Chapter 1

In all honesty, I felt as if I were the luckiest boy in the world, even though I was only six, and my caretaker, Elizabeth, was a little... overprotective of me. She did all she could to protect me, no matter what the supposed threat was.

I understood though. And she knew I understood.

The fact of the matter was, even then, I could see into her mind. She had explained to me that my father, Tom Riddle, had been excellent at Legi—... Legili... whatever the word was, it was long and my young brain could not quite remember it. Whatever it was called, he had passed on the ability to read minds to me—only, I did not need a spell or a wand to perform the "magic".

Anyway, it was my birthday—July 22. Elizabeth said it was weird for wizards and witches to like things that Muggles did—but she was trying to help me understand Muggles better. The moment she had introduced me to Muggle music and what she said was called "musicals"—well, I just could not understand why wizards and witches would not want to enjoy such things. The things actors and actresses did on stage were practically a magic of their own!

The musical she took me to for my birthday was called Wicked, and it was a story about another type of wizards and witches—ones that went to school to learn magic, not necessarily to hone talent they already, like they did with our kind of magic.

"Do our wizards and witches perform in Muggle things like that?" I asked, wondering if it would be possible to get involved myself. Why not? There was something that called me to it, really—almost like I was just as meant to do something like perform as much as I was meant to be a wizard. Music captivated me.

"Not often," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "Wizards don't often mingle with Muggles... but it can happen." She smiled. I loved Elizabeth's smile. It made me feel safe, happy... warm. She called herself my caretaker, but in my mind, she was my mother. I had never known Bellatrix, not in my memory. She was not the one who loved me.

According to Elizabeth—and at that young age, I believed what she believed—I was not meant to be a son to Bellatrix and Tom. I was an experiment, powerful magical blood mixed to create the perfect wizard, the perfect weapon against the Ministry and Harry Potter.

Elizabeth just wanted to love me. I could see that much in her mind.

And I did not want to be a tool, a weapon. I did not want to make my parents' mistakes and throw away everything for the possibility that I was strong, powerful... I could not see myself as a Dark wizard, even when I was young. The fact that I was even remotely interested in Muggles proved that much.

"I want to try," I told her. "I want to learn about music."

She nodded. "If that's what you want, we'll figure out a way," she said, running her fingers through my hair like she knew I liked. "Music, dance... anything that interests you in the Muggle world, I promise, I will try my hardest to make sure you can experience it as much as you can."

It is nearly five years later, and I have just come home from a dance practice at a Muggle school when they arrive. I know Kingsley Shacklebolt—Elizabeth introduced me to him long ago and I quite like him, though I do not understand why he and Elizabeth are not together, in their minds they still have feelings for one another and yet I know not to pry too much—but the other man is a stranger.

His mind is kind, though. Peter Daemyn. He is the Headmaster at Hogwarts, the one that replaced Minerva McGonagall.

I know what they are here for before they have the chance to explain, but I wait to speak aside from a polite "Hello, it is very nice to meet you". Elizabeth wants to know on her own, not by my telling her.

"Vitale's name has been on the list for Hogwarts since he was an infant," Professor Daemyn starts as we all sit down. "He's most certainly been accepted into Hogwarts, but there are a few things I would like to discuss before September arrives." He keeps his eyes on Elizabeth, and I wonder if he knows about my special ability. "The professors know Vitale's last name—that isn't something I could avoid. They've agreed to use only his first name for the time being." He looks at me. "I'd like it if you would do the same. I want your fellow students to know you before they know who your parents are."

I nod. "I agree with you," I say softly. "I was thinking of the very same thing a few days ago. I attend a Muggle ballet and dance school, and we can use my full name there because they do not know who Tom Riddle was. At Hogwarts, however, everyone will know the name of the most powerful Dark wizard our world has known." I look away briefly, then back at him. "I want to have my own history. I would rather not carry the weight of a legacy on my shoulders just yet."

We sit there quietly for a moment. Elizabeth is proud, to the point where she is on the verge of tears. She has raised me correctly, and she knows. Kingsley is nodding to himself, satisfied with me as well. Professor Daemyn considers me; then he smiles. He knows there is a chance I will not become my father. He understands that I am telling the whole, complete truth about how I feel.

I have no reason to lie about it.

"Is there anything else you'd like to talk to us about?" Elizabeth asked after that moment of silence.

"No." Professor Daemyn chuckles, pulling a letter out of his pocket and handing it to me. "Everything you need to know is in the letter, but I daresay Elizabeth still remembers what you'll need."

Elizabeth laughs. "Of course I do," she says, and I can see her memories in her mind. It was a very long time ago when she went to Diagon Alley for the first time, but in her memory, she seems as excited then as I am now. I want to learn more about myself as far as magic goes. I want to be able to combine that part of me, as well as the obvious draw I have to the Muggle world... I want to know myself completely.

We say our goodbyes to Kingsley and Professor Daemyn as they leave. When they are gone, I look at Elizabeth. I cannot help but grin. "When can we go to Diagon Alley?"

She laughs; I have to laugh with her. Laugh at myself and my eagerness. Not to mention, her laugh is incredibly contagious. "We'll go first thing in the morning. I think you'll enjoy your first ride on the subway..."

I nod, moving over to hug her, simply happy. She smiles and hugs me back, running her hand through my hair, which is getting longer—something I like, myself, and something she likes as well. I smile at the feeling, humming softly as I curl close to the warmth and love I can feel emanating from her.

The next stage of my life is beginning, and I cannot help but wonder what Hogwarts has in store for me.

I have been to Diagon Alley before, but there is a difference between going for minor shopping and books and going to shop for all the things I would need for my first year at Hogwarts. For me, there is an added charm, an added magic that can compare to what I feel when Muggle music is involved.

Elizabeth takes me along, first to Gringotts to get the money for my supplies. The goblins look at me; I cannot read their minds as well as I do with humans, but I think they know who I am, who my parents were. I wonder if they can sense it in my blood, or maybe in the way I look. I do not know what my father looked like at my age.

I say a friendly hello to the goblin helping us, and in return, get only a grunt and a nod as he leads us off. Elizabeth, in her mind, is slightly taken aback by this behavior.

They must know. It is then that I realize this would be what I would face if everyone at Hogwarts learned my full name. More than ever, this goblin helps me understand the importance of keeping my parentage a secret. Another boy might have flaunted the power, the bloodline, the fact that he was probably going to be the next Dark Lord... I see no point in that. I see no point in Dark magic at all.

Elizabeth stops us outside Gringotts. "Vitale..."

"I know," I say softly. "They recognized me. That is what might happen if my fellow students find out who my father is." I nod. "I understand even more now, Elizabeth."

She nods, unsmiling as she wraps her arms around me. "Once they know you, they won't care, V," she whispers, running her fingers through my hair. "They'll know you're not him, that you're nothing like him. They'll understand." She is reassuring herself as much as she is trying to reassure me. She is afraid someone will hurt me when they find out that I am a direct descendant of Lord Voldemort.

I will never let her know that I now fear the same thing.

We continue on, a silent agreement between us to put what happened at Gringotts behind us. I let myself get caught up in the magic once more, and by the time we are at Ollivander's, I am completely relaxed again.

Mr. Ollivander is... old. I wonder how he and Elizabeth know each other, seeing their friendly greeting, but I try not to find the answer myself. Elizabeth will tell me if she wants me to know, or her thoughts about it will be open. Mr. Ollivander looks at me when I give my hello, and his strange eyes sweep over me, recognition there in his face. I know that much before I even see his mind.

"Ollivander," Elizabeth says, her tone warning. He looks away from me, eyeing her before slowly nodding, moving away to begin grabbing wands. I glance at Elizabeth. She sends me one thought. Yes, I think he recognizes the Tom Riddle in you.

I suddenly feel smaller. How many people knew the young Tom Riddle? How many of them will recognize me? How long will it be until someone points it out to everyone else?

I find myself hoping I will be able to relax when I am at school.

In the end, the wand that chooses me is has its wood from a cherry tree, is fifteen inches, and contains unicorn hair core. It feels good to hold it in my hand—like there was something missing before, and I had not realized it. I thank Ollivander for the wand, smiling at him once more, and he seems to take the subtle hint—I am not Tom Riddle. I will never be Tom Riddle.

We head towards the Leaky Cauldron, towards the fireplace where Elizabeth and I can return home. As we walk through the hole in the brick wall, we pass a boy with strange, teal-colored hair.

We also pass Harry Potter—I know him well enough from pictures in books. Messy black hair, vibrant green eyes, round glasses, and... the scar. The very scar my father gave him years ago.

My heart thuds against my chest, and for a moment, I imagine that seeing that scar brings me closer to Tom Riddle than I have ever been before. The thought is ludicrous, and yet, it is there.

He stops walking when he sees me. We stare at each other. He is the first to break the stare, moving on, and I can tell in his mind that he is trying to shake the image of me away. I cannot exist. It is simply impossible that a young Tom Riddle is standing in the back alley of the Leaky Cauldron.

That statement, that thought, is true—I am not my father. I am Vitale Riddle, and I will not carry the weight of my father's name on my back.

I will do something to make my own name known.