The Son of Lord Voldemort

Chapter 55

The Chamber of Secrets was a dark and dank place that smelt like mold and dead animals. It was cold as a chill swept around the large stone chamber. Towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. There was a large statue that loomed above, it was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous gray feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor. And between the feet, face down, lay a small, black-robed figure with flaming-red hair.

A sixteen year old Tom Riddle stared down at the small form of Ginny Weasley with expressionless blue eyes. He idly twirled his yew wand with his fingers as he felt the girls soul drain into him. His handsome face twisted into a cruel expression as he imagined all of the things he would be able to do once he had a body. Ever since his sixteen year old self had created his first Horcrux he'd been stuck in that horrid diary, forced to spend fifty years in darkness. He hadn't known how long had passed until the foolish Weasley chit wrote in it almost a year ago. He had been furious to learn that it had been fifty years since a piece of his soul entered the diary.

The only consolation he received was when the girl said that the whole world feared the Dark Lord Voldemort. It had taken her weeks to finally write the name, and it had been extremely annoying trying to convince the foolish little girl to write it. It seemed his goals had been accomplished, he was the most feared Dark Lord of all time. Now all he needed was the girls soul and he would have a body. There would be two of him, he wasn't one to share power but if he was sharing with himself, was it really sharing?

He sneered down at the girl as her skin turned ghostly pale, a startling contrast to her flaming-red hair. It had been only too easy to get the girl to trust him, how naive the Gryffindor brat was. Always complaining about her brothers and fawning over some Slytherin boy. He allowed himself to smirk as he thought about a Gryffindor crushing on an older Slytherin, it was almost amusing. Almost.

Tom's head snapped up when he heard the entrance to the chamber open. He stopped twirling his wand and his senses became alert. His eyes narrowed when he saw a figure walking towards him, he pointed his wand at the person. A curse was on his lips but as soon as the boy walked into the light that the floating balls of fire he had conjured made the words died. Standing in front of him was a boy who looked to be twelve or thirteen and he was almost the spitting image of what he had looked like at his age. He had the same perfectly styled hair, the strong cheekbones, aristocratic features and the same body type. He even held himself with the same air of confidence he did, the only differences were the boy didn't scream 'I'm better than you', and he had the brightest green eyes Tom had ever seen. Tom didn't know who he was but there was a sense of familiarity about him.

"Hello," the boy said coolly.

"Who are you?" Tom demanded, his wand not wavering in the slightest.

"Who do you think I am?" The boy asked, there was amusement and a hint of smugness in his tone. Tom's eyes narrowed, this boy obviously had no idea who he was.

"Do you know who you're talking to you insolent child?" Tom asked coldly, a threat evident in his tone. The boy didn't seem fazed he only raised an eyebrow.

"I know who you are," the boy said quietly before smiling, "Tom." Tom's eyes narrowed further, they were no bigger than thin slits. He pushed his temper down, he couldn't kill the boy without knowing who he was. After all the child could be useful to him in some way. "Is that Ginny's wand?" The boy asked gesturing to the wand Tom was holding.

"You know her," Tom said, it was obvious that the boy did.

"Obviously," the boy drawled, amusement once more evident. The audacity of the boy in front of him was enough for him to decide that should the boy be of no use his death would be painful.

"You're a Slytherin," Tom said as he took in the Slytherin robes. "I highly doubt you're friends with the little chit." He cocked his own elegant eyebrow. "So why are you here?" The boy didn't answer and Tom's jaw clenched. "Who are you?" He demanded, he was losing his patience and someone was going to get hurt very soon.

"I think you know," the boy said with a knowing smirk.

Tom felt like he should know the answer, after all he wasn't considered a genius for nothing. He would say they were related but he knew that wasn't possible, he had no siblings and he would never be foolish enough to have a child. Even if his older self had been that foolhardy he would know because surely the whole world would know if Voldemort had a child, and the Weasley girl would've said something. Tom didn't answer the question and the boys smirk grew, it was maddening. He was contemplating whether or not to kill the boy when he spoke again.

"Come on dad, surely you can see the similarities," the boy said cockily.

Tom felt his insides freeze at the boys words, his son, it wasn't possible. "You're no son of mine," Tom said coldly. "Lord Voldemort would never have a child."

"Ouch, that hurts my feelings," the boy said putting a hand over his heart before staring at me expressionlessly. "But it's the truth, I'm Harrison Salazar Riddle. Believe whatever you want." The boy glanced down uncaringly at Ginny Weasley.

Tom's eyes narrowed, he hated his filthy Muggle fathers last name. He couldn't fathom a reality where he would knowingly and willingly give it to anyone let alone any children he had.