Hadrian Riddle(His Son)

The Master of Death

Chapter Five:

Two years had passed since Hadrian Riddle, the boy whispered to be the future Dark Lord, first encountered Draco Malfoy in the labyrinthine halls of Riddle Manor. Their initial meeting, formal and tense, had given way to a bond of mutual understanding. For Draco, it was more than just respect; it was an unwavering recognition of Hadrian's superiority—an acknowledgment that, even at eight years old, Hadrian was destined to lead.

On a frigid winter's day, Malfoy Manor stood shrouded in snow, its icy exterior in stark contrast to the simmering tension within its walls. Inside, in the warmth of the grand parlor, Hadrian and Draco sat across from each other, locked in a game of wizard's chess. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows that danced around the room, but Hadrian's gaze remained fixed on the board, his mind already several moves ahead.

Draco pushed his bishop forward, attempting to protect his queen. Hadrian, with the detached precision that defined everything he did, moved his knight into place, forcing Draco's king into an inescapable corner.

"Checkmate," Hadrian said, his voice as cold as the snow outside.

Draco's shoulders slumped slightly as he studied the board. There was no way out. There never was. "You're impossible to beat, Hadrian."

Hadrian didn't respond. There was no need to. Victory was expected; anything less would be unthinkable. Draco's admiration was palpable, but Hadrian was indifferent to it. He played to win, not to earn praise.

The heavy doors to the parlor creaked open, and Lucius Malfoy entered, his demeanor as composed and regal as ever. Behind him stood two boys, both Hadrian and Draco's age. One was dark-skinned, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution. The other had sharp features and dark, watchful eyes that seemed to take in everything at once.

Lucius spoke, his voice smooth and commanding. "Draco, Hadrian, I'd like you to meet Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Their families, as you know, are deeply aligned with our cause."

Hadrian's gaze shifted to the newcomers, his expression impassive but his eyes sharp. Blaise and Theo—names that carried weight in the pure-blood circles. They were from families known for their wealth, power, and loyalty to the Dark Lord. But there was something more in their eyes—something that betrayed a deeper fear, a respect that went beyond mere status.

Blaise stepped forward first, his usual air of confidence tempered by something akin to reverence. "Blaise Zabini," he introduced himself, extending a hand. "It's an honor to meet you, Hadrian. They say you're..."

He hesitated, but Hadrian's cold gaze prompted him to continue.

"They say you're the Master of Death."

Hadrian took Blaise's hand, his grip firm and unyielding. "They say many things," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. But the title—Master of Death—was one that Hadrian had earned through whispered tales, tales of his unnatural affinity for the Dark Arts and his unparalleled skills even at such a young age. It was a title that inspired fear, even among those who would call themselves his allies.

Theo, who had been watching silently, stepped forward. His demeanor was more reserved, but his respect for Hadrian was evident in his eyes. "Theodore Nott," he said quietly, his gaze unwavering. "It's a privilege to finally meet you. My father speaks of you often."

Hadrian regarded Theo with the same cold indifference he had shown Blaise. "Then your father understands power."

Draco, sensing the tension in the room, stepped in to ease it. "We're glad to have you here," he said, his tone friendly, but there was a subtle edge to his voice. He knew that in this group, Hadrian's word was law, and he was determined to show that he stood firmly by his side.