'll have to call him Rian!"
"Whatever you say dear. Whatever you say. I for one prefer Ceph."
Tom pouted slightly before rolling his eyes and letting out a huff. A small giggle from his son brought his attention back towards him and Tom found himself once again entranced. This was his son.
A rush of adoration filled him. He was perfect. His son was perfect. Tom leaned down and kissed his forehead once more
He would be loved. Completely and wholly. He was going to have an amazing life. Tom would make sure of it. He promised.
As if he heard his father's silent vow, Hadrian let out a gargled laugh and his eyes lit up in childish joy. Tom simply let out a chuckle and turned to his wife gently reaching up and kissing her with a small whispered 'thank you.'
While the Riddle's rejoiced at the introduction of their new family member, across the hall, the Potter's wept.
The Potters. A pureblood family. An old family, but never one that stuck to the rules and embraced the traditions like the other purebloods and instead choosing to embrace the new. A prosperous light orientated family that many looked up to and respected. Always appearing happy and friendly to the public, but today was different.
Today, with heavy hearts they wept over a new tragedy.
The tragedy, was namely, the birth of the Potter heir, Harry James Potter. He was born at 11:47pm on the 31st of July. A mere twelve minutes before the birth of the new member of the Riddle family. Unlike the Riddle family, however, Harry, began showing complications. Major ones. The baby was, in a horrible turn of events, unable to breath and with a severe heart condition. It was a twisted phenomenon. The baby, unlike the Riddle heir, was not born premature, nor did he have any problems during childbirth. His parents, Lily and James Potter, had no pre-existing health conditions and both had taken extreme cautions during the pregnancy. The healers were still in shock. The Potter family on the other hand were devastated.
As they stood on the other side of the well known magical NICU, they failed to stop the waterfall of tears from leaving their eyes. To their side, stood their close friends. A thin man, one Sirius Orion Black, with silky black hair that brushed the tip of his shoulders; sharp, regal looking cheekbones and hazy grey eyes. All features that would make any woman swoon. But today, his collection of relatively expensive clothes were swapped out for muggle ones, all crumpled and full of wrinkles. His eyes held tears in them and his features twisted painfully into a look of pure agony and sadness. One shaky hand rested on a weeping James' shoulder and the other on the glass wall dividing them from the baby shielded from the world and plugged to numerous wires and machines. Next to him stood a young werewolf, who went by the name Remus Lupin. His face was marred with many scars, his clothes old and musty and his hair messy and unorganised. His teeth were clenched and his hands balled up into tight fists. He felt two different parts of his soul weeping and raging at the unfairness of it all. Behind them, stood a mousy man. His head full of bald patches and wispy untamed hair. His nose twitched and his eyes light blue and watery. He ran his hands through his already thinning hair and muttered to himself. Muttering things that no one could decipher. His eyes switched. From the baby hooked up to machines and then back to the parents.
And behind them all, stood a man. An old man. A respectable old man. One by the name of Albus Dumbledore. Gently removing his spectacles from his eyes, he sighed. A lone tear slipped down his face. Yet he didn't seem sorrowful. His facial features weren't twisted into sadness. His eyes not showing a lick of sympathy and his mouth twitching slightly almost as if it was turning up into an evil smirk. He sighed once again. Dramatically wiping the watery liquid that ran down his face, he placed his hands on James' shoulder next to Sirius' hand in a placating manor.
"James. Lily. My dear children, it will all be okay." He whispered softly in a reassuring manor. "You heard the mediwitch. Your son, while weak now, shall live a good life. Do not loose hope. Like I say, happiness can be found in the darkest times. If only one remembers to turn on the light."
James sniffed. He reached up and gently rubbed a hand over his face and nodded. Taking a deep breath, James slowly stepped forward and walked into the NICU. Walking straight to the incubator his son was kept in, he stopped nearby. Gently, he placed his finger into the small holes inside the incubator and touched his son's face.
"I'm going to take you home soon. I'll make sure of it. You are going to be just fine. " James whispered. "I promise you. You are going to be so loved. You are going to have the best life. I'm going to make sure of it."
2 Promises. Made with the expectation that they would be carried out.
But little did they know only one would succeed in doing so.