Yes, yes, I am fully aware that Dumbledore said Voldemort was the last Heir of Slytherin. The last living heir, unless I’m wrong.

Harry: Has Voldermort any children?
JK Rowling replies - No. Voldemort as a father... now that's not a nice thought. I think that's right...)

The same interview, just for everyone to think about...

Jangles: Are you going to write books about harry after school?
JK Rowling replies - Probably not, but I'll never say never because every time I do I immediately break the vow!

In my opinion, that means Harry is going to live. Just to get everyone thinking.

All right, anyway, she said Voldemort had no children. However, the way she says it implies that he knew about his children...I intend to make sure that he never finds out (also, occasionally JKR’s answers are intentionally vague...though this one seems not to be...I don’t know).

It really is not AU...at least, as far as I can tell...and please feel free to call me on it if it is. Have fun!

No, perhaps I do not have a place in Harry Potter's world, but he certainly has a place in mine, for his very existence derailed the life I might have known. Indeed, I have much to thank young Mr. Potter for. Perhaps he has much to thank me for as well, though he never laid eyes on me. Again, for the best...I do not think he could have contained himself from Avada Kedavra-ing me on sight.

The word “riddle” goes well with my personality, and with my life. I find it oddly ironic that I did not even know of the name until near the end, too late to change what had taken place. You see, I had not known who my father was until after the Potters were dead, and Tom Marvolo Riddle along with them...

Everything begins with two hearts. Sometimes one of those hearts is false, like a piece of imitation jewelry, brass beneath the shining gold...

-

A knock sounded at Sapphira’s front door. She looked up, confused, pushing waves of golden hair out of her eyes. Who was here at this hour of the day? It was the middle of the afternoon, when most people were at work, be it the Ministry of Magic or de-gnoming their gardens. The young Healer set down her bowl of herbs and carefully stood up, trying not to step on any of the scattered plants in her living room as she made her way to the door.

She opened it. “May I hel—” Sapphira was stunned into silence at the unbelievably handsome man who stood there. He was about her age, somewhere in his early twenties, with dark hair and a slightly-hollowed, pale face, and his eyes—such eyes. Dark and almost magnetically captivating, they terrified and fascinated her; they were alight with a fire that made her heart race as he looked at her, apparently arrested in mid-speech, for his mouth was half-open.

With what appeared to be great effort, he blinked and the fire vanished, though its effect on her did not. He inclined his head politely, and she realized that he was wearing a wizarding suit. “Good afternoon, Miss Fremont...?”

“Y-yes.”

“May I come in? It’ll only be a few moments.”

“Of course.” Dazedly, she held the door open for him and led him through the sea of plants to the living room couch. “Tea?”

He did not sit down. “No...thank you. I am, regrettably, here strictly on business. Please, won’t you join me, Miss Fremont?”

“Who—what is your name?”

“Tom Riddle, of Borgin and Burkes. Please, call me Tom, Miss Fremont.”

“S-Sapphira.”

She sat beside him on the couch, nervously smoothing her hair with one hand. He smiled and took the other, brushing his lips over it. The sensation sent waves of fire through her entire body.

Sapphira tried desperately to clear her mind. “Borgin and Burkes?” That was what she thought he had said.

He sat back, maintaining a professional distance but with his attention undeniably on nothing but the woman before him. “Yes. Mr. Burke and his partner are in the antiques business. I am only a representative, but I was passing through and saw that a Healer lived here, and decided to inquire about any antiques she might wish to sell. Naturally, I had no idea that she was so lovely.”

Sapphira flushed a bright pink, but her common sense kicked in. “Thank you, but I’m a busy woman. What kinds of antiques were you looking for?”

Tom...Riddle? did not seem at all fazed by her sudden coolness. He looked down at a list that he had conjured from thin air. “Let me see—old vases, cursed items, portraits, jewelry...”

“Jewelry?” He did not look up, but simply nodded as he scribbled something on his list. She watched him for a moment, thinking. “I do have a locket,” she said tentatively.

Tom looked up, smiling, but she could see that it was professional. “Indeed?”

Sapphira felt like a little child being denied ice cream. As silly as it was, she wanted to see the fire in his eyes again, and fumbled for something to say. “It’s—quite old. Pure gold as well.”

There. A flash appeared. A flare of irrational jealousy went through her, and, she said somewhat harshly, “Well, perhaps the jeweler lied. It looked more like brass to me.” She ran a hand through her hair as she made to stand up. The fire returned, barely concealed, and she inwardly smirked.

She went into the other room and came back with a heavy gold locket. To her displeasure, Tom’s eyes lit up, but after a moment she realized that it was nothing more than delight for something valuable to his profession. “This is beautiful,” he said quietly. “May I ask—where did you acquire it?”

“Actually, I believe it was from your shop. My mother gave it to me. Ironic, isn’t it?” She laughed.

“May I see it?”

“Of course.” She handed it carefully to him, and did not miss the way his fingers lingered around hers for an extra moment. Blushing, she sat back down and watched him.

He examined it, an odd smile on his face. “How much did your mother pay for this, Sapphira?”

“I’m not sure. It was a gift. I would guess perhaps fifty Galleons, though...it’s quite lovely, isn’t it?”

He looked up at her for a moment. “Yes, it is.”

Sapphira sat and fidgeted as he examined it. “I must tell you, I don’t think I’m going to sell it, though. It was my graduation gift, and it means a lot to me.”

He stopped examining it, and did not look up. Hastily, she continued, “I have other jewelry, though, if you’d like to see it.”

Tom looked up, dark hair swinging with the motion. “Of course,” he said quietly. She reached out her hand for the locket, and he almost reluctantly released it back into her hand, fingers not touching hers. Feeling a bit stung, she pulled her hand away and retreated into the other room, returning with a box of jewelry. She proceeded to sort through it, feeling his eyes on her the whole time.

He went through her entire collection of “for sale” jewelry, complimenting each piece, but comparing several to the locket; she sat entranced as his handsome face positively lit up when he spoke of it. Finally, she ventured timidly, “How much is that locket worth?”

“Over two hundred Galleons,” he said after a moment. “A bit expensive for me, and I’m sure you’d like to hold onto it...”

Sapphira watched as he shut the box and gave her a forced smile. “If you ever decide otherwise, Sapp—Miss Fremont, come to our London shop.” He stood to go. “Thank you for your time.” He looked more handsome than ever in the light from the window.

“Won’t you—won’t you stay for tea, or—?” She found that her voice was higher than normal.

He turned. “Or—”

She took a step toward him unintentionally. “Or, that is, er...tea, I can make tea, or...”

He set the jewelry box down carefully, eyes burning, and a moment later she found herself in his arms with his lips on hers.

-

Tom Riddle left for London the next morning, 175 Galleons poorer and with the locket securely tucked into a pocket of his robes. He would return in a year to demand repayment for the well-faked artifact, but would find a house empty of all but an unfortunate Muggle squatter.

He would likely not even have cared had he known about the dark-haired baby girl born nine months after the sale of the locket.