1952

Tom Marvolo Riddle was ashamed to admit he was equal parts jealous, lonely, and depressed as he stood next to Abraxas Malfoy as his best man. His face didn't betray the horrid emotions eating him alive though. He looked to be the proud best man of one of his closest friends—the only man he ever considered a friend—since childhood. And, if he were being brutally honest with himself—one in his position couldn't afford lying to oneself—he was happy for his friend.

The two had graduated Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry 7 years prior, and had been flatmates until Tom began teaching there three years earlier.

As the music started to play, he realized that his was the 8th wedding he'd been to this year. All of them had been for his faithful followers, and this was the 6th one that he was in the wedding party—he only accepted the ones he attended school with—and yet, none of them had affected him as much as this one.

Abraxas had fallen in love with a half-blood and was nauseatingly happy with her. The only reason his father allowed the relationship—and by consequence the marriage—was that any children they happened to have would be purebloods.

As Tom watched the blushing bride walk down the aisle, escorted by her mudblood father, he couldn't help but notice that she was the picture of pure, undiluted happiness. When he turned his gaze at a sniffle from his right—Abraxas would forever deny that he was crying—he saw the tears begging to drip from his eyes.

As they said their vows, and he saw the pure, unhindered love that oozed from the two of them, he decided he wanted that.

He needed it.

It was when Abraxas gave his speech to his lovely wife, that Tom decided he would do absolutely anything to have such pure love and happiness in his life.

1955

He had delayed making his first Horcrux.

He knew that Dumbledore—the archaic fool—would have felt the permanent mark it would leave on his magic, and by consequence, he would have been removed from his position at Hogwarts, and that was unacceptable. But, now that Dumbledore had been disposed of, and he was the Deputy Headmaster while Horace was the Headmaster—and still firmly under his thumb—he could do as he pleased without consequence.

After much thought, he eventually opted that doing it over the winter holidays would be the ideal time to create it.

In the subsequent years between his first discovering the magic that would make him immortal and now, the time before making it, he had found more pertinent information about the dark object.

He would stop aging physically until the Horcrux was destroyed—either by great remorse or other means, it didn't matter. He would lose a part of his mind—not enough to make him qualify for Bedlam, but, enough to be noticeable (and since he planned on six, eventually he would be certifiable). His looks would diminish—he could never figure out how much though, only that they would. And finally, that the recovery from the creation of the Horcrux would take about a week.

When he first read this excess information, he decided that it would be a price well paid for immortality, and he could always use a blood glamor if he so desired, and a pensieve was a wonderful thing. But, now that he had decided that he wanted—needed—love in his life, he spent over a year creating potions that would protect him.

A potion to protect his mind, and another to protect his looks.

A spell that allowed him to remember everything—one he'd been wanting to do for a while.

A ritual that gave him increased natural healing—even though he'd be becoming immortal, his body would not be, and he wanted to keep his body for as long as possible.

1956

On his birthday he went to Little Hangleton and used the life of his father to turn the Gaunt family ring, which he had stolen from his pathetic uncle when he was fifteen, into his very first Horcrux.

With his remaining strength, he then blamed the death of his paternal relatives and all of their filthy servants on his equally filthy uncle. He knew that if Morfin ever truly remembered what really happened, no one—magical or muggle—would believe him when he'd say that a handsome young man—his nephew—with blood dripping down his face was the one who really killed the Riddle family.

Due to his preparations—he assumed—his recovery was only four days. His looks stayed the same, and his mind was just as clear as it was before he created the Horcrux, and, with a small slice to his finger, his increased healing had stayed the same.

He had been content to keep the ring on his person at all times, until one day, over a year later, a fellow professor—she was the new transfiguration professor—made a comment in passing to him about feeling a lot of dark magic, but, she couldn't discern where it could be coming from.

1959

He was 33 years old when he found what would be the perfect place to have the small fraction of his soul be stored away for safe keeping. He had first come upon the room when he was a student himself, and he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. It was the Room of Hidden Things, and, as he stepped through the door, he fingered the precious ring.

He didn't know how long he had been in there, and frankly, it didn't matter since it was the summer holidays. When he felt he was nearing the back of the room, he came upon a mirror. He knew what it was, and he knew exactly what it could do.

Could he look into the Mirror of Erised and not lose his mind?

He wasn't sure if he could. He already knew exactly what it was that he desired most in life, and that was to love, and be loved, unconditionally. He looked to the ground and as he stroked the ring on his finger, he came to a decision. He moved so he stood in front of the mirror.

A deep breath.

He raised his head and his lungs and heart both stopped working. He saw himself, and a blurry woman next to him. They were standing as close as they could, and, looking into his reflections eyes, he saw the emotion that Abraxas and his wife still held in their eyes.

He was loved, and he loved in return.

Unconditionally.

As tears formed in his eyes—he didn't know if he was ashamed or not—he reached out a hand, his ring glinted in the dull light of the room, and touched the mirror.

Pain unbearable, and then darkness untouched.

1977

Words.

The rough cadence of words caused him to awaken from the eternal darkness in which he was trapped.

"What do you think this is, mate?"

"Dunno. Hey, Moony! Do you know what this is?"

He opened his eyes and his gaze fell upon four young men who appeared to be in their late teens. The tall one on his left scowled. "Don't call me that," he hissed.

"Oh, come on! It's that or Wolfy. Which would you prefer?" the messy haired one with glasses spoke.

"Just because my animagus is a wolf, doesn't mean you have to give me an embarrassing name."

"Hey!" the short, slightly chubby one complained from the other end, "your nickname isn't Wormtail."

"Would you prefer Dirty Little Rat?" the one with long black hair demanded.

"It's the Mirror of Erised," the sandy haired one—Moony—interrupted. "It shows you your greatest desire."

Tom stared in wonder as they all looked towards the vessel he was in. He saw clearly the longing on their faces, and poignantly remembered his own ravenous hunger that ate at him when he had seen his own desire.

"What do you see, Moony?"

"I'm Minister of Magic."

"Prongs?"

The one with glasses spoke. "My darling Lily-flower," he sighed. He nudged the boy with long hair. "What about you, Padfoot?"

"I see Marlene. 'Bout you, Wormy?"

"Mom is healthy."

He was unaware of how long the four men stayed, but, he was grateful, just a bit. He was no longer in that hideous darkness, but, he had his own gnawing desire eating away at him.

When they left, the darkness returned.

1998

It was…Prongs? That was his name, wasn't it? And with him, he had a beautiful red headed girl. Was this the Lily he had seen in the mirror? Had spoken of?

As he gazed upon them from his vessel, he saw they were happy, and they were in love.

How much time had passed since he had seen Prongs?

"Harry, look at this!" she exclaimed, staring at his mirror.

Over time, as he appeared to those who stumbled upon him, he had come to refer to it as his mirror. Ever since those four boys with their strange names for each other had come to him, he had been aware. He'd spent his time since both longing and thinking. Trying to figure out a way from his cage, and longing for the mysterious woman he had seen.

"Oh! My dad told me about this," Harry replied.

"What is it?"

"It's the Mirror of Erised. It shows you your hearts deepest desires. He said it showed him mom, and that's what finally gave him the courage to ask her out without being a pompous fool."

Was this Prongs' son?

The girl laughed and placed her head on his shoulder. "What do you see?" she asked as she gazed into him.

"I see you, Ginny."

She placed a kiss on his shoulder. "And I see you."

The two left soon after, apparently having no desire to look into his mirror when their greatest desire was holding onto them.

Would he ever get his own?

2022

"Do you know what this is?"

He refused to open his eyes. He couldn't handle seeing the longing anymore. He couldn't handle being reminded of his own loss.

How he wished he were dead.

"It's the Mirror of Erised."

"I dare you to look into it."

"No way! People have wasted away because of this mirror!"

Oh how right she was. He himself was wasting away.

He was inside the mirror, wasting away.

"What about you, Al, will you look?"

"Only if you promise to look as well, Jamie."

When they left, he welcomed the darkness with open arms.

2047

He wished he were dead.

"James Severus Potter III you get your butt back here right now!"

He wished he were deaf.

"Make me."

He wished he'd never been born at all.

"Careful!"

He wished he could have been loved.

"Are you alright?"

He wished he could have loved.

"Fine, fine. What is this?"

Hell.

2073

Please, not again. He would do anything for this to end.

"Are you alright?"

He waited for the customary response, and simultaneously waited for death. For his release.

"Hello?"

Her voice was nice; even pleasant to listen to. Maybe she and her companion could stay for a while. Maybe he could find peace for a short amount of time.

"Can you hear me?"

Was it finally going to end?

"Hello? Man in the mirror, can you hear me?"

His eyes snapped open, and his gaze fell upon the girl.

2072

Atlantis May Lily Potter wanted to scream, shout, murder, and rage at every little thing that had ever existed.

Especially them

It was her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was supposed to be fun, the best year of her life—according to her great-great-grandfather's portrait. She was Head Girl—the first female Slytherin to hold the title in almost 45 years—had a loving boyfriend, had her best friend who she thought of as a sister, and was going for 12 NEWTs.

What she had now, however, was a green badge emblazoned with the words Head Girl, 12 NEWT level classes, a cheating ex-boyfriend, and no friends.

She had been doing her rounds when she had heard muffled sounds and then proceeded to find the two of them in a broom closet, naked, sweaty, and both covered in love bites.

She wasn't ashamed to admit that she had cast a strong fertility spell on the two, and then allowed them to continue. She wasn't ashamed to admit that the two were now expecting triplets. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she had sentenced her once sister to an almost guaranteed death.

She was ashamed however, for being surprised.

She had seen the signs, heard the rumors, and had taken the blame when others 'kindly' informed her that if she would just spread her legs, the rumors wouldn't be happening.

She was probably only surprised at the fact that the one whom he had been sleeping with for almost the entirety of their relationship, was her best friend.

Atlantis May Lily Potter was ashamed that she felt betrayed.

2073

She had been doing rounds when the door appeared to her.

She knew what the door was, having heard stories about it from her father, her grandfather, her great-grandfather, and even her great-great-grandfather before he passed when she was seven. Four generations of Potters had gone into this room, and had looked into a mirror, which then led them to seek out their greatest desire.

As she stared at the door, she came to a decision.

"Might as well make it five," she sighed softly before pulling on the handle and opening it. She stepped into the room and was greeted with piles upon piles of junk. There was no other word for it. She walked further into the room, and fingered an old Thunderbolt broom.

She felt…strange, being in this room that even her great-great-grandfather had stood in. Perhaps…could it be, the…tugging…she felt on her Core? She released the broom—it was at least fifty years old (that was when they stopped being made)—and followed the insistent wrenching on her magic.

She scowled as she was led through the room, further and further back until she could no longer see the door she entered. A quick glance at her watch told her that she had been in the room for nearly an hour.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and stopped walking, and again fingered an object near her. It was quite old, and hard to tell what it could be. She looked around, as if someone was watering her—because it truly felt that way—and after shaking her head at her ridiculous behavior, gave a hard tug on the object.

That was a mistake.

A very, very, very big mistake.

It was like a landslide—junk-slide?—as the objects were displaced from the movement of whatever was now in her hands. She backed away, clutching the object tightly, she tripped and quickly righted herself, thankful that even though she didn't play Quidditch, she still had good reflexes.

She was so busy watching the pile slide towards her on the ground, she hadn't been paying attention to the top of the pile. A large, heavy bronze…thing fell off of the cliff—for that was the only way to describe what it now looked like—and hit her hard on the cheekbone. She swore she heard a crack along with the blinding white pain, and she cried out, turned and ducked down to hide her head.

The unknown object happened to be a broom.

It was old, as previously ascertained, very well loved, and filthy. It appeared to be a Firebolt, and with a wave of her wand, her assumptions were proven correct. She wiped her messy hands on her pants and hoped that whatever was on them would come out—she didn't want to have to write to her mother informing her she needed a new uniform because she followed in her father's footsteps—again (the last time she did that both she and her father had been punished). At the base of the handle, was an inscription.

Harry James Potter, Gryffindor Captain 1995-98

This was her great-grandfather's broom.

As she swung her leg over to mount it, there was another insistent—almost painful—tug on her Core. She unmounted the broom and looked to the ceiling with slumped shoulders. "What do you want?" she whined—she wasn't a whiner (she couldn't stand them) but felt that this was an appropriate situation to do so. In response, she was literally pulled through the room, and around stacks of useless objects and deposited in front of a mirror.

The mirror was large—she didn't care what anyone said, a 12 foot tall mirror was large—and had a man inside of it.

"Are you alright?" she questioned him. He looked as if he'd just lost the love of his life, and was ready—begging perhaps—to die. He made no indication of acknowledgement to her words. "Hello?"

Drat.

She tightened her grip on the smooth wood of the broom and gnawed on her lips for a moment. Was she going crazy? Was he not really there?

"Can you hear me?"

HA!

He twitched!

She felt like running around squealing and doing a victory lap. She wasn't crazy, despite what her insane amount of brothers said.

"Hello? Man in the mirror, can you hear me?" His eyes snapped open and immediately fell on her. "Are you alright?" she asked again, staring into his bright blue eyes. She was suddenly embarrassed to be standing in front of him in her uniform pants—no matter how good they made her butt look and clutched at her long legs—and her oxford shirt—also uniform requirement—with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to her mid-forearms.

"You can see me?"

She looked around in confusion, her brow furrowing as she scratched at the back of her head. Perhaps she was crazy. "Uh, yes. You're a man in a very large mirror. Why wouldn't I see you?"

"Because I haven't been seen in—oh, I don't know how long," he explained. His voice was nice. It was slightly gravely, and deepish—baritone maybe?—and made shivers run down her spine. He had a slight accent with also appealed to her.

"What year do you last remember?" she asked softly.

"The last year I was actually outside of my mirror is 1959."

Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "How do you look so young?" she demanded. She stepped forward and started examining his face. He couldn't be more than a day over thirty.

"What do you mean? What year is it?"

"It's 2073."

If he could have reared back, or fallen down, she was sure that he would have done so. "I've been in here for 114 years," he whispered, almost as if he were just speaking to himself. The expression on his face made her heart break.

He looked so, what's the word…lost.

"What's your name?" she eventually asked, hoping to distract him from his melancholy. She had two sisters, and seven brothers, she had become very good at distracting people, she felt, and, if not, she was good at making a fool of herself.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle. What is your name?" Why was his name so familiar?

"Atlantis May Lily Potter."

"Potter?"

"Yes."

"I think I have…met…a relative of yours."

Could it be? "What was the name?"

"James Severus Potter III." She laughed. She couldn't help it. Confusion filled his face. "I do not see as to how that is funny."

She wiped a tear from her eye. "He's my father. He's only called that when he's in trouble."

By the look on his face, he had certainly been in trouble when they met. "Really?"

"Yes. Actually, even my great-great-grandfather came here and stood where I'm standing. They told me about all of the desires that they saw. None of them, however, mentioned you."

They were silent, as if neither knew what to say. "Are you aware that you are bleeding?"

Her eyes widened and touched the cheek that had been struck with a wince. She pulled her fingers away and they were indeed stained with blood. "How strange."

"This wound occurred without your knowledge?" he questioned as he floated down so it appeared as if his feet were on the ground, and the two were talking through a mirror. At his closer proximity, she grew flushed at his attractiveness and cursed herself for being so weak.

"No. Yes. Kind of. I don't know."

He smiled and her heart stopped for a moment. "Would you care to explain what has happened?"

"I pulled this out from a pile—bad idea, lemme tell you that—and a bronze thingy fell and hit my cheek. It didn't have any sharp corners or edges, so, that's why I'm confused as to why I'm bleeding."

"Skin can often tear or split when a heavy blow is landed," he explained. "If I were there, I would heal it for you."

She shrugged. "It's fine. I'll just go see Healer Jones after I leave."

"Please don't," he begged.

"What do you mean?"

"I've just been, so, alone for these last few—alright 114 years. You're the first person to see me in all of that time." He paused as if thinking something over. "I have begged for death, to be free from this cage that has trapped me. I had never begged before I had been put in this mirror. It was about the time when two boys continuously visited me that I truly began to wish I had never been born."

She dashed away the tears on her face, wincing when her bruised cheek was touched. She checked her watch. She had been in there for two hours… It was a Friday night…there could be no harm in staying later. "Alright. I'll stay for as long as I can," she sniffed and wiped away more tears.

He gave her a pained smile. "I thank you."

"You talk kind of strangely. What year were you born?"

"1926."

Her eyes widened. "You are old, dude."

"Dude?"

She blinked. "Uh…it's an expression. It's usually in reference to men or boys, but, it can be used to refer to girls and women as well."

"What does it mean?"

Does it have a meaning?

"It's just slang to refer to people. I don't think it has any particular meaning."

He nodded his head and put his hands behind his back. "What year were you born, Atlantis?"

Should she be uncomfortable with the fact that the way her name rolled off his tongue set her on fire?"

"2055. I'm a 7th year."

"Yes, I saw the pin. Congratulations. I believe you are the first Slytherin to claim the title of Head Girl."

"Third, actually."

"Truly?"

"Yes. The first was Narcissa Black, her co-head was actually Lucius Malfoy, another Slytherin. They eventually married."

He smiled fondly. "I knew Lucius. He was merely a child when I last saw him. Is he still alive?"

"No. He lived for a very long time though. He died five years ago." Should she mention that he was also her great-great-grandfather?

She hated the pain that crossed his face. "Was he happy?"

"He appeared to be so, yes."

"Good." He took a deep breath. Could he actually breathe in there? Did he need to? "Who was the second?"

"Julia Weasley. I don't remember who her co-head was though. She graduated, I wanna say 45 years ago, but, it could also be 44 years," her voice squeaked and she cursed ever being born. Or finding the room.

Or both.

Until the early morning light of dawn filtered into the room, Atlantis filled a Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle in on how the world had changed since he was free. The ones that seemed to shock him the most was that each subject now taught at Hogwarts was taught by 7 professors now—one professor could not teach 4,500 students; and that the castle had major renovations done on it for the increase in students in the last 100 years.

It was only later, as she was climbing into bed, that she realized his name was familiar because he had once been the DADA professor until he mysteriously disappeared over the summer holidays in 1959.

It had been four days since Atlantis had last seen Tom. It was the longest they had gone without contact since she found him in early January.

Four long days.

She cursed the fact that she had once thought 12 NEWTs was a normal and acceptable number. She could have gone for the full ride and attempted for 17 like her father and mother, but, she wasn't sure that she could handle it without cracking under the pressure—as it was, her co-head, who was only going for 7 NEWTs, had handled most of the head stuff the last few months.

And besides, Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Astronomy, and DADA didn't interest her enough for her to go for a NEWT in the subjects. She was far more interested in Illusion Magic, Alchemy, Potions, and Dark Magic, among other subjects that were once considered evil and illegal. She had a Dark Core after all. It was only natural that she leaned towards the magic that came easily to her and wanted to learn it.

She gently pushed passed her classmates as they filtered out of the room. She had just taken her final NEWT exam and she intended to spend the rest of the day with Tom—potentially complaining about her stupidity.

"Oh, Lily May!" a voice sing-songed behind her.

Why, why was the universe against her?

She stopped and turned to glare at her co-head, Abraxas Draco Malfoy. "Yes, Draco Abraxas?"

He scowled, his gray eyes that matched her own narrowing in irritation. "Don't call me that."

"As soon as you stop calling me Lily May, I'll stop calling you Draco Abraxas."

He sighed dramatically—he was practically a peacock in human clothing—and draped his arm over her shoulders. It honestly scared her how much he resembled his great-grandfather. "Fine. It is a price well paid, cousin dearest."

She repressed the urge to smile, and decided chocolate was in order for that major success. Maybe even an Order of Merlin… First Class maybe?

"What did you want?"

This had the Hufflepuff sobering up immediately. "There seems to be an emergency."

"And where is this emergency?" she asked as she switched into Head Girl mode.

"The Quidditch pitch."

Her heart stopped. "Oh, please tell me it's not Remus."

He nodded. "I'm not sure what happened, only that I was sent to find you and your siblings."

She pulled out her wand and summoned her Lightningbolt.

"I'm going to kill him," she muttered mutinously as she mounted the broom. With a crash of thunder, she was off, zooming across the halls and to the Quidditch pitch at the speed of sound.

When she arrived, she immediately sent up the emergency flares that only the Head students knew, and were to only be used in dire circumstances. The very wards around the castle flared purple, and the whole world seemed to stop as deafening screams echoed in the sky.

Her magic flared around her, and with another crash of thunder, she was off, iron shards soaring around her.

"No!"

She was near.

Tom knew she was near, because he was pulled out of the darkness. He was unaware of how much time had passed since he had last seen her, but, he knew it had been longer than she had been gone before. He faintly wondered how her NEWTs had gone as his mind was pulled in another direction.

She had saved him. And he loved her.

He knew he did, and it wasn't because of everything she had done for him since they met. Instead, it was in the way light danced in her eyes when she was happy. The way her grin was so pure that it could light the darkest pits of Hell—of his Hell. Her laugh was contagious, and her sadness heartbreaking. Her revenge was unique, and, even though it had failed in the end, those who she got revenge against would be suffering for the rest of their lives looking after triplets.

Everything about her, was a relief.

She was perfect, and he was no longer in Hell.

When she came into view he knew something had happened, and it wasn't in just the way she looked defeated, as if she had just lost the most important thing in her life. It was the shreds in her obscenely tight school pants, the blood soaking her white oxford shirt, the tears in her robes, and the blood on her hands and face. She held an electric blue broom in her hands, also smeared with blood.

"What's wrong?" he demanded softly. His heart broke when her watery icy gray eyes shed their tears.

He was going to end all of those who made her cry.

"It's Remus."

Perhaps not.

"What happened?" He had never met the boy himself, but, he had learned to care for him through Atlantis' tales.

"He was dared to fly a broom—a Lightningbolt—around the Quidditch pitch blindfolded. He completed the dare successfully and demanded that they make it harder. My baby brother…They added bludgers, Tom. No beaters were there, and he stayed blindfolded." Her voice broke and she curled in on herself, her blood soaked arms wrapping around her waist tightly. "I got there in time to see four, four bludgers slam into him and knock him off his broom and to the ground three hundred feet below. I wasn't able to catch him, Tom." She paused to take hyperventilating breaths. "They've taken him to St. Mungo's—" Gasping sobs left her mouth, and he wished more than anything that he could hold her and kiss away her tears. "They don't think he's going to live," she whispered through her sobs.

He reached out a hand, his own heart breaking for both seeing the love of his life so distraught and unable to do anything about it, and the fact that she might lose her baby brother. She seemed to have the same thought process as him, as wanting to touch him, and walked towards the mirror, her sobs shaking her frame, and for the first time, touched it.

And suddenly, he was there.

Her body pressed against his as his arms wrapped around her tightly, his blood singing with ecstasy. Her legs collapsed and he fell to the floor with her, pulling her onto his lap. He ran his fingers through her white blonde hair and kissed away her tears.

"H-H-H-How are you h-h-here?" she choked out. Even through her confusion, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, as if she were afraid that when she let him go, he would return to the mirror.

He returned her embrace with equal fervor. "I don't know. But, I'm definitely not going to complain," he said through his own tears, his voice watery.

He was there.

He was holding her.

He was more than a reflection.

"Atlantis, my love," he whispered after a moment.

"Yes?"

"I can help your brother."

2080

Atlantis stood only semi-patently in the living room of the Potter ancestral mansion. Her husband was behind her, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his hands resting on her protruding belly.

"Everything's going to be alright, love," he soothed as he pressed a kiss into the soft skin of her neck. The children in the room, and his in-law's all reacted from 'awes' to 'that's disgusting'.

"I know, but—still." She made a wild gesture with her arms, jostling her whole body, and threatening to hit him in the face.

"Careful, love." He chuckled and re-wrapped his arms around her, so her arms were forced down to her sides. "Remember what the healers said."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered as he placed a kiss on her shoulder.

"I love you," he whispered into her ear.

A grin that rivaled the sun's in brightness spread across her face. "I love you, too." She turned her head and kiss his cheek.

"That's gross!" Lucius complained. "Give me one too."

Everyone laughed as her father stood and lifted her eldest son so she could give him a kiss on the cheek as well. "I love you, my baby."

Tom pressed a kiss to his son's cheek as well. "As do I, my little serpent."

This started a whole host of complaining from the children and appeasing them with kisses, and was only put to a stop once her mother came into the room a few minutes later, a watery grin on her face. "It's a girl," she proclaimed happily.

Atlantis couldn't help the smile that spread across her own face. "Little Remmy has a baby girl!" she cooed.

Tom chuckled deeply and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Atlas, he wants you two to come in first."

The husband and wife nodded and slowly made their way to the room where Remus' wife had just given birth. They eventually made it, and her heart filled with love—she would bet a significant amount of money that her husband's did as well—the second her eyes landed on her youngest niece.

"She's perfect," she cooed as she stared at mother and daughter.

"Do you want to know her name?" Emma questioned softly.

"Of course."

"Atlantis Tomi Potter."

"Pardon?" her head reared back and only barely missed her husband's throat as he did the same. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at her youngest brother.

"We named her after you two because you saved my life," he explained. He was sitting in his magical wheelchair, his mutilated legs covered by a blanket. "She wouldn't be here without you two. We've had her name picked out since before conception. If it was a boy it was going to be Tom Atlas."

"This is our way of saying thank you," the tired new mother spoke softly as she rubbed a finger along her daughter's cheek.

"Also," Remus started, his voice sheepish. "Would you be her godparents? I know you two already have 5 godchildren, but—" he shrugged, emanating the perfect amount of embarrassment.

The room was filled with happy laughter and chatter until Atlantis May Lily Riddle's water broke.

Tom paced up and down the hallway of St. Mungo's, worry gnawing viciously at his insides.

"Son, it's going to be alright," James, his father-in-law attempted to sooth him. It never ceased to amuse him whenever he was referred to as his son because he was old enough to be his great-great-grandfather—not that he knew this, of course.

"She was only 34 weeks pregnant. What if something's gone wrong? This pregnancy was so hard on her."

"Tom. She's done this before. You've done this before. What's different this time?"

"They didn't let me in the room with her," he pouted, thinking it was obvious why he was worried.

"Daddy's pouting!" That would be Lily, his youngest.

"What's wrong daddy?" Hadrian, his youngest son.

"Where's mommy?" Merope, his eldest daughter.

"Is mama going to be alright?" Lucius, his oldest.

Tom turned to his four children and crouched down in front of them as they started pulling on his clothes insistently. He wrapped his long arms around all of them and pulled them close to him, placing a kiss on each of their heads.

"Mommy's going to be fine," he soothed them.

She had to be. He didn't know what he'd do without her.

"Mr. Riddle?"

He quickly untangled himself from his brood and turned to the medi-witch standing behind him, a blank look on her face. "Yes?" He would forever swear that his voice didn't shake.

A wide smile stretched across her face. "You can go see them now."

He nodded his head, and ruffling his children's hair, quickly made his way to his wife. He paused in the doorway when he saw her hugging their newest children to her chest, both feeding softly. His heart filled with more love than he ever thought possible. "Come in," she ushered once she saw him, her blinding smile lighting up the dim room.

He stepped into the room and rushed over to her bedside and sat on the edge of the bed. "They're perfect. You're perfect." He placed a soft kiss against her mouth, and the two quickly adjusted themselves so he was holding her while the babies fed.

"What are their names?"

They had quite a few picked out, but always waited until they were born to decide, and he always left the final decision up to her.

"I was thinking for our son Salazar Abraxas, and our daughter Sivela May."

His eyes watered at the honoring of his best friend in his old life. "They're perfect."

It was hours later, after the children were done feeding, and his other children in the room, carefully being supervised as they held the babies by their grandparents that she whispered to him. "I'm ready, Tom."

His heart beat quickened. Did she mean…

"For?"

"Eternity." She did. "Will you spend it with me?"

He laughed and pressed a kiss against her mouth, resting his forehead against her own and whispered against her lips,

"Always."