Harry Riddle || Harry potter

Chapter 3: The Acceptance Letter

July 31, 1991

The masked man's screams echoed off the walls of the shadowy room.

"Crucio," a smooth, sibilant voice hissed. The man on the floor began screaming louder, while the many occupants of the room, each dressed almost identically, shifted nervously, all praying that they would not be the next unlucky victim of their Lord's wrath. The blood curdling shrieks increased, the noise growing raw with the stress that was being placed on the man's vocal cords. He wouldn't last much longer, but the Dark Lord was angry today, and he'd been known to lose all control on occasion.

The Dark Lord himself was dressed in a needlessly heavy robe and sitting upon a large, ornate chair, which dominated the entire chamber. His hood was up, creating a shadow where his face should be and leaving only two red eyes visible. He opened his mouth again, hissing, "Cruc-"

He was interrupted, however, when the heavy wooden door to the room was flung open and a black haired boy entered, wildly waving a few sheets of parchment around in his hands.

The gathered Death Eaters parted and bowed their heads as the child walked past. This was their Lord's son, after all, and it wouldn't do well to be disrespectful. He could be their leader one day, for all they knew.

The boy sped down the cleared path, pausing to glance at the unlucky Death Eater lying on the ground. After a second, he nonchalantly stepped over him and stopped in front of the throne.

"Dad," the boy breathed, smiling faintly, "I just got my Hogwarts letter."

"Really?" Lord Voldemort asked, uncaringly. He twisted his wand in his hands, obviously itching to cast another round of Cruciatus.

"Yeah. And Draco owled. He said he got his, too."

Despite acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-Voldemort's own Alma Mater-being a highly anticipated event in most British families, it all seemed to float right over the Dark Lord's head. "I'm quite busy here, boy, if you haven't noticed," he said, motioning to his prone follower. Harry pivoted around to look down at the man again.

"You're torturing poor Barty again? What'd he do this time? Or is it just for fun? You know he can't help his own incompetence, it's just-"

Voldemort glared at him, his red eyes sparking with barely restrained anger. Though Harry would never admit it, he found the snake slit pupils intimidating, so he decided to let it drop.

"Nevermind," he quickly continued. "I really don't want to know."

Voldemort gritted his teeth and motioned for his followers to leave. They obeyed quickly, filing out into the adjoining hallway. Bartemius Crouch picked himself up off the floor and limped out the door after them, residual tremors rocking through his body.

"So, Dad," Harry started again after Crouch had shut the door, "I got my Hogwarts letter." Unneeded repetition, but he was excited. His father had told him about Hogwarts, speaking of it fairly fondly, in fact, which was a rare way for the Dark Lord to talk about anything. So, he'd waited up all night on the eve of his eleventh birthday (just yesterday, in fact), counting down the moments until the clock struck twelve. He hadn't been disappointed, either-an owl had arrived only a fraction of a second after the grandfather clock in the foyer had begun to ding, bringing with it a heavy envelope addressed to Mr. Harry Riddle, the Bedroom Facing the Backyard.

It was possibly the proudest moment of his life.

"You told me," Voldemort was saying, still looking bored. The hood had been pushed back off his head sometime when Harry hadn't been looking, giving the red eyes a face. His father was a handsome man (Harry fancied they looked quite alike, in fact), but there was a type of odd gauntness to his features, like he was constantly tired. Maybe it was the effect of practicing so much Dark Magic? All the books he'd ever read on the subject of the Dark Arts had mentioned that as a side effect, but-

Silencing his racing thoughts, he asked: "Can we go to Diagon Alley anytime soon? The letter demands my reply by today, you know, but I already sent it, so don't worry. But Draco's already gotten all of his stuff. Can I get a snake? I want a snake. Or . . ." Harry smirked, "Can I take Nagini?"

"No, you may not take my familiar."

"But it'd make a statement. You know: 'I am Lord Voldemort's son.'"

Voldemort sighed, wondering if that was a good statement to make. "I'll take you shopping tomorrow, okay? Now, will you go away?"

"Thanks, Dad. Of course I will."

Harry turned on his heels and exited, and Voldemort leaned back against his throne. Harry was everything he could have hoped for in an heir, even if he did tend to be more than a little self-centered and immature. He was powerful, immensely so, and could take charge when the need arose. And, he could already cast a Cruciatus that could rival Bellatrix Lestrange's, too, though that was most likely because she had been the one to teach him and hadn't held back in the least.

All in all, Harry was a Slytherin to the core - he was cunning, manipulative, and could be rather sociopathic.

On the other hand, though, he was at times idiotically brave, especially when Draco Malfoy managed to convince him to do something stupid. Voldemort hoped fervently that was all he got from his filthy mudblood mother. It was just his luck, of course, that the one time he'd managed to reproduce had been with someone like her. The genes just weren't good.

Voldemort clicked his tongue. Only time would tell.