Synopsis: What if Lord Voldemort had a son? This is the story of Tristan Riddle and his unfortunate end.
Warnings: Child abuse, police brutality, torture/experimentation of young child, character death, death penalty. Lots of OCs.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the canon characters or plotlines of Harry Potter. I am a teenage writer with an overactive imagination.
~
1975
"Tristan Arius Riddle, welcome to your world." The soft voice made the baby coo, reaching out a chubby finger to grab on his father's finger, giving the man a toothless smile.
The baby yawned and the Dark Lord couldn't fight the smile from his face, startling the staring Death Eaters.
"What of the girl, my lord?" one asked, nodding to the young woman on the bed, in a fitful exhausted sleep after sleepless nights of tending to her month old.
"Leave her." He ordered, having mercy for once on the mother of his child. Minerva McGonagall had been unaware of his true identity, only knowing him as Tom, the charming man she had met in the pub and spent a warm night with.
And perhaps leaving her alive was a crueller torture.
"Set up the silencing wards. Ensure the nursery is fully warded." Lord Voldemort ordered. When nobody moved, he hissed, casing a nonverbal Crucio at the nearest Death Eater. When Malfoy Junior, Lucius he believed the man's name to be, dropped screaming, the others sped off to do their Lord's bidding.
Little Tristan giggled as he watched the screaming man, and cuddled up to his father, adoration in his eyes. He didn't protest as he was carried away from his mother's room and apparated to Gaunt Mansion.
~
1979
Tristan giggled as Nagini curled around him happily, tickling his face with her tongue, and he tried to push her away from him with a slender hand.
'Gini, don't be mean!' The four year old hissed in Parsletongue, the language of snakes completely natural and unaccented, not babbled in toddler speak either, completely clear.
Such was the nature of the language.
'But Trissy, you're so tasty!' The snake whined. 'I just want to eat you!'
'No eating my son, Nagini,' The Dark Lord hissed from his throne, sounding amused as he watched the snake and his son, glad for the distraction from his arguing ranks. Something about who killed a certain Muggle, he could not care less.
A fight broke out, and Lord Voldemort stood to put an end to it.
"Avada Kedavra!" One Death Eater screamed, his wand pointed at the other, who dodged deftly.
The spell, however, continued, headed towards Tristan.
Nagini hissed, rearing up, the spell bouncing harmlessly off her scales and hitting the floor, leaving a sizeable crator.
Tristan burst out crying, confused and scared, not knowing quite what was going on other than loud noises and angry Nagini and Daddy.
Nagini curled around him, her scaly head blocking his view of the Death Eater meeting as she hissed and cooed at him, comfortingly.
"Avada kedavra!" He heard his father cast angrily.
Tristan wasn't allowed to go to Death Eater meetings again.
~
1981
"'Ella!" The six year old laughed as he was chased by the crazy black haired woman, giggling as he was caught and swept up, tickled mercilessly by the mad Black.
Bellatrix and Tristan had bonded quite strongly, rather unexpectedly. He loved her, loved cuddling up to her, playing games with her, stealing her wand and trying to jinx, hex, and curse her, he loved pulling on her hair and begging her to cast that funny pain curse on Uncle Lucy whenever he saw him, and Bella loved complying with his every wish and whim, doting on him at every chance she got.
"Le' me go!" He squealed, trying to escape her tickling fingers and scratchy long nails.
"Alright... If you can answer some questions." She challenged.
Tristan managed to nod, trying to hold back his breathless giggles as the woman didn't even try to let up on him.
"What... Would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" She asked, sounding smug, thinking the boy would not have a clue what the answer was.
"The first - Bella let up! - stage of the Draught of Living Death," He managed.
Bella nodded but didn't stop tickling him. "Two more questions, brat." She said affectionately, "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"Stomach of a goat!" He declared, wriggling to get free. "It will pro-protect from most poisons!"
"Very good, now this is a hard one..." She paused for dramatic effect, fingers never ceasing their assault. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"Nothing! They're the same plant!" The boy said triumphantly, laughing even as he was released and fell straight to the floor, landing softly on his bum.
"Bella! That hurt." He complained, frowning up at his mother figure.
"You didn't say the correct name." She pointed out with a snigger.
"It's, ac-ak-" He stumbled over the pronunciation for a few moments, "aconite!" he announced, puffing up like a proud bird.
"So Snivelly's been grilling you hard." Bella summarised, smiling as the boy made a face, clearly not liking the Potions expert. He was working on his Mastery, but the Dark Lord entrusting none other than the best to the teaching of his son.
Then the woman winced, hand going to her arm.
"Is daddy calling?" Tristan asked, eyes lighting up. "Can I come? Can I, can I please Bella?" He begged.
"Sorry squirt, it's gonna be a full meeting, you know how your dad gets when there's a full meeting."
"Yes, Auntie Bella." The boy pouted, tears beginning to form in his eyes.
Bella rolled her eyes. "You'll have Fen to look after you."
Tristan grinned. "I borrow your wand?" He asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
The Death Eater couldn't help but chuckle, taking out her wand and holding it out to the boy, snatching it back before he could take it.
"No unforgivables and no curses. Hexes and jinxes only." She ordered, ruffling his hair and handing him her wand. "Have fun."
~
"Ducklifors!" The child cast at the werewolf's wand, giggling as it turned into a very brightly coloured duck that looked around before biting poor Fenrir Greyback on the hand. Hard.
Tristan giggled as the man flounced around, trying to shake the duck off without hurting it. He rolled around on the floor, laughing uncontrollably when the man howled in pain as the duck let go, only to catch onto some more sensitive parts.
Then there was a bang. Shouts.
Fenrir stopped immediately, and the duck changed back into a wand, which he brandished at the door.
"Cub, hide." He ordered, a slight husk of worry in his voice. "Expecto Patronum," He intoned, sending his werewolf patronus - Tristan couldn't stop his eyes from widening in awe at the werewolf's patronus, not just in childish adoration with anything shiny, but at how Fenrir was his own patronus - to Bellatrix and his pack, watching as the wolf split into several normal wolves, that ran off.
"Cub, hide!" He snapped again, seeing Tristan hadn't moved. When Tristan still didn't move, he snarled, picking the boy up by the arms, growling a password at a portrait until it opened, and shoving him unceremoniously into the small panic room there.
"Don't let anybody in." He ordered the portrait. "It'll be okay, cub, keep quiet, it'll be over soon."
The portrait closed. Several warding and silencing spells were cast over the area and then:
"Death Eater! Show yourself!" The clear voice of Cecil Lee called. The man was an Auror, a prejudiced one at that, though Tristan didn't fully understand what that meant, and was on his way to making his own Anti-Were task force in the ministry.
The fight that ensued was loud and filled with yells of pain and anger. Tristan sniffed and shoved his fist into his mouth when he heard a bellowed "Crucio," And a loud thud, followed by pained howls, the type that could only come from Fen.
He had bit down hard enough to taste blood welling in his mouth and hear the whines of Fen's pack, some very close to his panic space as they smelt the young boys blood. A guard, obviously.
The crack of apparation ended the howls and Tristan internally rejoiced as he heard Bella and Lucy's voices spewing curses, and finally removed his bleeding hand from his mouth when he heard his father's voice casting the green spell, Abracadabra or something like that, the Death spell.
The Aurors had retreated by the time a shaken Bellatrix threw open his portrait, hissing a warning at the wolf in the picture, and pulled Tristan into her arms protectively, cooing over his injured hand and carefully casting some healing spells on it. The Dark Lord watched silently, eyes cold as he turned to the bound Aurors they had captured.
"My son is hurt." He spat at the cowering Aurors. "Crucio!" He hissed in savage pleasure as the leftmost writhed bit remained soticly silent, maintaining eye contact with the Dark Lord.
When the curse ended a good ten minutes later, the man had yet to offer more than a shaken whining breath, and Voldemort looked thoroughly unimpressed.
"Bellatrix," He called, ignoring his son still wrapped in the Death Eaters arms. "Destroy him."
"With pleasure, my Lord," She said as humbly as she could manage, though a hot rage had sparked inside her eyes, the mothering instincts Tristan awakened spurring her need for retribution.
"Can I have my wand back, squirt?" She cooed, gently guiding her wand to be pointed at Frank Longbottom, each having one hand on the wand.
"Say it with me," She encouraged softly.
"Crucio."
~
Frank Longbottom was found with the Dark Mark carved into his skin, his mind shattered from being held under the Cruciatus for so long. His wife had sobbed in anguish and her baby son didn't understand why his daddy was there but not there.
A newspaper article was released in the morning, detailing his attack and revealing the existence of Tristan to the world, exactly what Lord Voldemort had feared.
From then, his schedule changed. He had to win the war quickly, destroy the enemy as soon as possible to ensure the safety of his son.
"Bellatrix, tonight, we strike." He ordered, looking down at the pathetic excuse for a being in front of him. Peter Petrigrew, known as Wormtail, had been a thorn in his side for a while, but he had broken the man. He had the address of the Potters, the Longbottoms, the Lovegoods, and the Prewetts, and he intended to strike them all at once.
Bellatrix grinned, the insane edge to her eyes only increasing, glinting in the moonlight.
She had long since lost herself, after Tristan was put in danger, she could think of nothing but protecting him, killing all that wanted to harm him. She was out for blood, and she wanted to destroy Alice Longbottom like she had her husband, if only to ensure she couldn't come after Tristan as an act of retribution.
"My Prince will remain with Mulciber. You will take the Lestrange brothers and Crouch to the Longbottoms - no survivors." He ordered. "Dolohov: the Prewett twins, take Malfoy and Nott - no survivors."
"Macnair, you will take Sewlyn to the Lovegood home. Torture them, do not kill." Was the final order.
"And where will you be, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked softly.
"I will be eradicating the Potters." He sneered at his troops. "Move out."
And so they did.
Tristan looked up at Mulciber. Mulciber looked down at him.
They settled into their usual routine. Mulciber was one of the first to join the Death Eaters and one of the few to ever be trusted with Tristan.
He set a heavy book in the boy's lap. "Chapter One. Turns asking questions on the content after." He grunted, patting the boy on the head before settling down to read also, though he was reading a far darker tome.
The Druid's Apocothary was highly intresting to Tristan, in fact he'd been begging his father for months to let him read the banned book. It was one of the few copies left. He buried his nose into it, reading with instrest about the concept of magical balance in the world and how it affected the world in terms of herbology, performed magic, rituals and potions.
He didn't understand a lot of it, but he was overjoyed nonetheless to be reading it and did understand some of the simpler concepts of magical balance.
He was reaching the end of the chapter when an alarm sounded above him.
Mulciber jumped to his feet, dropping his book, taking his wand out.
"Behind me, boy," He ordered, and Tristan shuffled into place, whining softly in distress.
"Do you know how to cast a Patronus?" He asked, taking a wand he'd taken off an Auror that same day from his pocket. Tristan had read the theory but he'd never cast it. Bellatrix had told him the volatile spell was best practiced after seven years old, when the magical core had a boost.
Tristan nodded. He had the theory, surely that'd be enough.
He took the wand and focused on the happiest thought he could think of, and cast quietly, heading crashes, bangs, and shouting as what he could only guess was an Auror squad stormed the Gaunt Mansion. A whisp of silver curled out from the wand but refused to form into any shape.
Mulciber just nodded calmly. "You going to help me fight? No spell restrictions." He said, patting the boy on the head again and turning as there was a crash against the door as the Aurors tried to break it down.
"Ready?"
Chaos.
It was utter chaos, five stunning spells, three cutting curses, two disarming curses, and two strange purple spells attacked the room, only two landing.
One of the purple spells hit Mulciber, who grit his teeth as the modified Stinging Hex hit him. A cutting curse sliced open Tristan's arm, causing the boy to scream.
Mulciber was distracted for a moment as he lifted the boy up, ignoring the pain from the Stinging Hex, far too used to the Cruciatus to be too affected, and placed him securely on his hip, putting pressure on the cut before he glared at the Auror Squad.
He flew into action, the half hidden Tristan giving him ideas and occasionally joining in.
Seeing they were quickly losing, twelve against two, Mulciber pointed his wand at the nearest Auror and cast a strong Imperius, ordering the tall black man to fight with them. He managed to do the same to two more Aurors, and though they struggled against his commands, the pure hatred and anger Mulciber felt towards the Aurors forced them to bend to his will.
But a stunning spell knocked down Mulciber finally, the man bloody and bruised, and had him crashing to the floor, pinning Tristan down with him. The young child whined, struggling to get himself loose.
The Aurors bound Mulciber and finally lifted him off the crying child, who dashed to a corner the moment he was free, shivering from the cold and the pain. His arm felt like it was on fire.
A mad looking Auror advanced on him angrily. He recognised him as Moody, the horrible man who wanted to hurt his daddy. The man raised his wand to cast and-
A black haired man rushed over, standing in front of the grizzled old Auror and speaking calmly to him. Moody sneered at the child but turned away and walked back to the squadron rounding up the captured Death Eaters.
The black haired man walked over to him, coming down to his height.
"Are you alright?" He asked gently, his grey eyes so familiar it hurt. He wanted his Bella or his daddy, but all he had was this man who looked like Bella.
Tristan shook his head tearfully, motioning weakly to his heavily bleeding arm. The man gently took hold of it, turning it so he could see the cut.
He gagged, looking sick as he saw bone in the cut, surprised it hadn't severed the poor kid's arm. He cast a soft spell to see who's wand had caused it, wincing when the face of his mentor Alastair Moody appeared in a puff of smoke.
Only Moody's spell could ever hit a kid.
"I can't heal this, but we'll get you to somebody who can." He said. "Where are your parents?"
Tristan's eyes widened and he shook his head quickly.
"Are they dead?" He asked softly, pity in his eyes.
Tristan shook his head again.
"Are they... Death Eaters?" He asked, eyes now wide in shock. Death Eaters were human enough to reproduce? Mulciber had been awfully protective, but they already had the Junior Mulciber in custody.
Tristan shook his head. His Daddy wasn't a Death Eater. He was the Dark Lord.
"Who are they then?" The man asked.
"Daddy is Lord Voldymore," Tristan whispered, struggling a bit on his father's known name.
The man's eyes bugged impossibly before he stood up, holding a hand out to the still sniffling child.
"Al-alright. Why don't we get you to the healers?" He offered. Tristan hesitantly took his hand, not knowing what else to do. He allowed himself to be led out of the building by Auror Sirius Black, amongst shouts at the Auror that had him cowering behind him.
"You'll pay for this, Black!" Mulciber snarled, struggling to get out of his bonds. "The Dark Lord will make you pay for hurting his son!" He declared, then a red light hit him and he was unconscious.
The shouts from his fellow Aurors increased.
"He's a child!" Sirius yelled back, having to shield the kid with his own body when somebody shot off an Incendio. He glared at Dawlish, chest heaving as the spell caused some minor burns over his front.
"We're taking him to the Ministry, he needs medical attention. And now so do I." He grumbled. He looked to Auror Shacklebolt, the leader of the squadron. "I'm going to the MediHall. I'll give my report when I'm done there."
"Take all the time you need." Shacklebolt nodded, looking curiously at the young boy, before Sirius disaparated with Tristan Riddle in tow.
~
"Sirius Black, gotten yourself injured again?" MediWitch Pomfrey asked him with a small smile. The witch was helping at the Ministry for the war, having taken a break from being the Hogwarts MediWitch specially.
"Auror work is dangerous, Poppy," Sirius grinned rogueishly at the elder witch, who rolled her eyes at him, before her eyes went to the man's charge.
"And who is this handsome little man?" She asked with a smile. By the pale shakiness, she could tell the poor dear was going into shock. She could see a deep slash in his arm and some blood blooming on his shirt from an injury in his shoulder, and assumed it was another one of Greyback's 'cubs'.
"I - I didn't get his name." Sirius said quickly, the half-truth the best he could manage. He wasn't sure if Poppy would treat him if she knew the truth. Nothing against her, but the son of the Dark Lord they were in a war against? Not many wouldn't want to heal him.
"It's Tristan." The boy whispered.
"Alright Tristan, can you sit on the bed? I'll look at you first." The MediWitch gave Sirius an odd look, especially as he lifted the boy onto the bed.
It took a few minutes to heal Tristan, and Poppy looked continually more concerned as she proceeded.
"Where did you find this boy, Sirius Black?" Poppy demanded, looking to the Auror with a glare that made him shrink back a bit.
"On a raid..."
"A raid where, exactly?"
"Gaunt Mansion."
"Who did I just treat, Mr Black?" The MediWitch growled.
"Voldemort's kid." Sirius admitted meekly.
Poppy scowled. "You should have said. He needs a magical core stabiliser, then, to lower dark magic damage to his core."
Sirius nodded, relaxing as he noted the witch had no malintent. The kid may be that of the Dark Lord, but that didn't mean he was willing to let a kid get hurt.
Poppy drew the curtains around them all, ensuring their privacy.
Twenty minutes went by.
Thirty minutes went by.
An hour went by.
Poppy finally stopped casting spells and administering potions, stepping back and looking over Tristan Riddle.
The boy had numerous injuries and it seemed mostly have come from the fight just then or stemmed from injuries garnered in general kid behaviour, a broken wrist set wrong after a nasty fall and the tiniest amount of nerve damage after a splinching accident that had only taken a bit of skin off the boy's leg, it seemed being the worst of these types.
The damage from the fight was extensive and would have been worse if Mulciber hadn't been so intent on protecting the boy. There was a second degree burn up his side from a fire whip he'd seen Dawlish send, the skin of his knee was gone where a skin peeling curse had hit him and Mulciber, Mulciber having taken the brunt of it, unsurprisingly, and some extensive nerve damage from being hit by a Cruciatus he hadn't seen cast but retaliated against by Mulciber rather viciously.
Poppy tutted and clucked disapprovingly as the mother hen finished healing her young charge.
"Sirius, injuries." She then snapped. Sirius rolled his eyes and let her heal the few cuts he'd gained from the fight, leaving not a scar behind.
"Where will you be taking Tristan?" She asked.
"Department of Magical Law Enforcement." Sirius shrugged. "They'll take him to Adoptions or Department of Mysteries, no doubt."
"De-department of Mysteries?" She stuttered, indignant. "A child, to the Department of Mysteries?"
"Well they can't arrest him. And they can't just let him free." Sirius said. "Seems the only place they'd take him."
"But that's... He's a child! He should be going out Trick or Treating, not going to the Department of Mysteries!" She said, fussing over the quiet Tristan, who sat staring off into space, not really sure how to react to these events.
"I know Poppy, but that's how it is. I should be dressing up Harry as a pumpkin for his first real Halloween, but I'm here doing raids on the Dark Lord and hoping they can stop the attack on the Longbottoms without me." Sirius sighed.
And so, he took Tristan's hand, and led him back to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
~
"Department of Mysteries." Head Auror Scrigmore told him, stamping a form and handing it to Sirius. "And be quick about it. Reinforcements needed at Longbottom house."
Tristan tried to tug out of Sirius' grip, panicking. He couldn't go to the Department of Mysteries, he couldn't. They'd hurt him. He didn't want to go...
A blast of magic sent Sirius and Scrigmore flying away from him and knocked him to the floor. He took the chance, scrambling to his feet and rushing to escape.
A stunner hit him in the back, and he was out like a light.
~
"Tristan, what did you say his surname was?" One of Them asked.
"Riddle. Tristan Arius Riddle." The other responded.
"Experiment Number?" The first asked.
"20118."
"Experiment?"
"Damage of dark magic on young core." They grinned excitedly.
"Is the subject prepared?"
"Of course. Shall we begin?"
"We shall."
"Crucio!"
And all Tristan knew was pain.
~
It was the time. The final hour, the end of horrible day he'd been through. He didn't know how long he'd been down there, how many ways he'd been cut up, experimented on, tortured, for information on the Dark Lord and his followers, for information on the effects of different types of magic, for spellcrafting purposes and testing new potions.
But today was the last day.
His last day in this time.
They couldn't charge him with a crime yet, and nor could they put him up for adoption, it was too soon and too raw, the war. He had reached the end of his usefulness and he was the perfect test subject for their new test.
Cyrogenic freezing, a concept the Muggles had been working on, one Tristan has read about in comic books Uncle Rabastan would bring him back from his Muggle Hunting exploits. He was to be frozen and revived in twenty seven years, the time based on the moon cycle as they were using Moon Ice.
The six year old was prepared, put in an overlarge set of Azkaban style robes, and then unceremoniously put in a glass sarcophagus which was half filled with Moon Pearls, which would change into Moon Ice when enchanted so at midnight.
Two minutes.
One minute.
Thirty seconds.
The Unspeakables began to chant, and Tristan winced, feeling the pearls melt and harden into ice trapping him in the freezing temperature.
He was there for a full minute before gas seeped in.
And all Tristan would know for twenty seven years was pain and darkness.
~
2008
"What even is this thing?" Hermione asked Unspeakable Croaker. She had been asked to oversee the opening of the sarcophagus that no Unspeakable still alive or still working knew the contents of. It was filled with Moon Ice and the last instruction left on it was that it was to be opened on the tenth full moon of 2008. That was now.
"An attempt at Cyrogenic Freezing, that's what the notes said. No clue what it means, but," The Unspeakable shrugged. After the war, the spells placed on Unspeakables had changed. They could only speak of their work to high ranking Ministry officials and those with high enough clearance. Granger-Weasley was one of those with high clearance.
"There's a person in there?" Hermione eyes were wide.
Croaker nodded. "No record of who, though. Urban legend about it being a kid though."
"A kid?" Her eyes bugged and she shook her head, the thirty year old having mellowed significantly after getting pregnant with her first, pregnancy hormones and all. "Let's crack her open."
So they did.
It took some intricate spell work and chanting but as the moonlight fell on the sarcophagus, the stone cracked and fell apart, Moon Pearls spilling onto the floor with their young charge safely on top of them.
Tristan cracked his eyes open, staring up at the moon, shivering the moment his fragile body hit the air. Twenty seven years of pain and nothingness had practically shattered the mind of the six year old, who curled on himself and sobbed as he reveled in the fact that he was alive.
He was alive.
~
Several warming charms, a mug of hot chocolate, a blanket, and an eternity of arguments later, Tristan was sat in the living room of the new Granger-Weasley House, still shivering. The cold seemed to have seeped into his very bones and he just couldn't get warm.
"So what's your name sweetie?" Mrs Granger-Weasley asked with a sickening sweet smile.
Both Croaker and Potter, who had joined them as Head Auror, looked at the pregnant woman weirdly, not used to this side of Hermione.
"Tristan, ma'am." He said quietly, stuttering quite badly.
"Tristan who, though, sweetie?"
"Riddle. Tristan Riddle." He said quietly.
Head Auror Potter breathed in sharply at hearing the name.
"Do you know your father's name?" He asked, leaning forwards unintentionally.
Tristan burrowed deeper into the blanket unconsciously.
"Daddy is Lord Voldymore." He whispered. "Is he dead? They said he was dead."
Croaker and Granger-Weasley both flinched at the name, even butchered by the tongue of one so young.
Head Auror Potter couldn't help but feel sympathetic. Even if the man had been the crazed Dark Lord intent on killing him, he wouldn't wish this on anybody. He knew what it was like to grow up without parents. His mind went to James, his eldest, and he winced at the thought of him growing up alone. Or Teddy, Teddy growing up in a home like his childhood one.
"And your mummy?" Potter asked.
"I don't know." He mumbled. If his Daddy was dead - they hadn't confirmed or denied it, but by the look on Mr Head Auror Potter's face, he was dead - then Bella was almost definitely gone. And Fen. And Lucy too. Mulciber had been taken with him. He couldn't think of any other Death Eater that might have survived. Snape was a traitor, Daddy had said, he would be dead by now.
He needed to think of somebody who would help him, somebody who wasn't a Death Eater or werewolf who would be able to help him.
The nice Auror who had taken him to the MediWitch popped into his mind.
"I want Sirius Black." He mumbled, looking up at Auror Potter, his blood red eyes piercing into the man's emerald green ones. "Please."
Auror Potter sat in shock.
"Black... The Death Eater?" Croaker demanded with a frown.
Potter scowled at him, opening his mouth to argue when he heard the child giggled.
"Sirius Black wasn't a Death Eater." He stated. "He was a... A... Blood traitor. That's what Bella called him." He said, before he sunk back into himself at the thought of Bella, missing her intensely.
Potter and Granger-Weasley shared a look.
"Why do you want Sirius?" Potter asked.
"He was the nice Auror. He took me to the MediWitch." Tristan mumbled
"Black is dead." Croaker stated. Potter glared at him before just sighing and looking back to Tristan in a way that was ever so confusing to the child. Looking back, he'd recognise it as empathetic pity.
"Do you know the name of the MediWitch?" Potter asked.
"Poppy. Poppy Pomfrey," He recalled after a moment.
~
2009
"An orphanage? Really?" Potter asked, hand on Tristan's shoulder protectively, looking at the building with some hesitance.
"It's the only option, Potter. Would you rather I let my father take care of him?" Draco Malfoy snapped.
"Uncle Lucy..." Tristan whimpered quietly.
Potter paled and nodded quickly. "Of course. Your father, I mean politely, I wouldn't trust him with a kneazle, let alone a wizard child."
"Potter, it's a wizard orphanage. Mcgonagall refuses to take him, so it's this or nothing." Draco reiterated, looking sympathetically down at Tristan. He would take him if he could but his father had disowned him for switching sides so he had very little money while supporting Aristoria and his little Scorpius. What with Aristoria's illness and all...
"I still don't understand why she would..." Potter said, a sour taste in his mouth. He adored Minerva, she was like a mother to him. Perhaps she felt she was too old to be a mother to such a young child.
He couldn't take him. Not with Ginny and Ron. Ginny, of course, would warm up to him, but Ron still had a problem with even Malfoy, he was sure the man would be cruel to the poor kid, if unintentionally, and he couldn't inflict that on the boy.
"She doesn't need a reminder of her pain, Potter, that's what he'd be for her, and he'd know it. He's a smart kid, he'd figure it out." Malfoy explained as gently as he could manage. "She had to have known that. This is what's best."
Potter nodded and led Tristan in, despite the horrible feeling of wrongness in the pit of his stomach.
~
2011
Tristan sat out in the rain, his pants getting quickly soaked, and curled against the tree he was chained to. The magic dampening collar had his magic burning inside him, unable to lash out and defend him, unable to keep him warm, unable to do anything.
It wasn't too bad, the cold, after the cryogenic freezing, he would never feel the cold the same again. This was bad, but he'd seen worse. He would never truly be warm again.
'So disgusting, humans, chaining themselves to trees. Pathetic creatures..'
'I didn't do this to myself!' Tristan argued, looking around for the speaker.
'Speaker!' A strange red-eyed snake with pretty striped down its back reared in shock, looking up at Tristan.
Tristan wondered briefly if the snake was telepathic.
'You are a Speaker!' The snake hissed, sounding shocked.
So no telepathic snake, slightly disappointing, but still a cool snake.
'You're an adder,' Tristan replied calmly. 'A very pretty adder too. I'm sorry I'm in your space, I was forced here.'
'You were chained... Against your will?' The adder asked, a strangely hopeful note in its hiss.
'Yes.'
'Then I shall be your protector. And you shall protect me.' The snake decided. 'You will keep me warm.'
And the snake curled around his too thin stomach.
'I'm not very warm.' Tristan said apologetically.
'Then I will keep you warm.'
And so it was that boy and snake were friends.
~
2012
"Miss Honey, Miss Honey, the snake had his creature bite me!" The girl screeched.
Nine, nearly ten, year old Tristan Riddle sat, in utter shock as he watched the girl grip the sharp rock and puncture her hand twice, maintaining eye contact with Tristan, a cruel glint in her eyes.
Miss Honey came outside, the horrendously fake witch screaming in horror at the blood streaming down the hand of the half-blood.
"You - you monster! I should have never let Auror Potter place you here!" She shrieked. "I shall deal with your - your creature!"
She whipped out her wand.
'Dash! Go! She's going to kill you!' Tristan hissed, scurrying to his feet and trying to unravel the snake as quickly as he could.
"Petrificus Totalus!" The witch bellowed. The snake went still. "Accio!"
Dash flew to the woman, who hit him to the floor in disgust. Dash looked up at his master, begging for his help, and Tristan tried to run forwards to help him, only to find himself caught by two beefy boys, who held him back harshly.
Miss Honey lifted her foot and stamped hard on the head of the snake with her high heel.
Tristan screamed.