Hi people! My internet is down, and so has the entire block's...if they don't do anything about it soon, I'm going to go have a nice, and well deserved yell *evil grin* So, since I have nothing else to do (minus homework, but that'll be done in a half an hour), I'm going to see how many chapters I can write before I blank, and from there, I'll decide when I'll update again :) So, more chapters, longer wait, less chapters, less wait, it's fair for everyone :)

Emeralds :)

DICLAIMER : I swear, whoever came up with the brilliant idea of disclaimers should be introduced to my rather fierce temper *wicked smirk*. But, since I have to do it (you are making me feel bad, just get it over with already) I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER. There, happy?

(This chapter is in Voldemort's point of view! Here he finds out about the engagement...somebody's in trouble!)

Chapter 7: His Youngest Son

He was fuming.

Silently, of course. It wouldn't do for Bellatrix, or any of the others, really, to find out his real interest was centered around his youngest son. But, he thought, who wouldn't be curious when a boy disappears into thin air right in front of you when there are wards against transportion surrounding the manor. He stared at the crack in the wall where his heir had hidden himself. He was seething with rage, mostly at the two idiots that barged into the kitchen right when he had the child cornered into a question. As he had turned, the child had disappeared, just like he did moments ago. But there was another thing that interested him.

The teen had been near collapse. He had used so much of his magic in one moment that it had nearly sent him into unconsciousness; and yet the teen had managed to cast spells, and disappear from the manor successfully. He smirked, knowing the teen would have to come back eventually, but he was not prepared to wait for eventually. He wanted his son with him NOW.

He strode forward, towards the staircase which led to Bellatrix's room. He paused, before knocking. He didn't want to walk in on her again. One night was enough for him for a lifetime. He heard her call for him to 'Enter', and he pushed the doors open, his robes sweeping behind him, making him quite the picture.

"My Lord!" she said in surprise as she knealt before him. He stared at her with veiled disgust. She had done something, he knew she had done something while he was gone.

"Enough," he ordered in a raspy voice. All that shouting had left him hoarse, something that didn't happen often. "Enough, Bellatrix. I have some questions about the children's lives while I was gone."

She bowed low and stood, her head bowed to show her respect. He let a sly smirk cross his face briefly before it vanished.

Perfect.

"Yes, my Lord. I have all the paperwork, the documentation, pictures, and medical records in a separate trunk. Would you like me to get it, my Lord?" she asked him carefully. He nodded, watching her as she turned to retrieve the trunk. When she placed it in front of him, he studied the trunk before asking,

"This trunk contains the information for the triplets? All three of them?" he asked, stressing the 'three'. She nodded, albeit, hesitantly. "I should find everything in here, then." It was not a question. She nodded again. He finally looked at her and swept from the room.

SHADOW

He was in his study, rifling through the pieces of parchment, searching for a location, any possible location. The only time he stopped, he stopped in shock. He stared at the paper, disbelief etched on his usually stoic face. His son, pronounced a SQUIB? That wasn't possible. He had held his son the night he was born, the baby had held more power than any child he had ever seen, possibly even himself. He had also seen his son perform magic with ease and skill, wandless as well. There was no way he was a squib, not with all the signs pointing the other way around. So, with all the evidence, he came to a simple, but completely possible, conclusion.

Sabotage.

Someone intentionally pronounced his son a squib, ensuring that his child would feel scorn and hatred from Bellatrix and his brothers, basically ridding him of a childhood. And they had made sure to do it after he had disappeared.

Someone was going to die.

He looked for the healer's name on the child's report, only for his eyes to narrow when he couldn't find it. This person played a good game, he thought bitterly as he stared at the big, black inked word, SQUIB in the status section. His eyes narrowed, and he cast an authenticity charm on it, widening slightly when the parchment glowed red, signalling a fraud. He snarled in outrage. Someone was interfering in his son's life, and that was unforgiveable in his eyes. His son was his alone. His crimson eyes lit with fires of fury and the non-existent wind began blowing ferociously through the open window. He came back to his senses when a piece of parchment hit him in the face. He pulled the parchment off of his face, glancing at it briefly, then glancing back, and locking his gaze on it, eyes widening as he read the bold black letters at the top, and the names below:

Marriage/Betrothal Contract

Between

Harrison Thomas Black-Riddle and Alyssa Vivienne Potter

He stared at the contract. It wasn't possible, he thought, his rage growing by leaps and bounds, as he realized what Bellatrix had been keeping from him. His son had been promised to the Potter heiress, and the other way around as well.

This wouldn't happen, he though, if he had anything to say about it. He snarled in the ferocious wind. The parchment stayed stubbornly on his desk, refusing to move an inch. His eyes narrowed as he skimmed the contract.

The Potters had made a deal with the Black family a milenia or two ago: Every hundred years or so, a Potter heiress or heir, would marry a daughter or son of the Black house. So far, the Potters had always had heirs that married daughters of the Black families. And while Dorea Black had married Charlus Potter only two generations back, it wasn't part of the contract, it had been less than a century, almost fifty years less. It didn't count. Alyssa Potter was the first Potter heiress in centuries. Lily Potter couldn't have any other children due to complications at the girl's birth, and therefore, James Potter would never have a male heir to carry on his line name. Alyssa's child would carry the name of her husband, as would she, and the name would die out, but the fortune would be passed through the family.

The two had been betrothed at age six, something that had his eyebrows climbing up into his hairline. They had exchanged the promise rings, and wore them around their necks. They would be formally engaged upon Harrison's 17th birthday, and had to marry within two years of the engagement. Both had been consentual and not forced. James had approached Bellatrix about the contract and told to choose one of the triplets. Thanks to Charlus Potter's Seer talent, he had forseen the child that would marry his granddaughter, and crafted the rings accordingly. Only when James had decided on the appropriate child, could he open the ring box and see whether his father had been correct or not. Two locations were also written on the contract, and he classed them as location of residence. Harrison's said The Caretaker's Shack, Bedroom next to the Library, Riddle Manor, Little Hangleton. Alyssa's said East Wing, Third Bedroom on the right on the Third Floor, Potter Manor, Wales. Underneath it read their current location. He inhaled sharply, hopefully it would be able to tell where his son was currently at. Alyssa's said East Wing, Third Bedroom on the right on the Third Floor, Potter Manor, Wales. Harrison's said East Wing, Third Bedroom on the left on the Third Floor, Potter Manor, Wales.

He smirked. First he would go get his son, then he would talk to the Potters, and after that, he would yell at Bellatrix for approving the marriage without his consent. He stood, but didn't leave. He felt a tug coming from the trunk, something was calling him. He rifled through the parchments and pictures until he came across a glowing album. The title stated in big bold letters :

SHADOW'S ADVENTURES

(Not that he knows we took these)

He opened the cover and nearly dropped the book. On the first page, smiling and waving up to him, was his youngest son. His raven locks were short, unruly, and he looked like he had been caught up in a brutal storm. His skin was tanned and muscles toned, he was wearing black skinny jeans with a t-shirt that said Don't you just LOVE irony? on it in silver script, and black converse with silver words doodled on the shoes in sharpie. He had two bands on his right wrist and a watch on his left, the promise ring hanging from its' silver chain proudly, emeralds glowing dark jade, and diamonds glinting in the sunlight. And most mystical of all, the verdant gaze that met his was glowing, creating an almost etheral portrait of his son.

Almost reverently, he turned the page. His son was standing in a corner, backed into it by five men, all holding guns and knives. The teen was bleeding from a gash in his left forearm, blood soaking his already crimson shirt. The teen's eyes flashed violet for a moment. At the bottom of the picture held a caption, Shadow, backed into a corner on his assignment spying against the Dark Lord in France. Age 12. His heart beat slightly faster at the caption. Spying? What in Maker's name did his son do while he was gone? He looked at the next page with no small amount of dread. None of it went away when he saw the picture of his son sleeping peacefully on a hospital bed, the bed covers were in white as were the teen's P.J.s. He barely looked ten years old. Shadow, sleeping in the hospital after a nasty injury he got while fighting the terrorist army underwater. Ten more minutes and we would've lost him. Age 10. There was a slight smudge at the end of that caption, almost as if the writer was crying. He turned the page with increasing amounts of dread, staring at the picture on the page with horror and fury growing. The picture was of his son, around age seven. The boy chained to the wall by his wrists, wearing a torn black t-shirt, and black board shorts with Puma sneakers. Bruises littered the boy's body, as well as cuts that were still bleeding. A man, whose face he couldn't see, was pressing a knife into the boy's neck, making a small cut, just enough for it to hurt. The expression in his son's eyes was pure hate and terror. His hands trembled as he read the caption, which was littered with teardrops just as his son was littered with bruises in the picture: Shadow, in captivity, bound and injured. Cause of injury: Marcus X, widely known torture expert, working for terrorist organization and had uncovered Shadow while on an assignment. Age 6 ½ .

He trembled as he shut the cover. He and his son would be having a discussion about this, soon. But first, he had to go find his son and bring him back.

Well, there we go, another chapter down, and damn, it's my second longest! I'm posting the dates at the bottom of the page. If I've finished writing it on a certain day, but haven't updated it, then my internet wasn't functioning at the time.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Emeralds :)

p.s. Please review! I love reveiws, I'm making it a rule that if I don't get at least ten reviews for each chapter, then I'll not post the next one until I do :) Even if I do have it ready. Unless it's a special occasion or event and I think you guys deserve it.

Completed on: Monday, November 29th, 2010.