Hadrian Riddle(His Son)

A Father's Legacy

Chapter Three

Eight months had passed since Hadrian's eighth birthday, the day when Tom Riddle—known to the world as Voldemort—began shaping his son into the weapon he was destined to become. The transformation was striking, but not unexpected. In those months, Hadrian had grown into his dark inheritance with an ease that both thrilled and unnerved his father.

Tom watched his son from the shadows of the training chamber, his red eyes gleaming with a mix of pride and something close to affection. He had been thorough in Hadrian's education, ensuring that the boy not only learned the skills of an assassin but also embraced the darkness that had long since consumed the Riddle bloodline. But it wasn't cruelty that drove Tom to push Hadrian; it was love, in the only way a man like Tom Riddle could express it.

"Hadrian," Tom called softly from the edge of the chamber. His voice, usually cold and cutting, carried a gentleness reserved only for his son.

Hadrian, who had been practicing a series of complex wand movements, paused and turned to face his father. His emerald eyes, once bright with childhood curiosity, were now dark and calculating, reflecting the blackness that had taken root in his soul. There was no hesitation in those eyes, no fear—only the calm, cold certainty of a boy who had accepted his destiny.

"Yes, Father?" Hadrian's voice was steady, devoid of the tremors or uncertainty of other children his age. He was far beyond that now.

Tom stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the chamber, taking in the evidence of his son's relentless training. The charred remains of practice dummies, the faint scent of dark potions still lingering in the air, and the blood-red stains on the stone floor—all spoke of the brutal education Hadrian had endured and excelled at.

"What have you learned today?" Tom asked, though he already knew the answer. He had been watching, observing every spell cast, every movement made.

Hadrian smiled faintly, the gesture as cold as it was confident. "I learned that death is swift when wielded with precision, and that mercy is a weakness I cannot afford."

Tom nodded, his expression unreadable. "And do you understand why this is necessary, Hadrian?"

The boy tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question, though he already knew the answer. "Because power demands sacrifice. To rule, to survive, one must be willing to do what others cannot. Mercy is a luxury that weakens those who indulge in it."

A slow smile spread across Tom's face, a rare and terrifying thing. He placed a hand on Hadrian's shoulder, squeezing it with a paternal pride that no one but his son would ever see. "You are wise beyond your years, my son. You have embraced what others fear. This is why you will be unstoppable."

Hadrian's eyes gleamed with something that might have been joy if it weren't so dark. His father's approval was the only thing he sought, the only thing that mattered. The rest of the world was irrelevant, mere obstacles to be removed if they stood in his way.

Tom led Hadrian to the center of the chamber, where a new figure awaited—a simulacrum of a wizard, conjured from darkness, its face twisted in fear, as if it knew its fate. Tom looked down at Hadrian, his expression softening in a way it never did for anyone else. "This is your final test for today. Show me what you've learned."

Hadrian didn't need further instruction. He stepped forward, his wand already in hand, his mind clear of doubt or hesitation. The simulacrum raised its own wand, but Hadrian was faster. With a fluid motion, he disarmed the figure, sending its wand clattering to the floor. The next spell came without thought, a flash of green light that struck the simulacrum in the chest. It crumpled to the ground, lifeless, before it could utter a single word.

Tom watched with a mixture of pride and something close to tenderness. Hadrian had become everything he had hoped for—a child without fear, without weakness, a true heir to the darkness that Tom himself had long since embraced.

As the simulacrum dissolved into nothingness, Hadrian turned back to his father, his face a mask of cold satisfaction. "Was that acceptable, Father?"

Tom nodded, his heart swelling with a rare, fierce love. "More than acceptable, Hadrian. You are everything I hoped you would be."

He crouched down, bringing himself to Hadrian's level, and placed both hands on his son's shoulders. "You are ready for the next stage of your training. But remember this, my son: You are not just an assassin. You are my legacy, the future of everything I have built. One day, you will surpass me, and when that day comes, the world will tremble at your name."

Hadrian's smile was small but vicious. "I will make you proud, Father."

Tom brushed a strand of dark hair from Hadrian's face, a surprisingly gentle gesture from a man known for his ruthlessness. "You already have, Hadrian. More than you know."

They stood there for a moment, father and son, the silence between them speaking more than words ever could. Tom Riddle—the Dark Lord, feared by all—felt something close to contentment as he looked at the boy before him. Hadrian was his creation, his heir, and one day, he would be his equal.

"Come," Tom finally said, standing up and offering his hand to Hadrian. "There is more to learn, more to master. And I will be with you every step of the way."

Hadrian took his father's hand without hesitation, the gesture as natural to him as breathing. He followed Tom out of the chamber, the door closing behind them with a soft click. As they walked through the darkened corridors of the manor, Hadrian felt a deep, unwavering resolve settle over him. He was his father's son, born to wield power, born to rule. There was no place for doubt, no room for mercy.

He would be the perfect heir—cold, calculating, and unstoppable. And he would do it all for the man who had given him everything, the man who had shown him the true meaning of love in the only way he could.

As the darkness of the manor enveloped them, father and son moved as one, their minds aligned in perfect harmony. Hadrian was ready for whatever came next, and with his father by his side, he knew there was nothing in this world—or the next—that could stand in their way.