*Heir to the Serpent Lord*

Chapter 2: The Serpent's Son Awakens

The castle was still. A deep, almost magical silence had settled in the halls, broken only by the occasional crackle of flames from torches lining the walls. The stone corridors, vast and ancient, echoed with the weight of history and power. Slytherin Castle was a place of grandeur, its towering spires and serpentine carvings reflecting its rich heritage. But tonight, the darkened corridors seemed to hold their breath, waiting.

In the grand bedroom, a flicker of movement stirred on the bed. The small, broken figure of the boy, lying on the expansive bed, shifted slightly. His body had been wrapped in soft, silken sheets, a stark contrast to the dirt and grime that had once coated his skin. For the past few hours, Narcissa, Severus, and the team of healers had worked tirelessly to save him. They had cast every healing spell in their arsenal, used potions for blood replenishment, and worked on repairing the deep gash in his throat. Now, it was a waiting game.

Lord Voldemort stood by the window, his posture rigid as he stared out into the night. His mind, however, was elsewhere. The boy. The child whose life he had saved, who now lay just behind him, was a mystery. Who were his parents? How could they have inflicted such cruelty on a child so young?

"Tom?" A soft voice broke the silence. It was Narcissa, her expression both concerned and inquisitive as she approached him. "You've been standing there for hours. He's stable now, but we need to discuss what happens next."

Voldemort—Tom, as Narcissa sometimes called him in private moments—turned slowly, his piercing red eyes softening as he looked at the small form on the bed. "We cannot allow this to happen again," he said quietly. "I won't let him return to whatever nightmare he escaped from."

Narcissa nodded in agreement, her sharp features softened by compassion. "I've never seen someone so young bear such wounds, Tom. The abuse was prolonged... he must have been suffering for years."

At that moment, Severus Snape entered the room, his dark robes billowing behind him. He glanced at the boy on the bed, then turned his gaze toward Voldemort. "I've stabilized his vitals. Physically, he'll recover, though there are lingering traces of dark magic in his system—something foul. But we can manage that over time."

"Dark magic?" Voldemort's voice turned sharp. "What kind?"

"I'm not sure yet," Snape admitted. "But it's foreign, tainted. Perhaps something his parents exposed him to. I'll need to run more tests once he's strong enough."

Voldemort moved toward the bed, gazing down at the boy's fragile form. He had seen many wounded soldiers, victims of war, and prisoners tortured by dark magic, but this was different. This child had been betrayed by those closest to him. The thought made Voldemort's jaw clench in anger. In his mind, the betrayal of one's blood was the worst crime imaginable.

"I want to know everything about him," Voldemort ordered. "His heritage, his bloodline, everything."

"We'll need to perform an inheritance test," Narcissa suggested. "The goblins at Gringotts will be able to help us trace his ancestry and identify any magical ties. It will also reveal if there are curses or bindings placed on him."

"Yes, make the arrangements," Voldemort replied, his voice calm yet commanding. "But I want it done discreetly. No one else can know about him—not yet."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "What are you planning, my Lord?"

Voldemort's red eyes flickered with intensity. "I have no interest in fighting meaningless battles anymore. I seek something far greater—a legacy. And this child... he will be part of it. I'm going to make him my heir."

A stunned silence followed his declaration. Narcissa and Severus exchanged quick glances. Though they had served the Dark Lord for years, this was the first time they had heard him speak so personally, so openly about a future beyond conquest and control.

"The boy... an heir to the Slytherin line?" Narcissa asked, her voice tinged with both surprise and excitement.

"Yes," Voldemort said quietly, his gaze never leaving the child. "There is something about him, Narcissa. I feel it in his magical core. His power... it's raw, but incredibly potent. He doesn't even know it yet, but his potential is boundless."

Narcissa's eyes softened as she looked at the boy. "Then we must make sure he is safe and healed before anything else. No child should ever endure what he has."

Voldemort's expression hardened again. "I will ensure that those who did this to him pay the ultimate price. Lucius has them in the dungeons. They will face justice."

---

Several hours later, deep beneath the castle in the dungeons, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The air smelled of damp stone and fear. Two figures—haggard, weak, and trembling—were chained to the walls. They were the boy's so-called "parents." A Muggle man and woman who had tortured the child for years, using dark magic in ways that even most wizards would find abhorrent.

Voldemort entered the room, flanked by Lucius and Bellatrix, his most trusted allies. The Muggle woman whimpered as Voldemort approached, his serpentine features devoid of emotion.

"You are the ones who tortured the boy?" His voice was soft, deceptively gentle. But it sent a shiver through the prisoners.

The man glared up defiantly, though his eyes betrayed his fear. "He was nothing! A filthy orphan! We did what we wanted!"

Voldemort's hand twitched, and in an instant, the man was silenced with a flick of his wand. His body convulsed in pain, and the sound of bones cracking echoed through the chamber.

Lucius, standing at Voldemort's side, spoke calmly. "These Muggles have committed unspeakable crimes against their own child, my Lord. They deserve no mercy."

Voldemort's eyes flared with hatred as he approached the woman, her pitiful sobbing filling the cold room. "You have failed in the most sacred duty. You were given a child and chose to destroy him. For that, there can be no forgiveness."

The woman tried to speak, to plead, but Voldemort had no patience for it. He raised his wand, his voice low and deadly as he cast the final spell. "Avada Kedavra."

A flash of green light illuminated the room for a brief second, and then silence fell once more.

---

Back in the grand chamber, the boy stirred. He felt warm now, unlike the freezing torment of before. His body still ached, but the intense pain had dulled to a throbbing pulse. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open.

The room was dimly lit by candles, their soft glow casting gentle shadows on the walls. He felt something warm and soft curling around him, and as his vision cleared, he saw Nagini, Voldemort's massive snake, protectively coiled near him.

Instinctively, the boy stiffened, but Nagini hissed softly, soothing him. $Hatchling... you are safe now.$

A figure moved into his view. The same pale, gray-eyed man who had saved him earlier. The one who made him feel safe in a way he couldn't understand.

"You're awake," the man—Lord Voldemort—said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. His red eyes, once feared by so many, now seemed softer, filled with an unusual kindness.

The boy blinked up at him, confusion and fear evident in his gaze.

"You have nothing to fear," Voldemort reassured him. "You are safe here. No one will hurt you again. You are my son now."

The boy's lips trembled, and he tried to speak, but his voice was a broken rasp. Voldemort placed a hand on the boy's forehead, soothing him with a quiet murmur of words.

"Rest, little one. There is much to tell you, but for now, you must heal."

---

This chapter introduces the boy's recovery and Voldemort's decision to take him under his protection while also dealing with the dark past of those who harmed him. Let me know if you'd like any edits or changes!