Heir to Riddle

Chapter 8

"You are going to Hogwarts this year," Voldemort said quietly, and Hayden's head jerked up.

His eyes were bright with excitement, and he opened his mouth to reply, but his father beat him.

"Yes, even though it is dangerous. But first, I...need to discuss something with you." Hayden put the book he had been reading aside, diverting his focus onto Voldemort.

"What is it?" he asked, eager to hear what his father had to say.

Voldemort sighed, sitting across from the fifteen year old.

"I need you to promise me that you will listen to me before asking questions, or getting angry."

"Done," Hayden frowned, wondering why he had said such a thing as him getting mad at his father.

"Now, where to start," the older man furrowed his eyebrows — rather, where they should be — and leaned forward. "I've told you about the war before you were born, correct?" Hayden nodded. "Well, near the end of it, there was a prophecy. It called for my demise. Of course, there were only two children that matched the prophecy, and I wasted no time in finding them. One was Neville Longbottom-" Hayden snorted, and his father gave him a reproachful look, "And the other was... Harry Potter." Voldemort looked at him sadly while his face remained blank, and continued.

"The two were similar, of course, both having birthdays at the very end of July, and having Light families," Hayden made a face, and Voldemort chuckled. "I and my faithful follower, Bellarix Lestrange, chose to find Harry Potter first. I sent Bartemius Crouch Jr, the Lestrange brothers, and Severus Snape to Longbottom's home, but they didn't return. I suspect Severus has some...questionable loyalties, but-" he raised a placating hand to soothe a snarling Hayden. "-he has value. There are not many potions masters in England, and he is one of the best."

"Then have him write down everything he knows and then just..." Hayden shrugged, drawing a line across his throat.

His father laughed, making the teen smile.

"Silly boy. If I could, I would. But alas," Voldemort sighed. "He is a potions creator, as well. But, back to the story. You have read the papers as of late, have you not?" At Hayden's nod, his father sighed again.

"Well, the supposed Boy Who Lived, never "died" by my hand. He was never chosen by me personally. I simply went into isolation because of my shifting priorities. Dumbledore declared him the Chosen One, but I had already chosen another. Harry Potter, that little, tiny thing I brought into my home nearly fourteen years ago now, was the one I chose."

Hayden's brows furrowed as he sat back. He blinked fast, his breathing quickening.

"You mean I was supposed to...to kill you?" he breathed, eyes watering. "I wouldn't-!"

"Now, no," Voldemort said soothingly, shifting over to Hayden's couch. He sat a safe distance away, but still close enough to be there. "But if Dumbledore had gotten what he wished, you may."

Hayden shook his head, curling up against his father's side, to the man's surprise.

"And the Potters...?" he asked quietly, and Voldemort paused before telling him.

"Dead." His voice was soft, understanding. "They were oh, so protective of you, I wish they would've joined me instead of refusing to surrender." Hayden nodded, clutching at Voldemort's robes as if he was still seven years old and crying about a nightmare. He hesitantly placed a hand on Hayden's head, and the boy leaned into his hand.

"Thank-thank you for telling me," Hayden murmured, keeping his gaze down.

"I should've told you sooner," his father said quietly. "If you do not wish me to be here, I can-"

"No," the teen choked out, pulling the man closer. "I need you. Don't you dare leave, father." Voldemort nodded, stunned by the boy's reaction.

He had thought that Hayden would be furious at him, would take days away from him, maybe even leave him entirely.

But instead, he stayed even closer, holding him like he was the one thing he could possibly need.

Then again, hadn't he always?