Principles of Uncertainty

By RaistlinofMetallica

I: Green-Eyes

            Tom had green eyes that pierced one's soul with their brightness. It was a pale green, an Avada Kedavra green that could fix you on the spot. Always, they were shining bright like cold stars. You could never tell what was going on behind those mirror-like eyes. You never knew what Tom was going to do if you moved from his gaze - kind of like the snakes he so loved. It was a shame his older self had parted with them for that awful demonic red colour. Tom had the most chillingly pretty poisonous green eyes. Like a pale jade carving the colour of sea foam - always cool and polished - it was a colour that stuck out prominently in the mind.

            Harry had green eyes, too. But they were fathomless, deeper than the oceans. His eyes held so many secrets, so much that he would not say. His eyes had been easy to read, long ago, but now they had become like Tom's: mirror-like and guarded. His eyes used to be like an open book for all to read. They were warm, then, a deep emerald colour that sparked with passion and mischievous light. It was like brilliant fairy lights danced through his eyes, turning the dark green to that of the summer grass and summer leaves. Those eyes, green as fresh pickled toad, were more dazzling and hypnotic than Tom's had ever been. You could get lost in them for days. But that was before.

            His eyes had changed in his fifth year. At first, no one noticed as Harry was a bit ill and no one paid much attention to his eyes in favour of his health. But after Hallowe'en night, it became quite obvious that something inside him had changed. It didn't seem to be a big change at first: if anything, he seemed perfectly fine. Only, his eyes had changed. The warmth had fled, replaced by something imperceptibly different. It was very hard to describe as much more than a darkness in his eyes that sucked you in completely, a devouring darkness that would swallow you up if you didn't look away. Then, his eyes had become like mirrors, reflecting everything back at you. He went through the motions of what they'd become accustomed to seeing of him but nothing ever reached those green eyes of his. It was chilling how much he looked like Tom.

            After Harry vanished, no one expected to see him again. There were rumours among the muggleborns for a while - saying they'd seen a young man like him in their towns once or twice. But, they were just rumours. Dumbledore had people keep an ear to the ground, listening for rumblings of a new darkness. Since that Hallowe'en, he'd grown suspicious of Harry, fearing the stress might push him down Tom's path. Those of us that grew up during the so-called war kept both an ear and an eye out. There was never anything to hear. We accepted that Harry had left us, not to plan an attack against us, but to work out his own problems - things that he couldn't address at school. He was, after all, our reluctant and symbolic saviour who somehow managed to keep himself from being crucified for our benefit.

            When I saw him again for the first time in years, his eyes had regained some of that precious light. He laughed genuinely, letting it reach his eyes. But the darkness was still there. It was then that I realized that it had always been there. We had simply never noticed it before. There was also the same kind of twinkle in his eye that Dumbledore had had from time to time, as though he knew what you were thinking or what was going on. I realized that he hadn't really been all that surprised to see me again. It was as though he knew I would hear the song and Dad's blasted muggle radio would die before I heard the name of the band... Almost as if he knew I would come to that muggle store of all places I could have gone, that the clerk would tell me about the signing and that I would recognize him. It was positively unnerving.

            That was several years ago. Now, I look into another pair of green eyes. Tom's green eyes - that same sea foam jade that I saw so many years ago - rest in the face of this cute black-haired baby. These eyes are not guarded, though. They are bright and sparkling with playful light when he is happy. When he is upset, his eyes deepen to an acidic green, almost the colour of the flame that Floo Powder generates. If he is tired, his eyes droop and become a beautiful muted green, nearly as soft as down. I have tried to see Tom in him, but it is an image that doesn't seem to fit at all, even though I know exactly who he is.

            Harry says I am the only one capable of doing this. He still says that I have a magic inside me that can do miraculous things. I've told him time and again that he is being foolish. I knew I was a witch and had known since I could walk. And yet, he once said I had a magic inside me that I've never used, something that could change the very nature of a living thing. I didn't understand what he had meant then, but his eyes glowed with excitement and knowledge that he wouldn't share. That was before my Tomas, but after, I knew that he had seen what would happen. Harry had stopped being direct a long time ago. He indulges in his inner Slytherin freely now. And I hate him for all of his circular talk and purposefully vague answers! He never used to frustrate me like this in school.

            "Muh-um-E!" the little voice struggles and Tom's green eyes widen as the little voice tries the complicated sound again. He reaches with his chubby little arms towards me, giggling as he repeats the sound, faster this time. He has been babbling for a while now, trying out each sound that he hears. Some he likes and his eyes get brighter as he claps and drools. Some he doesn't like and he scrunches up his nose and forehead while his eyes darken. He is more expressive than I would have thought. "Muh-um-E!" he repeats again, reaching more insistently and waggling his stubby little fingers.

            I pick him up and he smiles greatly before continuing on babbling to me. "Harry's coming for your birthday," I tell him, bouncing him a little in my arms.

            He giggles and puts his hands on my cheek, pressing down a little. "Air-E or birf-A!" he mimics slowly, trying the sounds out. He seems to learn fast, but I knew he was smart before. I know he will be a brilliant student again. It's a part of him that won't change. Perhaps he'll be Head Boy again. I don't know.

            Harry says he isn't exactly the same as Tom. Harry says he's got an innocent spirit now... that he's almost exactly like a truly reincarnated being. A part of me is beginning to believe him. But I know who he is and I still don't trust him, not even as he is now. I still remember Tom and his mirror-like eyes. I'm not sure about second chances, especially in Tom's case.

            "Muh-um-E!" he calls again, happily winding his little fingers around a stray lock of my hair. "Poof!" he tries, starting to grow tired and slowly tilting onto my shoulder. "Poof," he says again, yawning. "Poof-Poof."

            Almost time for his nap and I guess it's almost time for mine, too. It is tiring work taking care of him all by myself. Sure, I've taken care of all my brothers' children from time to time but I've never had my own until last year and he isn't even really related to me in the slightest! Aren't I a lucky girl? Stuck changing Tom's nappies and listening to his nightly howling for the better part of a year, I'll bet I'm a right mess. It's mind-blowing when I think of who he is and the fact that I birthed and breast-fed him. I don't know whether I should be disgusted, horrified or proud. After all, he's a very healthy baby and I'm still sane, relatively speaking.

            I get him ready for his nap, being sure to give him a flesh nappy beforehand. Just when you think you've got a baby fed, watered and clean, they go and soil themselves. Better to be on the safe side, I say. He fusses very little now because he's so tired, but he still manages to pat his head. He's been doing that for a month now, ever since he discovered his hair. Checking to see if it's still there, I guess. Or maybe he's mimicking me when I try to get his hair to lay flat. I can never tell with him. I always assume its Tom first, not him just doing as babies do. Nasty habit, I suppose. He kind of looks like Harry when he does that. His eyes are a lighter shade, though.

            I kind of wish that he were Harry's, sometimes. It reminds me of my schoolgirl dreams: catching the perfect man and settling down to the perfect life with him. Alas, I now know that there are rarely such fairy-tale endings. For I am the girl who gave birth to the reborn Riddle and I am handfasted to no man. My mother and brothers are content with the mental illusion that my son is the bastard child of the Boy-Who-Lived. But I know the truth. He is not mine, not by blood, and he is not Harry's, not even in the slightest. Yet, even now, I can see that they do look very much alike and, thus, the ease of the illusion for my family. And the cause of much pain for me, as well.

            I wanted my silly little girl's dream to come true. I wanted to marry him. I loved, and still do love, Harry Potter. I told him that in sixth year and he told me that it wouldn't work out - that he would break my heart if he stayed. I was mad at him for a few years for all the worrying he gave to my family and I - especially poor Ron - and for hurting my feelings like that. When I saw Harry again, I thought I could have another go at his heart. He disappointed me again, telling me that I was too good for him: that he would leave one day and I'd be heartbroken. He's still around, the damned daft bugger: running about the globe the muggle way like a true muggle rock star. He had earned his fame out there, not like here in the wizarding world.

            And now, I've decided that I'll ask again. I didn't ask when my Tomas was born. It's always worth the chance that he'll cave in. But I know what he'll say. So, I cling to the last shreds of my dream through Tomas. The world will think he is the bastard of their saviour and I will not say anything to deny this. I have no need to. Perhaps it is better that he thinks of Harry as his father. It will give him a good role model. Or should I tell the truth - that I never knew his father - and let him merely look up to the great Boy-Who-Lived, like all the other children? It will be a long time before he begins asking questions like that and I have time to think it out.

            Harry's coming for Tomas' birthday tomorrow night. He said it was a special night for the little one. He said Hallowe'en was such a very meaningful day for Tom. Harry lost his parents then and Voldemort lost his body that same night, twenty-four years ago. Harry's eyes changed on that Hallowe'en Eve in his fifth year, too. And, last year, my Tomas was born on Hallowe'en. A night of blessing for the old ways, a night of very magical things happening... It was a night for feasting and celebration of the harvest, for spirits to roam the world and stories to be told. All of the gods and goddesses of magic were supposed to revel in the world on that night, blessing young children with the gifts of magic. What would they see when they looked into little Tomas' green eyes? Would they see Tom? Or...

            ...Would they see Harry, instead?