Darkness and Devotion - A Tom Riddle Story

The Son

When Tom Riddle looked in the mirror, he saw the eyes of Voldemort staring back at him. It was all he ever saw—looking exactly like his father wasn't something new to him—and yet, for some reason, as he gazed into the broken glass of his desolate apartment in London, something looked different.

His black eyes regarded himself with a cool civility. They were like pools of darkness, one of his favorite things about him. His father's eyes were dark, too, but Tom realized that they looked more snakelike than his did now. Was it possible that he was changing, becoming less like his father?

He shook the thought off. Of course he wasn't changing; that was ridiculous. People didn't change. His father certainly never did. If he had changed, if he wouldn't have let his own arrogance go to his head and simply let the Potters live, he would have been alive. But his father hadn't changed and neither had he.

Tom smoothed back his hair. It was a rich, dark brown, almost black, and curled just in the front. His dark brown eyes matched his hair; they, too, were almost black. He was tall and handsome, always pursued by some incessant crowds of females at Hogwarts, though he ignored them all, unlike his brother who pursued practically any woman with a heartbeat and a decent face. Tom knew he was the more handsome of the Riddle brothers; he had been told it constantly, even by his younger brother. His dimpled smile drew in everyone who saw it, revealing a set of small, straight teeth and charisma that could hardly be contained. His body was lean and fit, muscular underneath the suits he often wore. 

Yes, he was a nice-looking bloke, which served him usefully. People were always disarmed by his charm and good looks. Disarmed people were much easier to manipulate. Tom always loved how he could use a few smooth words and an enchanting grin to make others do his bidding. It was always easier than the Imperius curse or using his skills in legilimency. His father was a skilled legilimens, though Tom was easily better. Tom was better than his father at everything. That was why all of Voldemort's followers regarded Tom as The Dark Heir, waiting for the day he ascended to his rightful place at the top of the Wizarding World. Tom was much more powerful, much more intelligent, much more strategic, and overall better than his father. He didn't care for ridding the world of mudbloods and muggles; even vermin could serve a purpose to him. No, Tom only cared about power, power that he was easily gaining even during his years at Hogwarts. His goal was simple: he wanted to rule the Wizarding World without a care in the world. He wanted a grand estate, hordes of money, legions of followers, and for every man, woman, child, and creature to know the name Tom Riddle. His followers liked that about him. They could continue about their lives unless called and he didn't call them often, not when he hardly had use for them. 

His father thought small. He wanted to rid the world of vermin (someone else's pathetic plan) and find a way to live forever. But Voldemort failed before he even got close and his only chance at immortality was his legacy living through his two sons: The Dark Heir and the Prince of Fire. That was what the Death Eaters called them. As long as they respected that title, remained loyal, and were useful when needed, Tom allowed them to live. They couldn't say the same under his father's rule.

"Tom." A voice broke him from his thoughts. Mattheo, his younger half-brother. They shared the same father, though, at this point, Tom was pretty much both of their fathers. He was six years old, almost seven, when Voldemort perished to Harry Potter—his pathetic excuse of a parent couldn't survive an infant—and Mattheo was one and a half. They would have lived with Mattheo's mother, had she not been thrown in Azkaban the moment Voldemort died. Bellatrix Lestrange. A bloody idiot for torturing those two aurors when his father was clearly dead but her stupidity had her thrown in prison. Rightfully so. After that, they lived with other Death Eaters, bouncing around until Tom turned 11 and moved them back to their father's spare apartment in London. After that, Mattheo lived with Death Eaters (usually the Malfoys or, on occasion, the Notts whenever Theodore's father was in town) while Tom attended Hogwarts until Mattheo was old enough to come too. In the summers, they returned to the apartment.