Chapter One: The Ghosts of Riddle House
No one knew who owned the house after all the Riddles were killed. The accepted explanation around town was that 'a very wealthy man had the deeds, for tax reasons'.
The Riddle House was haunted.
There was no other house in all of England that fitted the description of a haunted house better than the Riddle House, with its large grimy windows covered by its moth eaten drapes, vines clinging desperately to its cracked, crumbling walls, its front door unopened for almost fifty years. Even the shape of the house screamed 'haunted', so large that it was much more a mansion or manor than a house, and so empty.
Once, there had been a man by the name of Frank Bryce, who had tended to the grounds of the Riddle House. Decrepit and definitely not trusted by the residents of Little Hangleton, who believed he was responsible for the murder of the Riddle family who owned the house, Bryce lived and died there. Or, at least, that was the assumption, since no one in the small village seemed to know exactly what happened to the groundskeeper.
Some say that he was captured by the ghosts of the place and his soul was doomed to torment for the rest of eternity.
Without a groundskeeper for more than twenty odd years, the carefully tended grounds of the Riddle House quickly became overgrown and filled with all manner of vegetation, from grass and wildflowers to shrubs that had somehow taken root. It was unnatural in its naturalness, that Mother Nature itself had begun to reclaim the place that for so long had been a symbol of terror for all of Little Hangleton.
But whatever the state of the garden, it did not, by any measure, mean that the house itself was any less haunted.
It wasn't just the physical appearance of the property that generated such a conclusion. Often at night, and sometimes even during the day, there would be visitors to the house. These visitors were garbed in black from head to toe, wearing what appeared to be robes with hoods, their faces, it was said, not the colour of living flesh but silver, and completely expressionless. Sometimes these people would be leaving, and they would step out only to vanish as though they had never been there. Others would arrive and step through the gates, which opened without even being touched, only to disappear as soon as they entered the grounds.
A few of the braver local town lads had once dared each other to investigate the Riddle House. They had gone up as far as the gate, a act of reckless bravery or perhaps extraordinary foolishness. They had seen, they said, footprints of those that came to and fro from the property. They had observed, they said, how one would enter the grounds and simply disappear. They swore they would make it all the way up to the house next time. They were never heard of again.
From that point forth, no one even dared to think of going anywhere near the Riddle House. The locals knew to stay well clear of it and visitors to the town who were considering ignoring local advice took one look at the house and changed their minds. No one ever approached the Riddle House because, after all...
The Riddle House was haunted.
Of course, the residents of Little Hangleton were Muggles. They couldn't possibly understand that there were wards around the Riddle House, and that Witches and Wizards had to exit the grounds before they could Disapparate. They didn't know that the grounds and the house were, in fact, not only undamaged, but fully repaired and refurbished. Nor could they appreciate the enchantments on the grounds that kept them neat and tidy to anyone that stood on the grounds themselves.
The Ministry of Magic, however, did know these things. They knew, because they had been monitoring the property for years, hoping for an opportunity or some sort of lucky break. What they need was to be able to attack the Riddle House and arrest the occupants within.
Had things been different, it was quite possible that the Riddle House would have been hidden even more thoroughly until it wasn't visible at all. Had things been different, then the Ministry Aurors might have dared to simply wait outside the gates and ambush anyone who came alone. Unfortunately, they couldn't, because any attempt to do such a thing would be suicide. The Riddle House was now the base of the Dark Lord Voldemort's operations, as well as his home, and it had been a long time since the Dark Lord needed to hide from anyone. If anyone was so foolish as to attempt to attack the property, then they would be defeated, quickly and easily. Their deaths, however, probably wouldn't be.
That was why none of the six hiding Aurors did anything as a lone figure appeared abruptly right in front them. Clad in black robes, the Death Eater stood there motionlessly, knowing that no action was necessary and, sure enough, the massive black iron gates swung open with an ominous creak that, had any Muggles been there, would only have solidified the impression that the Riddle House was haunted.
Harry was well aware of the six pairs of eyes drilling into his back. He knew exactly where each of the observers were hiding – two behind a rock, one behind a tree, one pretending to be a middle aged man on an evening stroll, one hovering invisible on a broomstick overhead and the last hunched down in a Muggle automobile. It would be only too easy for him to turn and kill every single of those Aurors without breaking a sweat, but they weren't worth his time. He was in a hurry, after all.
His Father had called for him.
Those pathetic wizards should count themselves lucky, he thought, lips curling subconsciously as the gates swung shut with a reverberating clang behind him. Wasting no time, he strode down the path through the deserted grounds.
As a child, it was in these grounds that he played, under the watchful eye of his body guards, some of his Father's best men. It seemed that he was quite fond of being outside when he was younger, for his earliest memories were filled with scenes from amongst the trimmed hedges and on the soft lawn. At first, the Death Eater's never played with him, or even approached him, no doubt afraid of incurring their Master's wrath should they accidentally say or do something they shouldn't.
It gave him some comfort to pass over the threshold of the house and let the darkness close in when the doors shut securely behind him. He didn't really enjoy spending time in the garden anymore, because it made him remember better times when he could simply be a child. He wasn't unhappy with the life he lead now, fighting for a man he felt the uttermost loyalty to, but back then, life didn't seem so serious. As soon as his training started, fun and games became a thing of the past.
He had lived at the Riddle House with his Father for his entire life, so it was with ease that he navigated his way through the manor and to the large dining room, which had been converted into a meeting room of sorts, complete with a throne. Two Death Eaters flanked the double oak doors, their wands in their hand. As he approached, the one on the left stepped forward and placed himself deliberately in the way.
"What is your purpose with the Dark Lord?"
"I am expected." Harry was ready for the question. Today was the first time that he revealed himself to lesser Death Eaters. Normally, his Father went to his room, so that Harry wouldn't have to interact with anyone except the chosen few. It was for his own safety, he was told, that his existence remained a secret until he was ready.
"I haven't seen your face around here before." The second Death Eater said, eyeing Harry suspiciously, "You new?"
Harry considered simply blasting the two out of the way. He didn't know if his Father wanted his identity revealed just yet, and the only way through it seemed was to disclose that particular bit of information. Just as he was about to raise his hand, however, the first Death Eater overrode his companion.
"Nah, it's alright, go on in," he said, moving to one side, "you shouldn't keep the Dark Lord waiting. Bart," he said to his fellow guard, frowning, "how thick are you? Who the hell would dare pull anything when they're in the same room as the Dark Lord? If he says he's expected, then he must be." Harry never got to hear the second Death Eater's response, because he had entered the room and the doors cut off their conversation.
The dining room of the Riddle House was massive, probably as large as the Hogwarts Great Hall (Harry wasn't too sure, seeing as he'd never seen the Great Hall with his own eyes). Unlike at Hogwarts, however, the Riddle House was dimly lit with only a few, flickering candles that threw dancing, greenish shadows onto the textured walls. The central feature of the dining room was the long banquet table, which was so large it fit more than twenty seats on either side with an additional four on the end closes to the door. It was here that the Death Eaters gathered to hear the orders of their Master.
Past the table stood a large, rigid stone crafted of solid silver and decorated with gold inlays. That, Harry knew, was where his Father sat, because he had been there at the moment of its creation, and even helped a bit in the gold decoration. When the time came for him to reveal himself to the world, Voldemort had promised him at the time, they would craft another throne together to be placed beside the first.
Harry moved past the throne without sparing it a second glance. Though his Father had deemed it important that he be presented as the heir to the leadership of the new order, Harry himself had never wanted any recognition. There was no need to be told that he was the best of his Father's men, it was enough simply for he himself to know that he was. Despite having never gone on any missions, Harry knew that, save perhaps Albus Dumbledore, no one but his Father would be able to best him in a duel. He was taught be the best, so that was what he had become.
Behind the throne was a single mahogany door. Its unassuming look felt odd and out of place in the grandeur of the room; or perhaps it was simply the thick tension the wards around it put into the air. For that door was the entrance to Lord Voldemort's room. No Death Eater would be able to enter. If an enemy somehow did manage to enter the Riddle House, they wouldn't be able to get anywhere close to it. Harry, however, simply strolled up to it, twisted the knob, and let himself in.
His Father was gazing into the crackling depths of the burning fireplace and had his back to the door. Seeing no reaction to indicate that his entrance had been heard, Harry silently raised his wand, a spell glowing on the end of his wand. Before he could let fly, however, Voldemort whirled, blasting Harry into the air with a wave of his hand. Flipping in mid-air, Harry managed to land on his feet with barely enough time to nullify the follow up curse that his Father sent his way, and paused momentarily as he heard the door slam behind him. At that moment, Voldemort cast the simplest of spells, a mere fully body bind. Even a simple spell from the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world was dangerous, and the bind pushed its way past the hastily erected shield.
Harry felt his limbs snap together and his stomach lurch as he began tipping forwards. The only reason why he didn't fall flat on his face and break his nose was because Voldemort had moved quickly forwards to hold him up by the shoulders. Father and son stared into each others' eyes, emerald green meeting ruby red as Harry fought with all his strength to break through the curse. For a whole minute, Voldemort watched him with a mildly amused expression on his face that only served to annoy Harry further. When sweat finally broke out on Harry's forehead from the effort, Voldemort let out a small chuckle and removed the spell with a twitch of his hand.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," Voldemort admonished, shaking his head, "when will you realise that you will never be able to sneak up on me?"
"As long as I'm alive, I have time to keep trying, don't I?" Harry retorted, brushing invisible lint off his robes and pointedly looking away from his Father. "Sooner or later you'll slip up and I'll get you!"
"Harry." Voldemort said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulders, "Wizard's that stand out in the crowd must never let their guard down. Haven't I told you that before? Besides, I am the most powerful Wizard alive and you will one day take my place."
"Who says I haven't already taken that spot from you?" Harry challenged, distancing himself from the Dark Lord and holding his wand out at the ready.
Voldemort only rolled his eyes, only the twitching of the corners of his mouth betraying his amusement. "As much as I would love to prove, again, who's the better wizard by defeating you in a duel, like the other hundred plus times you've challenged me, neither you nor I have time right now."
"You have not beaten me a hundred times!" Harry argued, disgruntled. "We've only duelled about fifty!"
"And who won those fifty bouts, Harry?"
"...shut it." Voldemort let out a genuine laugh. Before anything further could be said, the deep gonging of the grandfather clock that sat in one of the second floor hallways echoed throughout the house. Voldemort stilled as the sound reverberated in the walls and the air.
Once...twice...three times...four. Four in the afternoon.
"Come, Harry," Voldemort said in a business like town, sweeping towards the door. "I have called for a meeting, and the Death Eater's are here. Today, you will be at my side."
"Really?" Harry asked, letting some of his excitement leak into his tone. "You're going to tell them about me? Does this mean I get to start going out on missions?"
Voldemort paused, his hand resting on the brass doorknob. "It is still a whole year earlier than I planned, but recent events has forced my hand. You will not be going on a mission tonight. You will be leading it."
Harry felt a grin creep onto his face. "Excellent," he said with relish.
"However," Voldemort said, turning slightly to catch his eye, "put your mask on." Harry nodded. A steady stream of smoke poured out of his wand and like coalesced into a mask made of some unidentifiable black metal. Unlike the silver Death Eater masks, which were quite detailed in their terrifying features, this mask had no markings, not even over where the mouth should be. Save for the extra space needed to accommodate his nose, Harry' mask was completely blank. It only needed to serve one purpose, after all – to keep his identity hidden. With it firmly over his face, Voldemort and Harry entered the dining room.
All the Death Eaters had already arrived and the table was filled. There was a clear hierarchy in seating, with the most powerful and trusted men sitting closest to the silver throne. Bellatrix Lestrange was in the first seat, opposite Lucius Malfoy. Nott, Avery, Mulciber and Dolohov occupied the other seats. Past them, Harry saw many others, some he recognised, others completely unfamiliar, which was to be expected. The lure of a share in his Father's powers was a great one indeed, one which many Witches and Wizards were only too happy to follow.
The quite murmur of conversation – no one was foolish enough to talk at a normal volume and risk disturbing the Dark Lord in his chambers – fell away as soon as Voldemort entered the room. Silently, he strode over to the head of the table, a subtle gesture that took Harry completely by surprise indicating that Harry should seat himself in the throne instead. He did as he was asked and watched as his Father opened the meeting.
"Welcome, my loyal friends," he announced, eyes sweeping over the occupants of the room. "Don't get too comfortable, we won't be here long..."
"All of you who are in front of me represent the best that this world has to offer, do you not. You are Wizards and Witches that have proven themselves determined to right the wrongs of our world...wrongs which some seem unwilling to acknowledge. The Ministry, for example, seemed particularly reluctant to accept that a new...order is necessary in order to move forwards, and as a result have stepped up their efforts to...hinder our movements. Most, if not all of you, have displeased me at some point by being captured by our enemies and this has caused the failure of several recent operations that were quite...important."
Harry watched as everyone except him and his Father shifted nervously in their seats. Even the curious few who had been sneaking glances at the man who dared seat himself in the Dark Lord's throne now averted their eyes, seeming to find great interest in the wood grains of the table in front of them.
"No matter, my friends, no matter. Though some of us have departed, an almost equal amount of new blood has pledged themselves to our cause, and I trust that those of you who have failed before will take great care not to do so again."
"But let it not be said that Lord Voldemort is unfair...I am well aware that the fault lies not only with you, but with those incompetents at the Ministry, and those fools who follow the Mudblood-loving Dumbledore as well. We fight for a common cause, after all, my friends, so your successes are my successes as well. You carry out my bidding without question, and for that, some of you have been greatly rewarded..."
"It is true, nonetheless, that the advances we used to make in the past have become few and far between, less and less common, less and less significant. I think it is time, therefore, to introduce a new factor into the equation, put a new piece onto the chess board, one which will guarantee your victory, and mine."
Finally, Voldemort indicated that Harry should step forward, and he did so without hesitation to stand at his Father's side. The Death Eaters began to whisper amongst themselves, looking towards their comrades for a reaction.
"This," Voldemort said over their murmuring, drawing everyone's attention instantly, "is my heir! Look upon that mask well, my friends, for he is to become your leader, as much as I am! Any order that comes from his lips, or is written by his hand, you are to treat as having come from me. He is my equal, and all of you are to treat him as such. He has been trained by myself, and the best of you, my friends, as well...isn't that right, Bella? Lucius? There is no Wizard or Witch here that is more skilled, save for myself and I, after all, am anything but ordinary."
"I have allowed the Ministry's interference in our business go on for far too long! It is time to bring an end to this war, and start on the creation of a better world, an untainted society! So, tonight! You, the best of the best, shall remind the world why you are known as my feared Death Eaters! We will destroy one of the symbols of their resistance, a symbol of their belief that we can be ignored – Diagon Alley! The Auror presence there is no doubt heavy, and we have previously been unable to do as much as we have wished. But now, my son shall lead you, and there will be none who can stop you!"
At his words, the seated Deaths Eaters let out a roar of approval. The startled expressions that had emerged at Voldemort's announcement of Harry as his heir had quickly given way to expressions of anticipation and excitement about the chaos that was soon to come. Though several faces still looked nervous, or in some cases, downright afraid, that was to be expected. After all, attacks on Diagon Alley had formed a large part of their losses in recent years. But that was all before I started going on missions, Harry thought with satisfaction as the Death Eaters before him continued to express their approval before their two Masters.
A/N: SUP guys! So to all my old readers, as well as any new ones, this story has nothing to do with my Powers in Life series, but is a plot bunny that has been in my mind for quite a while! It was inspired by the evil Harry/Dark Lord's son Harry meets Ginny Weasley stories that I found and quickly became addicted to (unfortunately I've only seen a few good ones), so I decided to have a go at writing my own! Hopefully you guys have enjoyed this chapter and what I've done with this reasonably common idea, and stick with me to the end! This will be updated weekly, just like my Powers in Life:Power of Change.
All the best,
PowerOfOne