Title: The Seventh Son
Author: Prentice
Rating: Teen/Mature
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Warnings: Canon-typical violence. Alternate Universe. Dark themes. Romance. Hurt/Comfort. Character deaths. Child abuse and neglect(implied). References to various religious beliefs. Age-difference.
Notes: Warning for slow updates. I'm still writing without a proper computer.
Summary: The prophecy of the seventh son had long been a complicated one. Filled with the promise of power and the weight of duty, no one knew how to interpret it or explain its existence and so it languished in the darkest and dustiest corner of the Hall of Prophecy. Forgotten by time and mythologized by the majority of the magical world, no one noticed when it began to glow…and change.
Prologue - Lily's Regret
It was the early hours of the morning that Lily Potter hated the most.
They were the longest and quietest of all the hours of her day and she despised them in ways she couldn't even begin to explain. At least, not to her husband, who she loved so incredibly much, and who would never understand it – or forgive her – if she ever tried to explain to why she hated those quiet moments so much. It was her secret shame, a truth that would never be forgiven, and Lily wasn't willing to risk that, especially not if it meant losing her husband and the best friend she had ever known.
All the same, however, it didn't change how she felt. She hated the mornings – hated the long hours between when Godric's Hollow was still and silent and she had nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company, and when it was loud and boisterous and filled with the sounds of her little family going through their day. It was like night and day, those times, and Lily always looked forward to the change. That subtle shift that meant she didn't have to think about it anymore; that she'd learned her lesson and would never do it again.
That it was all behind her. Only…
It wasn't, was it? Behind her. It could never be behind her. Not really.
It would always be there, right in front of her, staring back at her with eyes like hers, loving and warm and so perfect that it sometimes made her heart break all over again and it was her fault – her fault – no one else's. Not Dumbledore's, not James', and certainly not little Harry's.
It was her. She was the one who had done what she did. She was the one who had put herself in this position. There was no one else to blame and the gods forgive her for it. She hadn't meant it to turn out like this.
Hands trembling, Lily pressed them against her face, tired eyes burning with unshed tears. Merlin but she'd been a fool. A selfish, self-involved fool, who had jeopardized everything she held dear and for what? – For what? A single night with a man who wouldn't have thought twice about slaughtering her if he'd ever seen who she was beneath the glamour's she'd worn.
He hadn't, though. He couldn't – Lily had made sure of that. Desperate and afraid, ashamed of what she'd done, she had wiped his mind clean of certain traces of her; had only left the faceless shape of a woman behind, one that he would undoubtedly write off as a one night stand in a string of one night stands and never think of again. At least, that's what she hoped.
Shoulders slumping, Lily wrapped her arms around herself, blinking back the tears that still burned behind her eyelids. She didn't want to cry – not again. She'd cried so many times already; always in the small hours of the morning, when no one would catch her and want to know why.
She couldn't explain it to them. She couldn't explain it to anyone. Goddamn it, on a good day, she couldn't even explain it to herself. It wasn't as though she'd had a reason to – stray.
The truth was, despite his boyish arrogance when they were younger; James had always treated her the way she dreamed of being treated. Had always treated her with love and respect, reverence even, and that hadn't changed in all the time they'd been together. He was the kind of husband that anyone would be proud to call their own.
They'd had rows of course – every couple did – and there were times when they thought the worst of one another – no couple, married or not, got along all the time – but never once had James raised his hand to her, called cruel names, or mocked her. Not the way some pureblood wizards did, believing that that the old ways were the best ways and nothing would ever change that.
No, James was wonderful; as close to perfect for her as she could ever hope to find. Anyone – anyone – would be lucky to have him. It was her – her; Lily Evans Potter – that something was wrong with.
She was the one who had forsaken her marriage vows, after all. She was the one who had fallen into the arms – and bed – of another man just a few short months after her bonding ceremony. A man – a wizard – who was, in so many ways, as staunch and unwavering in his loyalty to the Dark Lord as James was to Dumbledore and the Order.
Dear gods, even now, over a year later, she still wondered what had possessed her. What had made her think that a night out – a single unimportant night out – away from James and the Order and the war effort and all the horrible pressures they were under – was a good idea. She didn't know, couldn't even begin to guess where her head had been at the time, but she couldn't take it back.
It was too late. Far, far too late. Harry – beautiful little Harry, who looked so much like James she could sometimes let herself believe, even for a moment, that he was actually her husband's biological child – was here now and no matter how many times she allowed herself to forget, he was irrefutable proof of her dalliance with the enemy.
It didn't matter how much Harry looked like James. Not really. He wasn't James's – not by blood – and there were times, especially now that he was getting older, that Lily could see the boy's true sire shining out at her. Like just yesterday morning, when Harry had smiled at her, brilliant green eyes bright with childish delight, little mouth just slightly crooked at the corner.
Sweet Merlin, how could anyone think that this boy – her son – was James's?
Just seeing that smile, adorable though it was, should have been proof enough for anyone. After all, it was an exact replica of her son's biological father's. Exact – so much so that Lily had been momentarily stunned at seeing it on her little boy's face.
Stunned enough that she hadn't even noticed James sweeping past to her to pick-up little Harry and balance the boy against his side, wide smile fading into mild concern when she hadn't immediately responded to his cheerful 'good morning' and had instead stood rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the high chair her son had just been in, face pale.
She should have expected it, of course; that one day she would see the likeness of the man she'd had a one night stand within her son. But she hadn't – or, at least, she had hoped she wouldn't. Had prayed, even, in the long dark hours before dawn, when her old faith had rushed back to her and she had appealed desperately to any god who would listen, that her son would never take after that man.
For a time, it had seemed like her hopes – her prayers – had been answered. Until then, right then, when she had seen that smile. It was enough for her, proof.
Harry would likely always look somewhat like James – a small bitter mercy – but she knew in her heart in that moment that it was only because James and the wizard she had laid with had had similar coloring. Dark hair, dark eyes, warmly golden skin, and an athletic build that had felt at once both comfortingly familiar and thrillingly new against her in the murky hours of the morning before the full impact of what she'd done had finally sunken in and she'd left in a flurry of disheveled clothes and shame.
Merlin but that had been painful to realize – more painful than anyone would likely ever believe – because that's why she'd done it, wasn't it? Because the man had reminded her so much of James? But… he wasn't James, was he?
Like different sides of the same coin, the physical similarities were where the resemblance between her husband and that man ended. They were nothing alike, not really, and as ashamed as she was to admit it, even in her own mind, that was she'd tipped herself into bed with the man.
He was danger personified – a powerful ally to a madman; loyal to a cause that would see the Dark Lord rule over the wizarding world with an iron fist. He was dark and commanding and mysterious…and Lily had just wanted a small taste of that. Had wanted to know what it would be like to throw caution to the wind and be bedded by such a wizard. To be taken and used and pleasured and exalted by such a man.
Now she knew…and it was destroying her. Bit by bit, little by little, second by second. It was tearing her apart and there was nothing she could do about it but hope – and pray – that one day, when the truth came out – and it would, she knew; she wasn't foolish enough to think it wouldn't – that James – and Harry – would forgive her.
And if they didn't…
If they didn't, she hoped – she prayed – that she would be strong enough to live with the consequences, whatever they might be.