Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. However, the Blackwood family and the original characters in this story are mine, but everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling.
I hope you enjoy the story!
It was a quiet afternoon in the Blackwood study, and Alexander, a man whose sharp eyes missed nothing, sat in his chair, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a weathered parchment. His wife, Helena, stood by the tall, arched windows of their manor, her back straight and her gaze distant. Their home was nestled just outside of London, hidden from the prying eyes of Muggles by powerful wards—its size alone would have been enough to elicit awe, but it was the magic that flowed through every wall, every floor, that set it apart from anything in the Muggle world.
"Have you heard from our sources?" Helena's voice broke through the silence, calm and controlled, as always.
Alexander placed the parchment down on the desk and looked up at his wife, his expression unreadable. "Yes. The Gaunts have become… a disappointment."
Helena turned from the window to him, her eyes narrowing. "Explain."
"Marvolo Gaunt is little more than a madman," Alexander said, his voice low. "He speaks of his bloodline like it's something sacred, but his family is little more than an embarrassment. The son, Morfin, is no better. And that girl, Merope—she's weak. There's no power in them. I had hoped that their obsession with their blood would translate into something useful, but it seems they've squandered it all."
Helena's lips curled slightly in distaste. "Then it's true. The Gaunts... have no discipline. They are a disgrace to the name of Slytherin. They've done nothing but waste their potential, wallowing in poverty and madness."
Alexander gave a grim nod. "Indeed. And I've watched them for years. I thought the son might have something, but I was wrong."
Despite her distaste for the family, Helena's curiosity had not been easily quelled. "But the girl... Merope. What happened to her?"
"She trapped a Muggle," Alexander muttered, his fingers tapping the desk in thought. "An infatuation, no doubt. The poor fool never knew what hit him. She used that cursed potion to make him fall in love with her, and once it wore off, he left her, abandoning her and the child she carried."
Helena's face hardened with disdain. "A Muggle... she involved a Muggle in her bloodline?"
The Blackwoods had never been ones to conform to the traditional ideologies of other wizarding families. Blood purity mattered little to them, as long as the individual had the potential to wield power. Power was what the Blackwoods valued most—more than blood, more than legacy, more than wealth. Power could be inherited, nurtured, and cultivated. It was the key to ruling over others, to bending the world to one's will. And it was that belief that had drawn them to the Gaunts—the last remaining family of Salazar Slytherin's bloodline.
They even accepted Muggle-borns, provided they proved their worth. However, they drew the line with Muggles.
"Exactly. That's where her downfall began." Alexander's eyes gleamed. "Merope died in a Muggle orphanage after, but the child—he's still alive...now there's an interesting thought."
Helena's curiosity flickered to life. "The boy?"
"Exactly. He's been growing up in Wool's Orphanage. I've had whispers of his strange behavior, things that don't sit right with the other children. His magic... it's not like anything anyone has ever seen before."
Helena stepped closer, her interest piqued. "Do we know how old he is?"
"Eight years old," Alexander replied. "He's been under our eyes for some time, and it seems he's growing more... powerful. It might be worth investigating. If we can unlock that power, he could be a useful asset—he could be the heir we've been waiting for."
The Blackwoods were known for their ruthless efficiency when it came to matters of power. They saw the potential in others, and if there was one thing they were always willing to do, it was seize that potential. The prospect of the Gaunt child was an exciting one.
"And you think this child could be... something of value?" Helena asked, her tone thoughtful, yet calculating.
Alexander nodded. "I do. We'll go see for ourselves. There's no harm in meeting the boy."
Several weeks later, the Blackwoods arrived at Wool's Orphanage, their presence an intimidating shadow that swept through the place. Mrs. Cole greeted them with strained politeness, knowing full well the reputation of her visitors. The Blackwoods, with their wealth were not people one could easily impress.
She gave a tight smile as she escorted them through the orphanage, gesturing at the children with a sense of distaste. "As you can see, Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood, this is where we care for the less fortunate. All these children, abandoned, unwanted, their futures uncertain."
Helena glanced around with little interest. The children were all ragged and dirty, their faces sad but resigned. She looked at them with little sympathy—after all, these were not the kind of children that mattered to her. But she had come for one boy in particular.
And then they saw him.
Tom Riddle, was playing outside, sitting cross-legged in the grass. A group of snakes had gathered around him, winding in and out of the grass, hissing quietly. His dark eyes glinted with a strange, cold intelligence as he spoke to them in a language that no one else could understand.
Mrs. Cole's expression faltered. "No, no, no! Tom! What are you doing?" she said, rushing over with a flustered look on her face. "Get away from those snakes! We don't want to make a spectacle of this. Go inside now!"
But the Blackwoods were not perturbed. They stood still, observing, as the child continued to speak to the snakes, his voice low and confident, as though he were giving orders. His expression was one of concentration, but there was something unsettling in his gaze. It was not the innocence one might expect from a child of his age. No, this was something different.
Alexander and Helena exchanged a look—one that spoke volumes. They had both seen enough. The boy's power was undeniable.
"He's… remarkable," Helena murmured, her voice a soft whisper.
"Yes," Alexander agreed, his gaze never leaving Tom. "He has potential. But he's not like the others."
Mrs. Cole had finally reached Tom, her voice sharp with reprimand. "You're making a scene! What will people think of you? You mustn't—"
Tom stood, looking directly at her for the first time, his eyes filled with quiet defiance. "They're just snakes," he said, his voice low and cold. "They're not dangerous unless you make them so."
Mrs. Cole recoiled at his words. The Blackwoods approached. "The boy is interesting." Alexander stated, his voice smooth, like silk.
"That is...you may want to see other children," Mrs. Cole replied, still flustered as she tried to sway their fascination of the boy. "He's always been different from the other children. No one can get close to him."
The Blackwoods exchanged another glance. "We'll take him," Helena said, her tone final.
"What?" Mrs. Cole gasped, her eyes widening. "You can't be serious! He's... he's difficult! Unruly! He has no respect for—"
"We're not asking you," Alexander interjected, his voice chillingly calm. "He'll come with us."
Tom, who had been watching the exchange with mild interest, turned his sharp eyes to the strangers. "Who are you?" he asked, suspicion clouding his face. "What do you want with me?"
Alexander gave a small smile, one that did not quite reach his eyes. "We are interested in your future. And we believe we can help you... reach your full potential."
Tom narrowed his eyes, still skeptical but intrigued. "Help me?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Why?"
Helena's lips curled in a smile, one of approval. "Because you're special. And we can show you what you're capable of."
Tom remained silent for a moment, his gaze flickering between them. There was something about them—something cold, yet powerful—that made him uneasy, but also... curious. He had always known he was different, that there was something inside him that no one else seemed to understand. "Alright," he said at last, his voice quiet but firm.
The Blackwood had been watching him for weeks, after Alexander Blackwood had insisted on personally completing the adoption process. The paperwork, no simple task, had taken time—weeks of quiet visits to the orphanage, meetings in shadowy corners, and whispered conversations among the proper circles in the wizarding world. But the decision had been made, and Tom Riddle was to be taken into the Blackwood fold.
There was little fanfare when the adoption papers were signed, only the cold efficiency of a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. Alexander had made it clear to Tom that everything had already been arranged; there was no need for the boy to fetch his belongings from the orphanage, as the Blackwoods had ensured that all would be provided for him at the manor.
It was late afternoon when Tom Riddle finally left Wool's Orphanage behind. The orphanage, a somber building nestled among the bustling streets of London, had been his home for eight years, and yet, as the carriage rolled away, Tom felt a strange sense of finality. Mrs. Cole had made it clear that Tom was no longer her responsibility, though her discomfort was evident. She had given him a final, stiff goodbye, as if glad to be rid of the boy who had always been a mystery to her.
As the black carriage rumbled through the streets, Tom gazed out the window, observing the people going about their daily lives. The world outside was so ordinary, so mundane. It seemed almost... beneath him. The Blackwood family was a world apart, and Tom, however young, had already learned that wealth and power was something he would never find in the hustle of the streets or the narrow confines of an orphanage.
For the first time in his life, Tom could almost sense that he was about to be part of something far grander, something more important. Tom felt no sorrow leaving. His thoughts were far from the dull life he had lived in the orphanage, and they were now filled with the promise of the unknown.
The ride was long and quiet, with only the sound of the wheels turning on cobblestone streets and the occasional grunt of the horses. Alexander sat opposite Tom, his face unreadable as always, his dark eyes never leaving the boy for too long. Tom could feel the weight of those eyes, but he refused to meet them. He wasn't sure what they saw in him, but he was certain that this family, these people, were not like anyone he had encountered before. There was something strange, almost coldly calculating about them.
The journey seemed to stretch on, but finally, the carriage slowed, turning off a long, winding road. Tom felt a subtle shift in the air—something heavy, like the very ground beneath him was alive. He tensed, his senses alert. There was something strange about the place they were taking him, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Unknown to him, the Blackwood estate was not in London, but a hidden distance away, far removed from the prying eyes of the ordinary world. The carriage passed through a dense, ancient forest that seemed to close in around them as though it were protecting the manor, guarding it from any outside interference. The dark trees appeared to bend inward as they passed, their twisted branches forming an eerie canopy above.
And then, they arrived.
The Blackwood Manor was a sprawling mansion built from dark stone, its gothic architecture rising like a shadow against the dusky sky. The house seemed to breathe with its own life, the high, arched windows gleaming with a strange, unearthly light. The walls were cloaked in ivy, their surface smooth and slick like they had been there for centuries. Even the air felt different here—heavier, laden with something that crackled in the atmosphere.
Tom's breath caught as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the imposing mansion. It was far grander than anything he had ever seen. The manor stood like a silent sentinel, its massive iron gates slowly creaking open as they approached, revealing a courtyard that stretched out in front of them. The entire scene seemed eerily still, yet Tom could feel an invisible force surrounding him.
"Welcome to your new home, Tom," Alexander said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of command. "Come along."
Tom stepped out of the carriage, his worn shoes crunching on the gravel path, his gaze fixed on the mansion before him. A shiver ran down his spine as he took his first step toward the front doors. There was something alive about this place, something ancient that pulsed with a strange energy. It both unnerved and fascinated him. He had always felt different—detached from the ordinary world—but here, in this place, he felt that difference as a living thing.
As they approached the doors, Tom's sharp eyes noticed the first of many strange sights: tall stone lions, frozen in place like statues, but their eyes gleaming with a strange, magical light. Their presence was imposing, and Tom couldn't help but feel as though they were watching him, silently judging his every move.
Inside, the grand entrance hall was far more imposing than anything he had ever seen. The ceiling soared high above, supported by tall, column-like pillars, and the floor was made of smooth, polished marble that gleamed in the soft glow of candle lights overhead. The portraits that hung on the walls—too large to be simple paintings—seemed almost alive. Their subjects watched Tom with dark, knowing eyes as he passed beneath them. He felt their gaze follow him, cold and calculating, as if the walls themselves were full of ancient secrets.
"Do you like it?" Alexander asked, his voice cutting through the silence as they walked deeper into the house. His tone was almost… amused, as though he could sense the boy's awe and confusion.
Tom couldn't help but let out a small breath of disbelief. "It's… enormous."
"Power requires space to grow," Alexander replied, his eyes glinting. "Come along," He urged Tom to follow him up a grand staircase. The stairway wound upward in a sweeping curve, leading to a second floor that seemed to stretch out endlessly. The air was thick with the scent of old books, and Tom could hear the faint rustling from somewhere.
Finally, they reached a large set of double doors, which Alexander opened with a casual flick of his hand. The room beyond was luxurious, but not in the way of the usual opulent mansions that flaunted their wealth. The furniture was rich and formal—dark wood, plush velvet, and tapestries with intricate designs that seemed to shimmer with enchantments. A large four-poster bed stood in the center of the room, surrounded by thick, heavy curtains.
"This will be your room for the time being," Alexander said as he stepped aside, allowing Tom to enter. "You'll find everything you need here. And in time, you'll understand more about what we expect of you."
Tom stood still, taking in the grandeur of the room. There was no mistaking it—this place was different.
"And what do you expect of me?" Tom asked, his voice sharp, even as his eyes darted to the elegant fireplace and the portraits that adorned the walls.
Alexander smiled, a cold, knowing smile that seemed to touch his eyes, but not his heart. "Everything, Tom. We expect everything. Power is your birthright, and here, you will learn to claim it for yourself."
Tom stood motionless, his dark eyes burning with determination. He wasn't sure what he meant or what the future held, but one thing was clear—he had been brought here for a reason. The Blackwoods had seen something in him, something that would shape him, for better or for worse, into the person he would become.
And as he stood in that room, Tom Riddle knew that this was only the beginning.