A/N: I will attempt to make this as real as possible. It is definitely NOT your average Dark Heir type Voldemort-raises-Harry. It's actually more of a twin/Voldemort's son crossover, to tell the truth. I'll try making it original, or at the very least believable. I can't believe this idea hasn't been done yet! Or at least, I can't find it online.

Warnings: Mentions of rape, sort of. Forced abortion. Torture, I guess. It's not as bad as it seems, though, for those who have been tainted previously by the Harry Potter fandom. No descriptive sex scenes – sorry, I don't do that. Probably no slash. Story is not focused on Romance, it's action power, and perhaps mystery and deception.

Chapter One: Alexander Riddle

There once was born a boy unlike any other. For one, he was born to magical parents. That's right, this child was a wizard. He had the ability to wave a wand, say some words and defy the laws of physics as we know it.

However, this boy was an enigma, a wizard unlike any other. For you see, this boy could manipulate the magic around him unlike anything the world has seen since Merlin. There have been others who've tried, such as the esteemed Albus Dumbledore, his lover Grindelwald and of course the malevolent Tom Riddle, a.k.a. Voldemort. But compared to one little boy, these wizards didn't even scratch the surface of magic and its possibilities.

That one little boy was born in the month of July to parents Lily and James Potter. His name was Harry Potter. Now he's dead.

But when one is so entwined with magic itself, is it really possible to die? If you're so immersed in the magic around you, would a killing curse, the purest form of magic, really stop your heart from beating? Perhaps, but it wouldn't take your soul. Magic does not destroy its own. It can be neither created nor destroyed, simply changed.

For Harry Potter, getting hit with the killing curse did not kill him. Sure, it destroyed his body, but not his soul. Instead, he was embedded into the one thing that hated him the most; Lord Voldemort.

…4 years after the Potters deaths…

Voldemort was getting frustrated. Not only had his plans kept failing, one after the other, but his power was actually beginning to decline. His servants kept getting killed by one Order member or another, and the wizarding world was beginning to work together to take down the dark. How did this happen?

"Lucius!" he shouted from his throne in the antechamber.

One of his most faithful entered the room and bowed, not making eye contact. "Yes, my Lord?"

The dark lord growled. "I have been contemplating our situation, and have found only one conclusion."

"Our situation, my Lord?" Still not looking up.

"Yes, situation." The man began tapping his fingers on the armrest. "My power has begun to fall, ever since the death of the Potters. Instead of rejoicing, I am beginning to fear…"

"My lord, we will not fail. I will work my hardest to-"

"Silence!"

The man quieted immediately.

"I have decided to bear myself an heir. Now I know," he raised a hand to silence the man's suck-up comment and continued, "I know that I am the most powerful wizard, and I have many plans in place should anything unfortunate happen to me. However, I believe it prudent to have a, let us call it a 'back-up plan for my back-up plans'. I called you here to find me an acceptable lover to bear my heir."

Lucius swallowed nervously. "I am sure Narcissa would be happy to-"

"Crucio."

Lucius screamed shortly, knowing this his Lord enjoyed hearing the screams and would stop sooner if he heard them.

As predicted, Voldemort lifted the curse after a few seconds. "I do not wish for a used slut to bear my children!" Lucius cringed as Voldemort continued. "You will find me someone suitable by tomorrow or else." The man's narrowed red eyes and unfinished sentence was all Lucius needed to hurry out of the room on his errand.

…Many days and Crucio's later…

"She's… acceptable," Voldemort whispered in awe, not wanting to show how pleased he really was.

Lucius smiled proudly at his find. The 'she' was a virgin, just out of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic a few years ago, aged in her early twenties. She had long, wavy black hair and dark brown eyes, with the figure of a model and skin as pale as Voldemorts, which made her all the more beautiful. Her hands were calloused from using her wand a lot, and her aura glowed with power. Right now she was kneeling on the floor, in front of her new Lord, silent tears dripping down her face.

Voldemort walked up to her and lifted her chin up gently. "What's your name?" he asked kindly, much like he did in his younger years to charm the other students. Some of the charm was lost, however, in his sickly looking appearance from the years of dark arts and more than one ritual to preserve his life.

"Alexandra," she replied quietly, her shiny eyes focused anywhere but his face.

He tisked, dropping her chin. "Now, that won't do. How about we name you Patricia."

She dropped her eyes, the tears still falling. "As you wish."

He stepped away. "I expect you in my bedroom tonight, Patricia."

She gave a little sob and stood up. "Yes, my Lord." With that she was taken away by another Death Eater.

"Give me her wand."

Lucius handed it to Voldemort, who quickly broke it, throwing the pieces to the floor for a house elf to clean up. "Now she is mine." Voldemort lounged in his chair once again. "You have done well, Lucius. I will not punish you this time."

Slightly disappointed at no reward, Lucius bowed his head. "Thank-you, my Lord." He then slowly backed out the door, and Voldemort was alone.

"This should be interesting," Voldemort said to himself in the empty room, pondering. You see, Voldemort was not a virgin, but he hadn't 'done it' in over 40 years.

…A couple clumsy tries and about 9 months later….

"Congratulations," Bellatrix said to Voldemort, "it's a boy." Despite her crazy nature and generally anti-feminine appearance, she was still a groomed pureblooded witch, and as such had seen many births in preparation for her own, even though she never had a heir.

"Of course," the Dark Lord said. The man had terminated any pregnancies the woman had previously had which were girls. "A proper heir. He shall be named Marcus."

The next day Patricia was marked with the Dark Mark, to signify her belonging. The Dark Lord did not do this previously because the Dark Mark had never been used on pregnant women, since it tied into their magical core. The only women who had it never had children, and he didn't know how it would have affected the child.

The days flew by, and the marked girl took care of the child alone. Days turned to weeks, which turned to months and before Voldemort knew it Marcus was two-and-a-half, and showing his first accidental magic. As per instructions, Patricia told the Lord, whom had almost ignored his child since birth, that he showed signs of magic.

Voldemort smiled. "Good. Now we can begin his training."

Patricia's eyes widened as she gripped Marcus harder. "You mustn't! For a child to exercise his magic at such a young age-"

"Silence!" Voldemort took the child from her arms and narrowed his eyes. "Remember, you belong to me. This child is mine. If I must teach you a lesson, I will."

Her eyes began to fill with tears. "Please, no…"

"Tonight, my bedchambers."

And so it went. Marcus was trained by Voldemort, getting better at controlling magic each day (although he didn't understand half of what the old wizard was telling him, since he's only two, even if he is extremely smart) and when Patricia fought for him not to be taught, she was 'punished'. After a few weeks she stopped trying. Her eyes became lifeless, and it took all her will to take care of the basic needs of Marcus, like feeding and playing with him. In just over a month, Marcus' new favorite toy had switched from 'Mama' to 'Voldie'. The man wouldn't let him be called 'Papa.'

Little did Voldemort know, Patricia still had hope and reason to live. She was once again with child.

…About 9 months later, Marcus – age 3 ½…

"How could you not tell me!" Voldemort yelled. "You were pregnant with a little scoundrel, yet you neglect to inform me this condition! I could have- I could have terminated it, saved the trouble of-"

"No!" Voldemort, who was startled at this sudden show of emotion after almost a year of none, was too shocked to answer for a moment. "I mean, my Lord, please. Let me keep the child." She rocked the few-days-old sleeping child in her arms. "He is my son too," she whispered quietly.

"How long did you think you could keep this from me," he whispered dangerously. "Nobody keeps things from Lord Voldemort." He was silent for a moment, before continuing. "However, I cannot discard this child now that it is born. You will take care of it, and keep it away from me. I wish to have nothing to do with him!"

"Yes, My Lord." She walked quickly out when she was dismissed, back to her chambers that she'd now share with the new child as well as Marcus. "I am glad he didn't name you," she said lovingly to the child as she rubbed it's head. "You shall be Alexander, named after my real name, which in turn was after my many greats grandfather, Alexander of Rome.

He gurgled, as if in understanding.

…Marcus – age 5 1/2Alexander – age 2…

"Mom, you can't stop me from going!" Marcus and his mother were arguing like they usually ended up doing every time they saw each other.

"Sweetie, I just don't think-"

"I'm five and a half mom, not a baby! And Voldie said that I'm old enough to go!"

She couldn't bear to see the angry face on her child, so she went over to the counter and began cutting up vegetables for supper, not looking at her son. "I don't like you going to a Death Eaters meeting at all, let alone when you're still a child. No matter what the man says you're ready for, I'm your mother."

"And he's my father!" Marcus yelled. "Why can't you just say his name, either? Vol-de-mort. Voldemort! Just say it!"

Alexander, who was sitting in his highchair, was looking at the scene. He understood most of what was happening but didn't know how he could stop it. He took his milk bottle in his little hands and got an idea.

"Please," Patricia said pleadingly, "just don't go."

"I am going, and that's final!"

A half empty milk bottle floated between the two of them, hovering in midair. Patricia looked up at it as it stopped in front of her face, and there were tears in her eyes.

Marcus took a step back, more startled at his mom crying then the milk bottle. "Mom?" he questioned quieter, his anger quickly turning to guilt. "Mom, I didn't mean…"

She grabbed the hovering bottle and handed back to her youngest son. "First accidental magic, I'll have to put it in your baby book."

"Mom," Marcus tried again, "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Patricia walked away from the counter and looked out the window that was charmed to look like a sunny day outside even though they were in the center of Riddle mansion. "You can go," she said, casually wiping away a tear.

"Look, if you really-"

"Just go!"

Marcus nodded even though she couldn't see. "Alright," he said finally, "thanks."

After Marcus went out the door, the woman walked over to her other younger son and picked him up. She rocked Alexander, who had started to cry himself when he saw his plan didn't work. "It's not your fault," she said soothingly. "I'm just worried, worried about the both of you. Now that you've done magic…" She left off at that, wondering what the Dark Lord would do now that her second child had shown magic, and at such a young age.

…Marcus – age 7 1/2 Alexander – age 4…

"You're not trying hard enough! Think your innermost darkest thoughts, then concentrate and say 'Secerno.'

Marcus frowned and adjusted the grip on his wand. 8 1/2", Winged Cobra Venom core, Yew, he recalled before concentrating on the spell once again. Staring hard at his target, he imagined the arm ripping, ligaments tearing, bone crunching as it tore from the shoulder. With a malicious smile, he yelled "Secerno!"

The sickly yellow spell shot out the end of the coal black wand and hit the target a few inches off target, down the arm. The target bit his lip to keep from screaming as a slit appeared on his arm, hidden beneath his clothing. Blood began leaking out of the wound, staining the dirty shirt he wore.

"You're not trying hard enough," Voldemort said to his son, frustrated. "You have to want to cause the pain."

"But I do!" Marcus pressed. "I'm trying, I-"

"Try harder then!" Voldemort shouted. Marcus cowed. "I will not have a weak heir!"

Seeing that he was forgotten, the 'target' slinked quietly out of the room and entered one of the many unused rooms that he always used to heal himself. Carefully pealing off the blood-soaked clothing, he held in his tears for as long as he could before they began falling. It had been like this since he had first shown magic, he remembered. His brother would practice curses on him per Voldemort's orders. At first it wasn't too bad; it was simple, nearly harmless things such as the binding spell and the silencing spell. That coupled with their friendly relations, though not brotherly, meant that he wasn't shown a lot of pain. But last year Marcus and his mom had a huge argument over what he was learning, which led to Marcus moving out of the room. Since then, he had wanted to hurt. Marcus' spells had progressed to stunners and hexes, making it more painful for Alexander. Now Marcus was learning dark spells.

Alexander didn't want to worry his mother, so he never told her how badly he got hurt. She couldn't do anything anyways. With that thought in mind, Alexander raised his hand and put it over his arm; it helped to concentrate when he used his hands as a focusing tool. Examining the wound, he found it was clean cut. Only four inches wide by about a half inch deep. It didn't even hit the bone. Concentrating hard, he imagined the wound closing up, and all the bad germs getting out so it wouldn't get infected. A minute later, his arm was healed. He rubbed it – still raw, but it would do.

The young boy put his clothes back on tried to focused his magic on making them clean. There was still a large stain afterwards, but at least they weren't reddish-brown and crunchy from the dried blood anymore.

He made his way back to his mother and his room. The room was like a little flat. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen and large living room, and of course the bathroom. Mom was in the kitchen making dinner.

"How did your meeting with father go?" she asked, stirring the potatoes.

"Fine," Alexander lied. "You don't have to make dinner," he said, trying to change the subject, "the house elves will do it."

She put on a fake smile even though her back was turned to Alexander. "I simply like cooking. It gives me something to do." The truth was she thought the house elves might poison her, since she knew Voldemort had no need for her or her new child anymore, as was shown by the way he treated his own youngest son.

"Alright," he said. "I'm just gonna go and change."

Alexander shut his bedroom door quickly and locked it. With a smile, he began waving his right arm like a conductor directing an orchestra.

The door to his dresser flung open, and a new shirt levitated out of it. With a wave of his finger, the door closed. A brush flew over from his dresser and began brushing his hair as his own shirt was levitated off of him. Smiling, he pulled the new one over his head and banished the brush. He loved using his magic. It always gave him a thrill, but he didn't want his mother to know. After all, she was always so sad when he used it, probably because she thinks dad'll take me away, he thought.

His smile off his face, he unwrinkled his clothing with magic and reapplied the glamour covering his many not-quite-healed cuts and bruises, before walking back to the kitchen.

…Alexander, age 7…

"Of course I know what you've been doing to him, I've known for years!" the woman screamed, "Dark curses, on your OWN SON!"

"Silence, wench!" With a wave of his hand, the words formed by the woman's mouth no longer had sound. "I told you I wanted nothing to do with the boy."

She took her finger and wrote in the air with a little magic FINE, BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN HAVE HIM TORTURED BY HIS OWN BROTHER.

"He is being useful as a practice doll for my heir," Voldemort said. "You will not interrupt my teachings."

With a lot of will power she broke through the silencing spell, and said in a slightly more civil tone, "Your 'teachings' are killing my son!"

He narrowed his eyes. "Cease this disobedience at once, or else I will force you to." He then looked behind him, as if he felt someone watching him, but shrugged it off the next moment when he found nothing.

She was shaking from both fear and anger, though more of the latter. "You will harm my son no longer."

Voldemort took out his wand and with a flick banished her against the wall. She slammed against it with a sickening 'crack' to her arm. "Must I teach you a lesson?"

Tears formed in her eyes as she stood up and looked defiantly. "No, my Lord."

"Very well, be gone."

As the woman entered her quarters a few minutes later, she saw her son waiting up for her.

"I can fix your arm," he said quietly.

She sat down on the couch. "No, son, I'm fine." She gave him a weak smile before gasping and falling sideways.

Alexander ran over and caught his mother before she hit her head on the armrests and lowered her down gently the rest of the way. "It's alright, mom, don't worry."

She opened her eyes weakly. "I'm sorry," she said.

"Shhh," he replied. If tears could fall they would, but he had stopped crying long ago. "Don't worry. When you wake up in the morning it'll all be fine."

She closed her eyes and fell into a deep, restless sleep.

The seven-year-old rested his fingers gently on his mothers arm and focused on the bone. He had become a professional at mending bones when his brother had learned the many ways not to perform the bone-breaking hex correctly, which could result in anything from a cracked to a shattered bone, to no more bone at all.

When he was finished, and his mother was as good as she was going to look, he levitated her off the couch and to her own bed, then went back to his own. He laid down and concentrated on his older brother. An image formed in front of his vision, first blurry but clearing every second. It showed his brother in his room, teasing his pet Boa Constrictor with a rat. Alexander switched his focus to his father. He was down in the potions lab doing… something, but when Voldemort looked straight at where Alexander was viewing from in his vision, the boy opened his eyes suddenly, not wanting to be caught. With a tired sigh, he fell asleep.

In the morning Alexander called a house elf to make his mother some soup. When it arrived, he propped up her head and fed it to her slowly. An hour after she had eaten it, she was dead.

…Alexander: age 7 ½Marcus: age 11…

Voldemort gave his son a large box, which was Marcus' height tall and three times his armspan. The Dark Lord smiled at his son as he unwrapped the present. Marcus gasped. "Wow, thanks Voldie!" Inside was a 2' long winged cobra. "It's the same as my wand!"

"It's a descendent of the cobra that gave you the venom for your wand," Voldemort said. "She understands human language, and is a genius among her nest. Take good care of her."

Marcus promised to, and then looked to the snake. "So, what's your name?"

The snake hissed, and Voldemort replied "Suspiria," then spoke again after the snake hissed once more "But you may call her Ria."

The boy nodded before opening the cage. Voldemort thought while his boy began playing with his snake. Marcus would be a wonderful heir. He was a quick learner, and in the past few years had become quite powerful. For a boy who should be starting school this fall, he would be able to pass all of his owls and most of his newts, and that was just with the light magic he knew. His dark repertoire was much more extensive. The one disappointment he had ever shown to his father was the fact that he wasn't a parselmouth. Despite everything, though, Voldemort could calmly said that he felt, if not love, then proud of his son. Marcus was everything he wanted and more, even if he still had a lot to learn. "Careful," he said as the boy was taking her out, "she is venomous." Ria gave a startled hiss. "Gentle!" When the boy had the snake around his shoulders, much to her dismay, the man called "Alexander!"

A young boy, pale from his genes as well as a lack of sunlight all these years, and thin from grieving, crept from the darkened corner he was in and stood in front of his father. "Yes, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord gestured to the wrapping paper. "Clean this up," he commanded like one would to a house elf.

Alexander complied while Marcus kept opening his presents. After a few minutes he noticed that Ria was staring at him. As he continued to pick up wrappings, the snake kept his eyes on the boy, even ignoring when Marcus accidentally hit her in his frenzy to open gifts.

After a few more minutes the snake unfurled its large wings and gave a flap, gliding across the room towards Alexander. "Catch me," the snake commanded to Alexander, and he complied, dropping his wrappings and gently catching the two foot long reptile. "Much better. He was hurting me."

"Ria!" Marcus cried going over to his younger brother and new snake. "Give him back!"

"Please don't make me go back," the snake pleaded, looking Alexander in the eyes.

Marcus grabbed for the snake, but Alexander stepped back and hissed "don't touch her!" Realizing he accidentally spoke in parseltongue, he quickly replied in English "I- I mean… I didn't-"

Marcus' eyes were wide but Voldemort's were wider. The latter spoke first. "You can speak?"

"Um," the boy started, unsure of what to say, deciding that silence would be best for now.

"Voldie," Marcus said, whining slightly, "how is it-"

"Silence," Voldemort said quietly, "call me Voldemort from now on." The man looked to his son, red eyes staring into dark brown. "You are getting too old for this." The old man turned away.

Marcus was surprised; his father did not usually snap at him like that. He decided showing respect would be best, and bowed his head. "Yes, Voldemort."

Voldemort spun around, facing away from his other son. "Alexander," he said with his back turned.

Alexander whipped his head up and red eyes studied blue. The boy had been looking at the floor.

"You will go to your room. I will speak with you shortly."

The boy bowed, replied with "yes, my Lord," and went to his chambers.

For the first time, the Dark Lord thought about how much his younger son looked like a young Tom Riddle.

Alexander was pacing his bedroom, wondering what would happen to him. He'd always been sure to keep the extent of his magic, including his parseltongue ability, hidden from his father. He had promised his mother, and even though she was dead he still kept his word. He was also afraid. Would he die? Voldemort was known to do rash things; yes, he knew that he poisoned her drink. For that he hated the man. But was the Dark Lord coming to kill him as well?

Alexander felt a presence outside his room, the same room that he had shared with his mother, and quickly went to the door. However, it wasn't Voldemort's aura. He opened the door and found himself facing a tall man with white-blonde hair and grey eyes. The man wore an expensive looking cloak and carried a regal looking cane, which shined with magic to Alexander's eyes. His wand, Alexander thought, looking at the cane before gazing up at the man's face. "Are you my executioner?"

The man seemed startled for a moment before his face became unemotional once again. "The Dark Lord has requested that I be your new guardian."

"No."

Lucius entered the room. "I beg your pardon-"

"Did I say you could come in?" The boy's face was filled with sorrow and anger, and his voice was sharp. "I will not leave here. This is where she…"

The man sighed, annoyed. "You have no choice in the matter and neither do I." Alexander looked up sharply at the last comment, but Lucius continued. "My name is Lucius Malfoy, and I have been commanded to make you my ward by the Dark Lord. I did not request it, however, I feel I must obey his wishes."

"Or else you'll die," the boy said, filling in the missing pieces. He sighed, and bit his lip, knowing what he had to do. It was the decision between staying in his dead mother's old room with his abusive, murdering father, or going with a man whom he had only ever seen at Death Eater meetings while hiding in the dark. "Alright, I'll go."

"Good," Lucius said, holding out a silver unicorn ornament. "A portkey to my mansion."

Alexander gripped the unicorn tentatively.

The man said "I must also tell you that I have a son, his name is Draco." Alexander began wondering how this would affect him when the man said "Malfoy Manor," and the portkey activated. The room spun, and Alexander closed his eyes, waiting for his feet to once again hit the floor.