DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER

Now on with the story!

Chapter 3: Seeing Him

(AN: This chapter will be in Voldemort's P.O.V.)

He had been reborn the night before, and he was feeling better than he ever had. He was in his manor, silently keeping an eye on everything from the shadows, not letting anyone know he was there. He sighed when he heard a rooster crow in the distance, and crossed the room to the window overlooking the estate.

It was a gorgeous place, once one got past the glamour cast on it to prevent wandering muggles from getting too curious. The lawns were luscious, each blade of grass shinning with diamond like crystals. On the far side of the estate, though not too far, there was a small shack. It was a decent space, but small and peasant like for him. It used to house the caretaker of the property, back when his father still was alive. There had been a small light on all night in the room, and yet now, still three hours before dawn, the light had vanished, and the shack suddenly looked lifeless. Something was not right. He turned to cross the room so he could shower. He turned so fast that he almost missed the figure leaving the shack at a rushed, but graceful pace.

Almost.

His eyes narrowed on the figure crossing the lush estate, fastened on the muggle clothes he saw. It was simple attire: blue jeans, black t-shirt, a light-brown hoodie sweatshirt, and olive converse. What attracted his attention was the figure's gait. It was confident, but cautious, wary, sneaky, and rushed. The figure was graceful, keeping mostly to the shadows where he wasn't seen as well. The figure's hood was up, and there was no chance of seeing the face of this interesting character unless said character turned. Halfway across the grounds, the figure became aware of his gaze, and turned to look in his direction. He quickly disillusioned himself, so if the figure's gaze landed on him, it would pass off as nothing. Then his eyes locked with emotionless jaded jade eyes.

His breath caught.

He knew who was leaving the grounds now, for only one person had those eyes. The eyes that used to be his when he was younger. The eyes that held years of misery and wariness, sadness and pain. The eyes he'd seen on one person on August 1st, 1980. The eyes that now belonged to his fourteen year old son. The eyes that now belonged to his heir.

He stared at the boy as he turned away from his intense gaze. The hood fell as he neared the apparation ward, revealing his features briefly, before the teen covered them up again. The boy looked like him. A carbon copy of his younger self. As the boy pulled up his hood, he crossed the ward, and drew his wand. The boy drew his magic and apparated away to Morgana-knows-where.

He leaned against the window frame, and inhaled sharply. He remembered that night, only hours after his youngest son's birth, when he had first felt the magic of his heir. He could still remember it now, ever so vividly.

Flashback

He entered the hospital room, and immediately saw Bellatrix.

She was sleeping peacefully, for the first time in months. Peaceful, undisturbed by the triplets pressing against her bladder, or in an uncomfortable position. He saw the three cribs, along with a healer, and the names he would choose for them would be written on each crib, along with the time they were born. He walked closer to the cribs, closer to his sons.

The first was the oldest. Damien Cygnus Black, born at 11: 40pm on July 31st, 1980. He was chubby, and looked like most Blacks would. Those small eyes opened to reveal onyx black orbs, and the babe started wailing. He picked up the child, the eldest of the three, and held him. After a while, when he could feel nothing special, he put his son down, letting the healers take care of the boy. He was not the Slytherin heir, in fact, he barely had enough power to get accepted into Hogwarts. He moved on to the second.

The second, the middle child. Gabriel Orion Black, born at 11: 45pm on July 31st, 1980. He looked stunningly like his elder brother, surprisingly like the Blacks. The only difference, was when the small eyes opened, and the babe started bawling, was his eyes were grey. He picked up his second son, and held him. After a while, he put the boy down, knowing that the second child, while slightly more powerful than the eldest, was not the Slytherin heir. He would only ever be as powerful as the average Hogwarts' student. That left the last one….

The last child, the youngest. He felt drawn to the child more than anyone else. He looked at the card and stared at the time the boy was born. 11:59pm, on July 31st, 1980, only seconds from midnight. The boy had been born fourteen minutes after his brothers, while the first two had been born only five minutes apart. Then he looked at the child, and had to refrain from gasping. The babe's eyes were open, and they were a shocking shade of jade. His jade. Those were his eyes, his features, his looks, his build,…his heir. He knew it the moment he picked up the babe. He felt the boy's aura wash over his own, happiness running through the small child. The small child looked up into his eyes. Crimson met jade, and then the little baby gurgled happily, closing a fist around one of his fingers with a grip that would surprise many. He didn't know how long he had stood there holding his son, his heir, his future, before he saw those jade eyes flutter in sleepiness, shocking him out of the haze he had been in. He realized that he hadn't even given the child a name.

"Harrison." he muttered to the child, who cocked his head adorably, almost curiously, "Harrison Thomas Black-Riddle. My baby boy." he whispered the last part in parse tongue, and his son giggled when he heard the language of the snakes. Well, he thought, that settles it. Standing there in St. Mungo's, holding his youngest son, he did something he hadn't done in decades.

He smiled a true smile.

End Flashback

He pulled out of the flashback, still smiling as he had done that day when he had first held his son. He continued to cross the room and entered the lavish bathroom and stripped in front of the shower. He turned the water on hot and let the heated perspiration pour down his body in flowing rivers. When he had finished, and wrapped a towel around his waist, he paused in front of the mirror.

He looked around thirty, while in reality he was in his late seventies. He had raven hair, like his son's, that ended at his shoulders. His body was lithe, and broad at the same time. He was toned from the dodging and spell work he did before he had been defeated. His features matched his son's, and the only few differences between the two were age, height, and eye color. He was 6ft 4in, a whole foot taller than his son, and decades older. His eyes used to be the same jade color, but after Hogwarts, he had decided to turn the crimson, the color of blood. His eyes scared people away, even his elder sons were frightened of his eyes, they had been so at birth. They had cried upon seeing him. But what warmed his heart, the one that his followers would swear he didn't have, was that his heir, his little Harry(he nicknamed him, so he could call him something childish when Bellatrix wasn't around), had gurgled happily upon seeing him, and had demanded to be picked up, childishly raising his arms, never looking away from his face, unless he was tired.

But no one knew this. No one remembered or even saw, the Dark Lord acting like a proud father around his youngest son. No one saw the smiles, the laughs, the hugs, the lullabies, the napping, and all the other things that he had done with his son when the boy was a baby. He knew his son did remember some things. His son was intelligent that way, intelligent and gifted. He had originally thought he was being biased towards Harrison because he was his heir, but after trying to spend time with his other two sons, he became well aware of why he loved Harrison more. Harrison reminded him of himself. He was quiet when his father was brooding, and playful when his father was in need of cheering up. It always brightened his day when he saw the baby. His son would always love him, and no matter what his son did, he knew he would always love the boy too. His son was just that, his son. Not a follower, not a servant, not just an heir, a son.

He dressed quickly and moved back to the window, he had a feeling he would be seeing his son soon.

And no sooner had he thought that, his son had appeared just beyond the wards. The boy looked over the manor, stopping short just a bit below the floor he was on. What would make the boy look like that, in such panic…oh. Bellatrix resided with her sons on the floor below. He must've been sneaking out, and if Bellatrix caught him… well, suffice to say he wouldn't be alright. The boy ran through the shadows, and straight into the caretaker's shack. The shack was surrounded by safety wards, put up by his son, and hard to notice without a significant amount of power. He knew Bellatrix hadn't sensed them, hell even he hadn't been able to sense them until his son crossed the wards.

A few hours later he was dressed and disillusioned, standing in the dinning hall. He saw his son's contemplating face before coming into the hall, and the emotionless mask he was wearing seconds later upon entering it. It never ceased to amaze him how a child could switch personalities like that so fast. It amazed him even when he did it, how it worked so flawlessly(well, not so much around Dumbledore). He watched the boy carefully through Bellatrix's announcement. He was sure no one, not even the boy himself, noticed the panic that had flashed across his son's countenance when she had mentioned him returning to the manor.

He watched as the boy practically fled the manor as soon as he was outside. He entered the safety wards as soon as his son did to prevent detection. He saw the teen's mask crumble, disbelief, shock, and fear showing in them, disbelief prominent. The teen had fallen to his knees, and slid down the wall, unknowingly closing his eyes. For ten minutes, the teen sat deep in thought, one might've thought he was asleep. But when he opened his eyes again, there was a spark of determination in them. As the boy rose, he cast a tracking charm on him. Once the boy apparated away, he followed.

He watched as they both silently arrived in an alleyway in Muggle London. He saw his son transfigure his robes into muggle clothing, and noted with some amusement, that the teen looked like someone mothers would tell their kids to stay away from. And it looked like the teen knew that.

He followed the boy through Downing Street, and through the pouring rain that seemed to annoy neither father nor son. He saw the boy knock on the door of one of the houses on the street, and blinked twice when the teen was pulled in by its' occupant. He couldn't hear what was going on, but he had a pretty good idea. The man who had opened the door had been Declan McKnight, or Striker. He was a man famous for him accuracy with weapons of any kind, and infamous for his playboy personality. Finally, after three-quarters of an hour, his son exited the house and walked down the street.

His own crimson eyes never leaving the teen's silhouette.

There you go! Three chapters done in one day! A new record!

Please review, those are what keep me going!

I was startled, but pleased when I started receiving e-mails about my story only ten minutes after I posted it. It gave me hope that I might be able to finish this story.

Now, for those fans of my other stories:

I AM NOT ABANDONING THEM!

Too many people want to see updates, and I wouldn't be so cruel as to deny that. I merely am having problems with my train of thought for those particular stories.

Please do review!

Emeralds