Hello, what follows is important, please read these facts:
This story is a work of fanfiction, the original and concept behind it does not belong to me and I refuse to claim any of the original characters- Joanne K. Rowling can gladly keep them and earn more money. It´s fanfiction and I do not earn money through it nor do I want to!
This is a DARK! Harry fic and the rating might change, as well as the title. While it IS about family (The DARK, abused and powerful kind of family) do not mistake it for a story filled with roses and love and cuddling! Voldemort does not have a sudden realisation that being nice could lead to the same results or discards his plans of world domination.
Most characters are OOC!
I do apologise if I missed correcting "Golem" into "Copy Cat" at one point in the story. I was only recently made aware of the Jewish Golem and never intended to misuse this Defender.
My dear followers and everyone who already read this fanfiction of mine:
I merely corrected my mistakes and added a few scenes here and there. If you wish to do so you might, of course, proceed with rereading Music of the Night anyway and maybe leave comments on the changes, otherwise just leave it be *smiles*
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Calmly he stepped towards the crib in the middle of the room, eyes firmly set on the small boy standing in it. He had expected to have to deal with the child´s screaming and wailing but it´s only reaction since he had appeared in the door was a nearly deliberate slow upwards motion until the child stood upright, the little hands holding onto the wooden bars of the crib.
Still needing to grab hold of the bars to steady himself, he had watched his every move with those beautiful emerald eyes, no sound leaving the sweet, full red lips not even when he watched his mother fall to the floor, stiff wide eyed and dead. Slowly he let go of his wonderment and stepped over the dead body until he stood in front of the cute little boy, unable to look away, unable to raise his wand. His mind was racing a mile a minute.
He had come to kill this boy destined to defeat him only to stop and stare while wondering how those rather plain people had managed to give birth to such a beautiful creature. The fact that the little Angel was smiling at him was beyond his ability to comprehend if one counted his other startling thoughts and the angelic quality of said smile. "Little Angel!" The smile grew at that before the toddler giggled, as if he understood what Tom was thinking, why he had called him Angel with such a soft voice. A giggle that meant said little Angel did not share his opinion.
The response, even if he knew that it wasn´t, couldn´t have been consciously, caused him to kneel down, wand back in its holster, going on the same level to meet the child´s eyes without forcing the child to strain it´s head longer than necessary. One of the little hands slowly let go of the bar it was holding and was soon placed upon his left cheek, like the child was giving him time to draw back. Then the lips parted and a nearly melodic, definitely angelic voice said "Snakey!"
Marvolo, couldn´t help the smile forming on his face with his lips that looked like he had none. He was surprised over the lack of resentment, lack of anger and shocked at the realisation that he could not kill this child. Chuckling inwardly at the absurdity of the situation, including the beauty of the boy, his lack of any kind of toddler-ish reaction and the most absurd fact that the person to touch him in over 25 years was delivered by his destined enemy. Bright, too intelligent, emerald eyes never left his and the small hand formed a ball on his cheek, little head titling "Real?"
Tom Marvolo Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort, most feared Dark Lord in this century, was unable to fight the chuckle that left his mouth after this one simple word. A chuckle that morphed into the first real, heartfelt laugh of his life because of a tiny, angelic, barely two-year-old boy. To his eternal amazement the child´s small smile turned into something much more serenely. A smile of an Angel, telling him, that he was aware of the fact that he had never had reason to laugh like that. Feeling the split in his soul seal itself as the time limit of the sacrifice ran out he couldn´t honestly bring himself to care that there would be no new Horcrux tonight, he had acquired something else much more important.
"I wonder, little intelligent Angel, if you would want to be mine?" The little child bowed it´s head and stroked his cheek before it looked up again raising his hand away to point at its forehead and the floor in a circular motion around the crib before it met his eyes with a frown, as if unsure how to formulate something. Finally only one word left those beautiful lips, frown still in place "Magic" as the little hand and fingers performed the gesture again.
Tom felt his heart skip a beat and feared, for a moment, that it would stop to beat forever when he followed the child´s motion out of a sense of amusement and trying to show the child that he did take him seriously, only to find the slightly glowing runes drawn in blood on the floor around the crib. Those runes had been drawn with great care and determination over the course of several months, activated trough the live energy and magic of the body lying mere steps away.
Hearing a soft sound and feeling the little hand on his cheek again he turned to look at the toddler to find it´s forehead glowing slightly. It was a rune looking remarkably like a lightning bolt and it was the rune of protection used by Merlin, a language and power long lost with barely any documentations or books that had survived until now. "Magic, indeed!" His own voice was soft and filled with disbelieve and surprise.
The child he had come to kill and asked to keep had just warned him that the circle would hurt both of them and wouldn´t allow him to leave without side effects. He had known, of course (mostly through Severus hate filled ramblings) how full of pride the Potters had been about their highly intelligent, powerful and beautiful child but this amount of intelligence was nearly ridiculous- which meant that he had readily agreed with Severus assortment.
But now he was kneeling in front of the reality, proof that the family had understated just how intelligent and beautiful their child was. Deciding that there was only one way to find out just how intelligent the boy was he began to cast his mind at his options.
He wanted this child, even if it was simple coincidence that the child knew about the circle and communicated its existence to him instead of warning him because he had offered to keep the boy. The main problem was that he couldn´t leave the child in an activated runic circle, especially if it was designed to keep him alive in it or dead outside of it and he couldn´t use Dark magic either or any kind of active magic. Nodding to himself he removed the glamour that caused him to look like a snake and shuddered as the Light Magic of the circle tore into him. Forcing himself to feed on this magical discharge he looked up as he heard the child cry out in apparent pain.
The glamour had been created through a branch of necromancy, which was why it did not draw on his magical reserves but it was Dark Magic, even if it was a passive release instead of an active cast, Dark Magic was what activated the circle. And because it was no active magic the backlash wouldn´t hurt him as the circle couldn´t be designed to take all kinds of magic into equation. Taking all of this into account his actions had been the only option, which was why he hadn´t expected the small rune on the boy´s forehead turning into a bleeding cut.
Now that the protection had set in, he couldn´t really take the child, at least not now until he had time to figure out how it all worked. "I am sorry, my little Angel. It never occurred to me that there would still be a backlash!" Taking into consideration all the things that had happened the last half an hour, he was unsurprised that Harrison was standing still without any indication that he had been in pain several moments ago.
Glaring at the lifeless body behind him he turned as the child softly said "Hurt" and stared into emerald eyes. "Stating the obvious, are we?" The child frowned and touched his cheek again. "I cannot take you, right now, little angel. The protection will prevent it. But I will take you. That, I can promise!" Instead of disappointment the child smiled adorably, nodded and touched his cheek again. Now that the glamour was gone it was a simple human cheek but it would take a new ritual to re-establish the glamour again. "Will you be a good little Angel until I come to pick you up?"
He smiled as those beautiful emerald orbs turned what appeared to be a murderous shade of dark green, he might just have hallucinations or was indulging in wishful thinking, though, which did not stop his slightly bashful smile. The underlying: "I´ve always been good, why should I change that?" could be a trick of his mind as well but he chuckled nonetheless. Removing the tiny hand from his cheek he slowly rose, kissing the no longer bleeding forehead, watched as the child´s lips formed a pout before he turned with flourish, glared at the dead woman and left.
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Harry James Potter, known as "boy" or "freak" stood in the bathroom of Number Four Privet Drive, finally finished with cleaning said bathroom. Which meant that one would be able to eat from the floor and he spent several seconds imagining Dudley eating from it, on wand point even though it wasn´t cleaned by him, before he moved and smirked at his own reflection, the images causing his smirk to have a malicious edge.
The reason for his rather unusual mirror use was the scar on his forehead, a scar that had been fading for years and would soon be gone. It was good that the thing was fading as he doubted his ability to endure those beasts much longer. Remembering how badly Vernon had beaten him the last time he was caught wasting time he left the bath, ignoring the calendar that proclaimed the thirty-first of July which meant that he had turned seven at midnight, not that he was supposed to know about that or his real, full name. He would probably think that his name was Freak if his memory and mind weren´t this good at such a young age. Shaking his head slightly he entered his relatives bedroom to clean it before he would have to clean Dudley's room.
Thomas (he despised this plebeian name given to him by a love sick fool) Marvolo Riddle stood in the backyard, if one could describe five meters width behind and around the house as yard, of Number four Privet Drive, waiting patiently for the remaining wards, which had been fused with the walls, to fall. Due to the idiocy that might fool most about the sheer brilliance of the man who cast them he had been able to watch those muggles and how they treated his little Angel with no one noticing his presence.
Well, he was hidden from the sight of all Muggles and the Squib but when the young boy´s emerald eyes opened, kneeling on the kitchen floor still sporting several bruises and fresh wounds from the most recent beating, and zeroed in on him through the window he knew that at least his Angel was aware of his presence. The eyes of the now eight-and-a-half-year-old widened only slightly before a small, serene smile flittered across his face. Mindful of his jailors the boy averted his eyes, smile and any other expression wiped from his face, as he slowly rose mindful of his new wounds.
Pain was no reason or excuse to stop with his work, he was earning his keep after all and it was his fault for being a freak. Freaks deserved beatings just because they existed. He had been taught to follow four rules in this house; rule number four was the easiest, if one knew how to suppress the urges all children had. The rule meant that he was not allowed to speak unless spoken to, any kind of sound was forbidden, even if he was whispering to himself or moaning in pain and hunger. Rule number two was that he had to be grateful for what little food, clothes, water and blankets he got.
The translation of those rules was his own, of course. Rule number two meant that if he frowned, showed any indication of dislike for the bleached clothes, burnt bacon, hard bread he would be beaten and would have to live without either of those things for an unknown and sort of sporadic amount of time- as they were such "good" people and were "keeping" him and if he couldn´t appreciate their generosity he would not get it.
One of the hardest rules to follow was rule number three "Do not be seen or heard". In some cases sighing was a sound too loud, which meant that he was heard and thus had broken the rule. It also meant that he had to learn to move silently in a house seemingly made up of creaking wooden floor. Moving silently was hard to learn especially if one wore too big clothes and it became harder once he got old sandals as shoes usually were making sounds if they met wood. Harder still was the part of "do not be seen" as he had to care for the garden since he was four and it was rather hard to hide while mowing the lawn. The neighbour's weren´t allowed to be made aware of the second child in the house.
The rule was still in place even though Dudley hadn´t bothered to follow the rule and hunted Harry through all of Little whining, which made it impossible to hide his presence in Number Four. Which was why he had learned, that those rules only applied to him, and if anyone else broke them it would be his fault. Everything was his fault and it was "okay" because he wasn´t human but a freak that dared to exist. Until the Day of his Discovery that had led to him seeing not much for a whole week with pangs of pain and hunger all through it and several beatings in this one week, everyone with another surname than Dursley had no idea of his existence.
Glancing outside at "Snakey" he began to cook, ignoring the pain while he directed his magic to heal the wounds and bruises before he placed glamour's over his visible skin to prevent the detection of his ability's. If the Dursleys knew that he could control and access his magic and used it to heal most of the damage Bedlam would erupt over days and he might not have time between the beatings to heal, which would lead to him finally dying. He hated his jailors, this monsters that dared to be blood related to him.
He hated and despised them with all the contempt a nearly nine-year-old could muster, which was in his humble opinion an impressive amount of loathing and probably nothing normal "Light" children were capable of. Feeling a warm tingling once he was nearly finished with the meal, he wouldn´t get a scrap of he bowed his head to look into the surface of the toaster to serve him as mirror and smirked briefly. The scar was gone. Looking up he smiled at the man standing beside him. "My little Angel!" His smile turned wider and he allowed the other to hug him even though neither of them was used to such affectionate touches.
"Hello Snakey!" was his soft nearly whispered answer knowing that the greeting would erase any doubts about his having recognised the older man. His saviour, however, simply smiled partly amused and leaned casually against the kitchenette "Here I was going to offer you to call me father instead, but if you aren´t interested.." Moving fast he buried his face on the man's shoulder as his arms circled around Tom´s neck. There was no use for words- the gesture said it all.
"Freak, I have not wasted my time teaching you cook four years ago..", trailing off at seeing her nephew cling to a handsome, athletic man of probably thirty years, Petunia noted the elegant and expensive clothing, perfectly trimmed ebony hair. It all screamed "important, rich" and he was holding her nephew with a gentleness and causality as if this was nothing new. Then she met the cold, calculating dark brown eyes looking her over, a slight sneer forming on the handsome face as the man´s grip tightened briefly before he let go of her nephew.
Unable to look away or react she watched in amazement as the stupid Freak calmly got off the stool he used to cook and moved to stand at the man´s right, their visitors hand gently landing on the boy´s shoulder as if he was restraining him or calming him down. As if he needed to those things with this useless freak. "Who.. who are you?" A cruel smirk formed on the handsome face causing her to freeze in the same moment her husband and son entered the room awaiting their lunch.
The next thing she knew all doors closed shut, the curtains closed as well and they were all literally frozen on the spot. "Interested in a little lesson in magic, my little Angel?" The voice cut through the room like a knife, it was that icy cold. "I´d love to, father!" The answer of her nephew nearly caused her eyes to pop out especially as the man turned to look at the Boy with a gentle expression, stroking through the boy´s hair before he faced them again all gentleness gone.
"You have been given a task. The task of caring for, and raising, a beautiful little Angel. To cherish, protect and love. But what I have seen so far was neither of those things. You couldn´t even be bothered to give this little Angel the basic care of decent clothing, a room and enough food. You have destroyed every potential of goodness in my Angel by simply not realising what you have been given!" Drawing his wand as he spoke he cast several silencing wards and other things that would ensure that no one would disturb them.
"My angel?", knowing that he needed to ask now, lest he got too side-tracked he glanced at the young, beautiful child beside him he smiled as emerald eyes looked up to him and a soft spoken "Father?" returned. Careful to keep the muggles in his view he allowed himself to feel the shudder of warmth this simple word sent through his body. He had waited, using up most of his patience for this day and those stupid muggles ruined it by their treatment of a child he saw as his since the night he couldn´t kill it. "Is there anything of value you wish to take with you?" "Probably..!". Partly amused at the calculating tone his son used he looked at said child to find Emerald eyes filled with icy calculation.
"Go retrieve it, then!", giving one sharp nod, the boy moved around his frozen tormentors, trusting him to keep them at bay. "Maybe I´ll allow you to live. Your treatment will ensure that he won´t ever hesitate to torture and kill, manipulate and lie, after all. Congratulations in destroying every hope of this little Angel joining the Good guys. If you had seen him for what he was you might have managed to turn him to the Light!", thinking over his own words and the expressions on the muggles faces he began to laugh a cold, cruel laugh, knowing that without his Angels high intelligence and his promise to come and get him the child would have never bothered to use his magic to heal his body and Dumbledore would have had to pick up his heroes dead body several years ago.
Casting the first few curses while he was still chuckling his eyes narrowed. Despite his words and the fact that most of them were the utter truth he would let those animals suffer. Giving into his bloodlust he cast curse after curse until he felt the red haze slowly lifting, the muggles bleeding and twitching but alive. Coming back fully after another Cruciatus he found his son standing in the door one hand holding a probably very carefully packed satchel the other holding onto the doorframe as if the boy was either trying to not run away, run to him to stop him or prevent himself from joining.
The sinister smile on the angelic face and the malicious glee in those orbs as his son took in everything about his jailors solved that particular puzzle and he laughed again, this time with a hint of real amusement and pride. Those muggles could have made his Son follow the official reputation of Angels but instead they had turned his dark potential into his reality and caused him to become a demon. Maybe he should thank them in his own special way? "If you wish to do that, you should do it soon, father!" Meeting his sons emerald eyes he felt warmth spread through his body at the emotionless mask and coldness in his son´s eyes and face.
Whatever those muggles had taught him- his son had learned those lessons, the way he understood them, very well. "Do you wish to thank them, my little angel?" They both knew that it was a test, a test for both of them. His son looked at him and smiled, stretching out his hand. Moments later a small flame appeared in his palm growing in size and changing form and colour until it was a fist sized ball of pitch black fire. Fiendfyre. His son looked at him as he moved his hand and threw the orb at Vernon Dursley, only as the obese man began to scream in pain did those emerald orbs leave him. "Thank you, uncle, for teaching me to steal, to live without meals for weeks, to function under pain, to walk soundlessly, to hide my feelings and use my brain in order to answer my questions and to use my magic!"
Each learned quality was accompanied by another ball of flame for each member of the family with others that seemed to be specified for the woman and whale like kid like learning how to cook and subterfuge and learning how to run very fast and how to hide for hours. Highly intelligent, filled with malice and creativity, control over his own impressive power at such a young age and a true Slytherin- his son through and through.
"Enough, my Angel!" His son stopped as soon as he had spoken the command. Harrison was looking at him without questioning his motives and it caused him to smile softly. They could still use those muggles, after all and his son trusting him to have a reason, respecting him enough to not question the order without knowing the old ways and trusting him that leaving the muggles alive did not mean that he would break his promise and leave without him was just what the test should result in. "I need some of your blood and a few of your hairs, my little Angel!" Saying this he watched as his son calmly moved through the room, put the satchel on the table and removed a knife and a bowl from their respective places.
The child did so with such an ease that he nearly changed his mind again, especially as his son placed his hand over the bowl and cut into it, allowing the blood to fall into it without flinching even once. Only once the bowl was half filled did he use his magic to heal the cut causing Tom to fight his bloodlust as he realized just why his son had such a wonderful control of his magic. Growling as he saw his son flinch, a nearly invisible reaction but he had been watching too intently to miss it, when he removed several hairs he felt his wand arm twitch.
It was his sons slightly shy smile that caused him to ignore his urges and move towards his little Angel, engulfed his child into a hug as he called forth his magic to heal the head wound he was sure to be there hidden beneath the awful mop of raven coloured hair. They should hurry, he was aware of that fact but they both needed this confirmation. Letting go of his son he smiled at the child´s undivided attention placed upon him.
"We are going to construct a copycat. They are Dark magical constructs and a perfect replica if done correctly that can speak and respond in a limited manner- which should be fitting enough. It will be incapable of feeling but can "learn" certain things as well as "remember". There even will be a personality development if done correctly, however nothing that could compare to a soul!" "Is there a way to discern if I am dealing with a copycat?"
Continuing to stir the "potion" containing the blood and hairs of the boy, a bit of water and two drops of his own blood he answered. "Only, if you suspect foul play in the first place. Should you have the feeling that your slave or lackey has been replaced with a copycat, casting a certain detection spell will verify your claim. Said spell is banned and without it nothing will reveal the difference. It would just be a very shallow person and most people don´t bother with digging deeper. But once you´ve made a Copycat your magic will feel the difference!"
"Is there a way to remove them?" "Copycat usually dissolve after a certain amount of time. It depends on the abilities given to it as well as the amount of "live" it should have. If a Copycat is killed it will stay frozen in its form until joined with earth!" Seeing his sons nod he conjured a heap of earth and leaves. "Is there a difference between using magically made supplies versus their natural equivalent?" His son looked at him and bowed his head slightly as he stopped his work. "Forgive me, father!"
Feeling hot rage wash over and through him he closed his eyes, let go of the spoon he had used to stir the potion with and breathed slowly in and out before he smiled at his son. "Look at me, my angel!" His smile softened into something real instead of forced as his son obeyed. "Do not apologise for asking valid questions. I will answer those questions at all times to my full knowledge!" Emerald eyes lit up and his son smiled a small, loveable angelic smile before turning serious as he prepared to answer the question.
"To make things or supplies with magic is called conjuration. The principle behind it is simple as one only needs to focus on what one wants to make and its detailed texture before forcing the air to become what you pictured. While conjured food can act as substitute it lacks flavour and nutrients. This is the case for everything we conjure as those things are made of sheer force of will and magic. It will suit the purpose!" His son did the adorable frown again and titled his head causing him to smile, amused. This time it wasn´t a side product but purpose that he looked at him like that. "Using real earth instead of conjured earth would be better?"
Smiling he cuffed the boys left ear and leaned forward. "It suits our purpose, my little Angel!" The cute, thoughtful look vanished, the emerald eyes turning calculating as his son accepted the punishment and thought over the implications. "Because it is a magical construct the use of conjured earth would only further the needs of the Copycat - conjured things do not dissolve easily and it would feed the required magic?" "Very good, now pay attention!", turning he removed the conjured fireplace from underneath the bowl and slowly turned it to allow the thick fluid to drop on the heap on earth and leaves, chanting all the time. His son watched silently as the pile slowly began to grow and change its shape until a nearly perfect replica of his son stood before them, but he still wasn´t done chanting.
Ignoring his son he kept following the script, until said wayward son stepped forward, took the knife he had cut himself with and cut a lightning bolt into the Copycats forehead with the ease of someone handling this special tool often while aware of the fact that the knife could be used to hurt and kill. His highly intelligent nearly nine year old son stepped away the moment he was finished and out of his line of vision, returning to observing until he was done chanting. Looking at his angel he hid his smile at the fact that the kid would probably never cease to amaze him.
"Come here, my Angel!" A small hand slipped into his and he looked at the boy. "Take the remaining blood and spray it over the creature. Save a few drops for the activation as you need to ingrain what he needs to know before that!" Continuing the explanation in detail he simply watched as his son fetched the bowl and began to follow his instructions listening, once again, to the rules taught by the muggles- this time in a very intense way instead of a list of things his son was "thankful" for. It were the rules, how the Dursleys meant them and what his son had done, at least the easier things, to translate them into his behaviour. Keeping a tight leash on his anger when Dudley's little game and the various punishments for breathing were listed he felt another shiver of warmth run through him as his son activated the Copycat without turning to him to ask for a new explanation or help. Half an hour later the muggles memories were erased and the Copycat had started cooking, which meant that he had taken his son and led him outside the house. They were gone mere moments later.
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Daemon Alexis Riddle-Slytherin smiled at his father, who was currently pacing his study glaring his patented death glare at his innocent carpet as he tried to justify his son going to Hogwarts as opposed to Durmstrang to himself. His father had adopted him using an ancient, outlawed blood ritual that wonderful day over six years ago. They had doubled their time together by using another very illegal and Dark ritual, which had required human sacrifices to gain the perks they wanted without the noisy side effects of timer-turners.
The adoption had changed his looks, of course, and they both had been very happy to see the mop of hair turn into silky obsidian coloured, straight hair. That his eyes had darkened to jade green was just one of many changes and the only one they both had had mixed feelings about. Now, however, "Harry James Potter" was due to receive his Hogwarts acceptance letter and once this letter was sent their game was up. The Copycat, it had turned out, had not survived the treatment of the Dursleys- a rather large oversight on their part as Copycats died just like humans if starved. They had to replace the thing four times in officially three years.
His father was pacing in his study because Albus Dumbledore might retain his job as headmaster of Hogwarts, despite their best efforts and it was the sending of his son into the school headed by Dumbledore as opposed to attend a school without the meddling old fool which caused the usually fast forward, stoic, cold man to run circles.
The fact that he was listing his reasons mentally wasn´t the amusing part, the murmurs that escaped his father's mental tirade were what kept him standing still with a poorly concealed smirk on his face. Personally, he preferred Durmstrang to Hogwarts regardless of who was Headmaster, but the benefits of attending school in the castle outweighed the negative aspects- especially as all of them revolved around the aging headmaster. His father was, after all a Dark Lord chosen by magic to reform their world and going to school with the next generation was too good to pass up, he was his father's son after all.
"What do you think my angel?" Smiling at hearing his given pet-name he looked into Tom Riddles frustrated brown eyes with a tinge of crimson red mixed into it, attesting to his father being mere moments away of losing his temper. "Durmstrang, while a good school and opportunity to see what Karakoff´s been doing while recruiting for our cause, does not suit our plans, father. I need to attend Hogwarts if you continue to insist on starting the change her in Avalon, Merlin´s Land before spreading into the world. If we were to discard your plan of taking Britain fist and started from Romania instead…", he trailed off stepping forward to kiss his father´s cheek before he turned around to leave the room.
"You would have free reign if Dumbledore wasted most of his attention and efforts on his little Hero. When he tires, by watching me and trying to manipulate me instead of watching for any indication of your "return", your playground would broaden!" With that he left, aware of the fact that his runes tutor would arrive shortly and unwilling to allow the man to roam around their castle unchecked.
Tom watched as his son left his study with nearly perfect predatory grace, soundless and self-assured. The Muggles had taught Daemon to be fast, stealthy, silent, basically to make no sound. Due to this his son had retained most of this learned behaviour. He hardly spoke, even during his lectures which had led to most of his son´s tutors thinking the boy unable to follow the subject matter they were teaching him as he never asked for clarification.
The truth of the matter was, however, that his beloved son never saw it as worth the effort. If he had any trouble understanding something he came and asked him for clarification, if he wished to talk he came to him to do just that not trusting anyone and simply not wishing to have any kind of conversation with his tutors. It had served to amuse him and was still a constant surge of amusement for him to watch the tutors squirm when his darling angel proved their accusations to be wrong running home with their pride shattered and doubts filling their minds.
They both were mistrusting out of habit, both used to take care of themselves and both used to keep their opinions to themselves in order to hide their real persona and further their plans. They were very alike, but where he had the ability of drawing people to his side through rhetorical abilities (if the looks had been important no one would follow his glamoured self, fear of him be dammed) while his son was a natural leader and had charisma in spades.
Getting to know each other, learning from each other and raising his son had been enlightening. He adored his son, loved him to pieces and combined with their steadily growing relationship his mental and magical strength had grown even further.
If someone had been bright enough to remember the side effects of creating a Horcrux he wouldn´t have bothered to repeat the process more than twice. Even now the thought of his decreasing mental health and sanity, that would have gotten worse with the killing of his son and subsequent removing of another part of his soul, caused him to sneer at his own youthful stupidity.
Using his time until he could take in his son wisely, he had researched Lilly Potters Protection extensively and discovering that he would have been turned into a ghost like benign while losing his seventh safeguard along the way had caused him to become painfully aware of his own faults regardless of powers and intelligence. With the fear of death being his greatest weakness, his already decreased sanity, whiling away as would-be spirit while waiting on his faithful minions to come retrieve him despite having foregone the pesky matter of telling them about his safeguards and his resulting immortality had not been one of his brighter moments.
He would have returned a raging beast, with nothing but loathing, hatred and utterly insane, due to his inability to find the flaws in his plan. His return from the lowest form of existence removing what little ability of rational thought he would have retained during years upon years of not really living. Contrary to popular opinion he had prided himself on the fact that there had been method to his madness and cruellity, only that he had lost the ability to discern if it was sheer arrogance or the truth.
Worse, he had ignored the signs long before he had lost the largest part of his intelligence and sanity that would have been vital to figuring it out. Losing sight of his noble goals was one thing, twisting them into the reasoning of a madman was unforgiveable. He had become like a brutal, cruel mirror of his worst enemy.
Losing his reasoning, his goals and his cause but moving onward anyway with no regard of the body count or if there was a magical community to rule left once he was done. Claiming the beautiful child as his had always felt right and he had never doubted this decision but in retrospect, he had to admit it, if only to himself, had been the best idea he had ever had. This decision had saved both of them.
Searching for a suitable home, furnishing it, starting to research with a new found sense of triumph he had clung to the night he had met his son and started scheming, meeting people and putting them under his influence if he deemed them even remotely useful for his goals while still keeping a low profile. Sighing he turned to look out of his window.
His beloved son would do everything for him and their cause, use everything he had to help, even if it meant pretending to become the next Dark Lord (as opposed to being the Heir of the real Dark Lord) directly under Albus crooked nose. Daemon was right, of course, it would free him up and broaden his "playground" but it would put his son in danger. How far was the meddling fool prepared to go to rein in his little Hero, and was he prepared to risk his son´s health, sanity or personality?
Could he even afford to worry about it when he could have a trustworthy and highly intelligent sat directly where he needed one the most? Could anyone else do this? Could he trust anyone else like he trusted his Angel? Would Harry Potter be safe or targeted by love potions and other crazy fan action just by "returning" to the magical world?
Growling he leaned his forehead against the cool window. His angel would wear a glamour similar to his in making and play the good little Light child without complaining once. The crux of the matter, however, was his own willingness. Was he willing to risk this? His instincts and his fatherly feelings for his son were screaming at him to ship his child away from Britain and into Durmstrang where he would receive the education he deserved. Better yet, he could send him to Salem Academy in America and keep him away from Albus clutches and crooked nose forever. Milling over his son´s words he admitted, only to himself, that he was not prepared to let his son out of his sight yet.
Several moments went by in absolute silence until his angel entered after knocking softly and receiving his permission to enter. Straightening he faced his son, unable to hide his turmoil with his usual smoothness concerning such matters and met his sons jade green eyes. "Perhaps, father, it is time for a vacation?" Daemon wasn´t looking at him, posture perfectly straight with the hint of submissiveness appropriate for his heir but his soft spoken question reverberated through his study for several moments.
Smiling fondly at his son he turned again to look out the window. This was the perfect solution for his issues. "Fetch what we need, Daemon!" His son smiled his private, heart breaking, brilliant smile, bowed and left without another word to capture the sacrifices needed for the ritual, but this time they would leave Britain and be gone for six years instead of prolonging three into six. Anyone with his sons potential and intelligence could finish Salem Academy and it´s Master programmes in six years.
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Father and son arrived in Salem mere four hours later. Using the local Gringotts branch to purchase a Manor near the Academy they began to furnish it with something akin to childish glee.
Here they were neither the Dark Lord and his Heir, nor was there any pressure from their Slytherin legacy, they were Thomas and Daemon Riddle here because of the world-renowned Academy. Without the need of keeping a low profile and uphold expectations they had chosen a wonderful Manor that could not compare to their castle in size and wasn´t designed for official meetings. Because he could leave his home without glamour's lest someone recognised him as the person he was Tom felt a nearly ridiculous amount of happiness.
Passing all of his placement tests, as expected, Daemon began school on the fifth of September, enjoying the fact that he did not need to place restrictions on his abilities or intelligence and that he simply could go home after class. As the only magical school that offered many branches of magic alongside the possibility of attending muggle classes up to A-Levels it was the best school in the world. That they even offered sponsorships and Mastery Level while following "the old ways" was why they both held the school in high regards.
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Tom smiled at his son when he returned from his first day of school, which had basically been filled with walking around the Academy and it´s grounds while allowing the students to choose their subjects and give out basic instruction. Using the opportunity and well aware of the fact that it was an opportunity he chose introduction to Light magic, Theory of the branches of magic, General Magical Theory, World History, Dark Magic, Healing (which was combined with Biology and general anatomy), Potions (which was tightly bound with Herbology), Charms, Psychology, Spanish, Latin, Runes and Transfiguration.
Knowing his son like he did Tom merely raised one eyebrow at that before he copied his son´s schedule. Four of those subjects were scheduled for three years of which his son had already passed well enough to skip the first year, all others might have more years all around but his son attending them was simply to receive useable grades. The copy that included all the information about the school´s free days and holidays would allow him to adjust his own schedule to spend most of his time with his son and take said son with him for a bunch of his travels. It would be a waste of time if he did not use the fact that he had six years to explore North and South America.
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The most feared Dark Lord enjoyed his first real vacation with his son exploring the country, it´s traditions and cultural mixes. Visiting the native tribes, as well as the big cities, while spending time within the magical and muggle communities. They both were not really aware of their looks and the effect they had due to them but knew of the importance of cleaning up well and dressing well, which led to several shopping trips concerning clothes.
Using the opportunity, the pair bought many other things as well, deciding to spend some of the Potter money. Shopping became something of a new hobby as Tom had not bothered to go shopping for anything and let his minions buy the necessary supplies but wished collect new experiences and nearly all of them should be shared with his son.
New books and many old tomes as well as dozens of forbidden and rare things landed in their luggage including long forgotten rituals the tribes had passed down through several generations. The fact that they managed to acquire contacts and several acquaintances as well as supporters for their cause had ensured that he was on an emotional all-time high.
Feeling love and pride for his son only added to it and it all gave his magical power and his energy levels a boost he would have honestly never been able to imagine in his wildest dream. All their travelling and shopping gave them just what they wanted even though his son was attending school additionally to it, most of the time he was doing homework or reading trough his books instead of sleeping or doing silly childish things. Because of that Daemon received O.W.L´s in less than four years despite their travels, shopping trips and balls they were invited to attend.
His Angel received the highest grade in those subjects that weren´t in the O.W.L syllabus (General Law, Dancing, Etiquette, Magical Theory, Instruction in Light Magic, Magical Branches, Light magic French and Latin) while managing very high grades in his O.W.L results in British Law, Healing, Potions, Transfiguration, Spanish, Runes, Arimancy, Offensive Magic, Defensive Magic, Dark Magic, Psychology, World History, Crafting, Charms and Warding.
To celebrate that they left after Daemons fourth year at the start of his summer holidays and visited France to put his son´s language knowledge to test and discover the country and it´s cuisine as well as the occasional woman and man (at least in Tom´s case as his son was biologically too young). Upon their return to Salem Daemon began his N.E.W.T Level courses and the few subjects he had chosen to purse a Mastery in.
At his question why, he would choose some of the subjects his son had calmly explained that his cover at Hogwarts was that of a young meek boy, overwhelmed and not used to performing well, how was he to keep a leash on his patience with a ghost as teacher or an alcoholic that pretended to be a seer. Hearing that he had smirked amused and let it go.
If his son did manage a Mastery of World Law he would be capable of surviving Binns lectures as well as Sybille's ramblings and be master of Divination out of sheer principle by the time he was done. It did explain why his son had outright refused to even consider attending the easy Magical History lessons as well as Divination and Care of magical creatures and the intense Herbology course, choosing to attend Potions with Care of important Herbs and Plants as focus. It also explained why he had chosen to continue the much more demanding Runes, Arimancy, Defence Magic and Offensive Magic classes up to N.E.W.T level.
They left with Daemon finishing a Mastery in Dark Magicks (which included every branch of magic that was declared Dark and those that were highly illegal in countries like Britain), Warding, Crafting, Potions, Psychology and British Law.