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2021-09-14
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Miðgarðsormr

Summary:

Tom watched as the mother and son stop at a spot by the fountain. The witch whom he's never met before in his life, with bushy brown hair atop a heart-shaped face, and the boy who looked exactly like him when he was at that age.

---

Translated in: Russian , Italian , Indonesian , Portuguese 1 , Portuguese 2

Notes:

(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: The Boy

Notes:

I can’t help it. This idea’s been bugging me a lot lately so I just have to write it down.
WARNING: This is not your typical ‘Who’s the baby’s real father?’ type of story. Don’t take what you read for granted. This is still a MYSTERY fic so feel free to read between the lines.

I have no idea how this is done so please excuse the amateurish attempt for a moodboard(?) banner(?)

Edited & Revised: 1/6/2023

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

‘Take a deep breath- in and out, in then out…’

Those words Abraxas Malfoy repeated in his head for the last few hours were easier said than done. Disturbed- was the best term to describe his state since he returned back to the manor. It was evident by the way he kept his head low, as he paced around his study. Whilst he wrung his wrists like a nervous child. His shock, added to the fact what day it was, had Abraxas driven up a wall. Much to the concern of his wife before he shut himself in his office to try to sort through what he had just discovered.

Was it just his atrocious luck that he had learned of this on the exact day he would be coming- in exactly five minutes?!

He almost dropped his pocket watch no thanks to his shaky hand. No, he needed to compose himself. He must act like nothing was amiss. At least, for as long as he could. He had no intention of keeping this from him. Merlin, he didn’t want to die young. Lucius hadn’t even received his Hogwarts letter yet! He had every right to know, but the problem was how to best deliver this news and wish for the best reaction possible…

In a few minutes, the meeting room on the second floor of the manor’s west wing will be filled by him and his old mates- the Knights of Walpurgis. Circumstances given, the brotherhood that began during their youthful years at Hogwarts, became a solid part of their identities all throughout and up to their graduation. Even when their numbers have increased, the title of the Knights remained; acknowledged as the innermost circle, highest in the rankings, and comprised of the six original members.

At least twice a month, they would hold their exclusive meetings, the host rotated among them, where they would discuss politics, business, and magic. It was nothing new. They’ve had these discussions while they were in Hogwarts, as far back as their fourth year, at a time when they had to start establishing their feet in the big world.

But Abraxas knew that later in the meeting, they would have to discuss more than just the usual topics.

“Bloody hell…” Abraxas cursed as he raked his hand through his short platinum blonde locks.

He was not a religious man, but he prayed that if there was some higher being up there, it would help quell the inevitable fallout he just knew would rain down upon him later.

.

“Abraxas.”

The Head of the Malfoy House nearly jumped out of his skin.

“M-My Lord?”

He winced at his own stutter, but tried to keep his posture straight. His blood felt cold within his veins as he felt an invisible weight come down on his shoulders. It was a weight made heavier by the numerous pairs of eyes that shot towards him in shock, and even more so by the specific pair of black eyes as dark as the void that he knew were sending glances at him halfway through the meeting. It also didn’t help that Abraxas was sitting just to the right of the man positioned at the head of the table.

Here he thought he had managed to do a good job in keeping a straight face. The others didn’t seem to notice anything amiss in his behavior. Theoden Nott had given his uneventful monthly summary of his family’s publishing company, Philip Rosier happily reported how he secured the shipment of goods as per Tom’s order, Leander Mulciber had noted a number of names that showed promise to be vetted to join the ranks, Jericho Avery mentioned how the werewolves continued to reject their offers, and Markus Lestrange expressed his satisfaction on the training of their new recruits. As for Abraxas, he was sure to deliver the growing tension in the ministry calmly. Calmly.

He shouldn’t be surprised he had managed to sniff him out.

“I can’t help but notice…” Tom drawled, though pleasant it had seemed, still sent shivers down, not only in Abraxas’ spine, but also to the rest of the Knights. The way the dark-haired man tapped his finger over the polished wood of the table only unsettled them further.

“…that you seemed distracted throughout the meeting. Is there something you wish to share?” the specific order of “to me” went unsaid. He didn’t have to.

Seconds of silence passed by as Abraxas scrambled his brain on how to form a proper sentence. For there was no easy way to deliver what he had seen.

“You hesitate,” Tom followed with a nearly-imperceptible click of his tongue. Clearly, he didn’t like that he wasn’t given an immediate answer. “You dare withhold information from me, Abraxas?”

In an instant, red flashed in Tom’s eyes and everyone present froze in their seats. Some had even sent pleading looks to Abraxas- who only became paler than he already was- to just spit out whatever he was keeping. No good ever came to anyone who crossed their dark lord. Especially when the offense was withholding information, no matter how trivial it may seem. To the Death Eaters- the Knights, most of all, knew that the fault of one was the fault of all.

They also knew Tom never had reservations when it came to inflicting punishments, magical or otherwise.

“No, my lord!” Abraxas shot up from his seat in alarm, having finally found his voice, “It’s not like that at all!”

“Not like what?” Tom goaded; his voice adopted a dangerous timbre.

“It’s just… I d-don’t know how to say…” the blonde’s tone lowered as he looked down at his feet.

“Then if you can’t say, then perhaps you should just show.”

He snapped his head back up, but before he could say anything, he froze. Quicker than the eye could see, Tom whipped out his wand and casted a silent Legilimens.

.

Abraxas smiled his practiced smile as he bid farewell to the ministry official that had faithfully been under his thumb ever since the start of his career. As the one with the most connections in the inner workings of the Ministry of Magic, Abraxas made it a point to always check on his contacts under the guise of lunches and dinners. He befriended them, and were generous with his gifts under the table. These tricks he learned from his father, and practiced with Tom’s guidance.

Fortunately, apart from a small mishap on the appointment for a new Head of the Department of Mysteries, there had been nothing more noteworthy to add to his report for the meeting later. At least, none that they haven’t already known.

With Tom’s frequent travels to who-knows-where for the last decade, Abraxas and the rest of the Knights were given bigger shoes to fill. The blonde liked to think it was because Tom trusted them these responsibilities. They weren’t boys anymore whose hands were held for every move in the gameboard by the Grandmaster.

Some may complain for their slow and silent method, but it would be un-Slytherin-like of them to establish themselves and their cause with their wands blazing. Tom had imparted them a philosophy: a tree can only be as strong as the soil and water its fed with. And oh how effective it was when put into practice properly. In just after five years since their graduation, their efforts have shown fruit- and how sweet the nectar was!

Abraxas passed through the busy street of Diagon Alley. He smiled back and made small talk to those familiar with him. It was important that he maintained a healthy relationship with people, especially those of importance. One could never know when he would be needing them in the future, after all.

He paused momentarily in front of the Quality Quidditch Supplies where he peered through the glass that displayed their newest line of Quidditch kit for children. Would it be too soon to add another gift for his son’s upcoming birthday? An associate of his who worked in the leading company making the best brooms to date had told him that the newest broomstick (tailored to children) wouldn’t be released for another month. Of course, he had already pre-ordered said broom and suggested that his would be delivered as earlier as possible than the actual release date.

‘Ah but it’s only appropriate to pair a new broom with a new kit, right?’

Abraxas’ hand was literally inches away from the doorknob when his whole body froze from shock. As if someone had splashed him with freezing water.

There, on the reflection of the glass display, a little boy had passed him by.

His eyes widened in alarm. Was it just an illusion? A trick of the light? Abraxas wondered as he whipped his head around it nearly gave him whiplash, to the direction the boy went off to.

No, it couldn’t be… He was probably just tired and thought of his son… but even then, why would he see…

Having already preconceived that this would haunt him later, Abraxas clenched his fists and followed after the boy- who went inside a second-hand bookstore.

Inside, the Head of the Malfoy House grabbed the nearest random book in an attempt to make himself look less suspicious. His eyes shifted between the book (which he opened to a random page), the shelves, and the boy perusing the stacks. Not a second later, a title caught the boy’s eye and immediately reached for the book to read through its first few pages. Abraxas took this opportunity to move across the wide middle aisle to get a better look of the boy’s face. Fortunately, the boy chose a book from a low shelf so his entire face was open in full view.

Abraxas nearly dropped his book from the shock.

The boy- based on his height and features, looked no older than ten- the same age as his own son, Lucius. He was neatly dressed in a matching pair of vest and trousers of the darkest blue it was almost black, over a long-sleeved white shirt, and a pair of polished black shoes. Having grown in an environment who only accepted the finest luxuries, he could tell that they were tailored and made from the best quality thread.

The boy also had black, wavy hair that was combed in a way it was parted from the side some fell stylishly over his forehead. He was lean but still had hints of baby fat over his cheeks that made him look angelic. His skin, while a bit pale, still had a healthy tinge of light peach to it. With a button nose, pressed lips and brows slightly furrowed in concentration over black eyes darker than the night sky, only the blind wouldn’t be able to notice how angelic the boy looked.

However, it was exactly that face that made Abraxas’ blood run cold.

He felt like he had been transported back in time. Back when he himself was just a little boy- wide-eyed and excited as he stepped inside the grandness that was Hogwarts for the first time.

Back when he first met a certain Tom Marvolo Riddle for the first time.

Abraxas felt himself swallow a lump he hadn’t known formed in his throat.

There was no mistake.

He had grown up with Tom, was in the same dorm as him, went to most of the same classes, all through seven years.

And even if he didn’t, he would bet a thousand galleons that anyone who knew Tom and saw this boy; would say the exact same thing.

“They look exactly alike.”

.

As soon as it came, it ended. Abraxas fell back hard in his seat as if hit by a charging erumpent. His once kept hair was amess, and sweat had poured from his temples from both pain and exhaustion for having his mind forcibly invaded. Tom Riddle was a master legilimens. Many times he would will himself into the minds of many with ease and peruse through their head as he would casually skim a book. Most couldn’t even notice his coming and going, and only the rare few who were gifted in occlumency, and those trained in it, could feel his prodding as swift as the sharpest blade.

However, the fact that Tom wrenched free with the brutality of a crude axe was indicative enough that what he saw in Abraxas’ mind unsettled him enough to break from his perfect control.

True enough, when Abraxas finally managed to lift his head up and cleared the bit of haze from his vision, he saw how Tom Riddle sat there on his seat. One hand gripped the arm so hard his knuckles turned white, while the other held his own face. But it was not to hide his expression. For between his long fingers, Tom’s eyes had become so wide with shock the white sclera could be seen all around his dark irises that held dilated pupils. It was the most expressive the Knights had ever seen of him apart from anger and manic joy.

On that day, Abraxas wasn’t sure whether to be afraid of his lord’s impending reaction, or for the boy that mirrored his likeness so much he could only be his son.


Tom sharply tugged on his robes and adjusted the cravat around his neck. He paid no heed as his magic thrummed dangerously around him no thanks to his barely-concealed ire.

It had been a week- an entire week since he saw the boy from Abraxas’ memories.

That boy who looked exactly like him he almost thought he was seeing a past memory of himself. To say he was shocked was a great understatement. The rage that followed even more so.

Tom Riddle hated being caught off-guard, and the boy’s existence was certainly something he didn’t expect. In fact, he never even fathomed such a possibility.

This boy… his sudden appearance… it could throw a wrench in his plans that could ruin everything he had done for the last eighteen years.

Where did he even come from? How long had he been here? He may have been traveling to distant countries, but a magical artefact he owned allowed him to never miss a single meeting with the Knights, or the Death Eaters. Had someone betrayed him? No, they were all equally as shocked when Tom allowed Abraxas to tell them what he saw. He was certain that they would’ve mentioned something to him long ago if there was a child that looked exactly like him running around Diagon Alley.

Days have passed and it seemed that this sudden turn of events would prove to be more difficult than he thought.

After securing that this information would not be leaked outside the innermost circle, Tom had ordered his Knights to tail and gather whatever information they could about the boy and declared it as their number one priority. This in turn had set back their plans indefinitely, and Tom was forced to pause his travels until this matter was resolved.

In the meantime, he had busied himself with the Malfoy’s pensieve to pilfer through his memories of previous liaisons. Tom was sure, he always made sure, that the witches he used during the days when he had less control over his hormones and libido, were protected exactly for the sole purpose of preventing this accident. When he found nothing amiss, he scoured each of his memories to find any sort of mismatch. Anything that seemed remotely off that allowed this possibility to slip under his nose. Based on his estimations, the boy could only be around the age of ten, but just to be thorough, Tom also made sure to see through the start of his forays in sex.

But much to his anger and frustration, he found nothing.

There was no evidence of his mind being tampered with, and all of his memories were fully intact. There weren’t even any clues of spells, potions, or attempts in legilimency backfiring on him that could cause this. Yes, he had caught two handfuls of witches who attempted to use amortentia on him, but those he made sure to give a very special kind of punishment.   

Was this what they called fate’s irony?

In the past, he had shocked his father of his own existence by suddenly appearing at his doorstep. And up to now, he could still vividly recall the day he laid waste on his filthy muggle father and grandparents. He had relished the look of utter terror and despair on Tom Sr.’s face with his magic fueled by wrath and bitterness. Too bad he couldn’t do the same for his equally pathetic and disgusting mother. A witch- who might as well be a squib- who was so utterly unworthy of the precious blood in her veins. She was a woman so weak to have succumbed to death, thus leaving him to the mercy of wretched muggles until he discovered magic.

And now it was his turn to be shocked by his own son’s existence that suddenly appeared before him.

There was a saying that ‘History repeats itself’. Was he destined to be killed by his own son?

No.

He refused.

He has his horcruxes.

He cannot die.

He wasn’t even sure the boy was truly his son. There were more ways other than the Polyjuice potion to capture another person’s likeness. In fact, a more advanced variation of the potion could even manipulate the drinker’s age. But even so… why his image?

No, it doesn’t matter who the boy was. Tom would find out, and whether he was really his bastard son or not, he must be removed.

He didn’t care if the boy truly was just a child.

And as for the witch who birthed him? Well, death would be too merciful.

Tom halted in his steps as soon as he saw them.

Much to his displeasure, his followers found nothing on the boy and his apparent mother. There were no recordings of any documents found in the ministry archives for registered English citizens, and his familial background might as well be nonexistent. The most they could tell about him were the boy’s daily activities, where he lived, and the shops he frequented in Diagon Alley.

According to their report, at around noon, the boy and his mother would appear at the Fountain of Eternal Spring in Wizarding London. It wasn’t difficult to spot them amongst the crowd. This was the first time for Tom to see the boy with his own eyes, and from what he saw, he could only, begrudgingly, admit the uncanny resemblance between them. The only good thing he had gotten from his father were his looks, and that trait apparently held strong as it carried over to his apparent progeny.

If he didn’t know any better, the boy might as well be his twin. But that couldn’t be anywhere near plausible. He had checked. Tom Riddle Sr. had lived a life of celibacy ever since he broke from his mother’s spell. Furthermore, the timeline wouldn’t add up. The boy couldn’t be older than nine or ten. Apart from Tom, there were no other living Riddles left.

Regardless, there was a part of him, the ever-insatiable curious side, who spoke out of turn and expressed their want to know more about the boy. Not out of paternal instinct, but more of an academic curiosity.

Marriage, much less having a child, had never been part of his plans. He saw no need of it, found it a nuisance even, especially in his pursuit of immortality. There would be no point of creating any descendants if he were to be immortal.

But… if this boy really was his own flesh and blood, then what would it say about his magical prowess?

Then there’s also the boy’s mother.

The nameless witch he had apparently impregnated and bore him his ‘son’. Just what part did she play in all of this?

Tom’s dark eyes narrowed at her bushy, brown curls crowning her heart-shaped face.

She was another variable he never anticipated. Not only for the current circumstance regarding his bastard, but also for the disturbing fact that he couldn’t remember anything about this witch, let alone bedding her. Even if she was just some random romp he snagged on a drunken night, he would still be able to recall her. However, his memories had failed him as it turned up with nothing that could help explain things to him again. Thus, inserting another mystery into the equation.

His blood boiled at the possibility that this slip of a witch somehow tricked him and got away with it. His search may have proved null, but he still couldn’t rule out the possibility that his memories have been tampered with one way or another. She had done something. Surely, she must’ve! What other reason could there be?

And after all this time, why appear now?

Should he expect an owl to knock on his window with a letter demanding financial support and compensation anytime soon?

Tom continued to watch even as the witch and her son stopped in front of the fountain. Other wizards and witches became a blur as they passed by in his eyes.

His sights were focused solely on them.

His dark pools then narrowed in disgust at their carefree smiles as the witch cupped the boy’s cheeks in her gloved hands. Her lips were moving, but Tom couldn’t hear whatever it was from his distance, and the boy nodded obediently. She then bent down to press a chaste kiss on his forehead before touching their noses together in eskimo kisses. He was certain they were even laughing between their grins.

Then they parted. The witch pulled up the hood of her cloak and gave the boy a final wave before she turned on her heel and slipped through the crowd.

When his Knights confirmed the boy had a mother, he had also ordered his men to gather information about her. In fact, he had given orders to tail her, capture her even, but as much as they tried, they couldn’t. For as soon as the witched turned a corner, she vanished- disapparated, he surmised. To where? None of them knew. To work? Probably. But Abraxas had yet to fully comb through his resources to figure out her place of employment. They were certain, at least, that she didn’t work in the ministry or in any of its departments.

‘And how irresponsible of her. To leave her own child in such a busy area.’

But the witch can be dealt with later.

For now, Tom would have to make do with what’s in front of him, and the boy was certainly an easier target.

.

Diagon Alley was certainly an intriguing place.

Of all the places he had ventured in Wizarding London so far, this shopping area might be his most favorite place yet. Numerous shops of various kinds filled the place and its many shoppers. All of the hustle and bustle even made the cobblestone alley festive.

Personally, he favored Sugarplum’s Sweet Shop and Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour the most. His mother permitted him to indulge this time as a reward for behaving and he’ll surely take advantage of it.

With his small and agile body, he snaked between the crowd of magic folk coming up and down the alley. His dark eyes were set on the shop painted pastel pink. A bewitching scent assaulted his nose the moment he opened its doors.

It wasn’t long till he stepped out with a bag full of cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties, liquorice wands, and Droobles Best Blowing Gum. The store owner always gave him more than he asked. Especially when he said his mother allowed him to sate his sweet tooth this time. He had only intended to buy some cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, but he certainly wasn’t complaining the added goods. Food was especially delicious when it’s free.

Who was he to deny such generosity anyway? It wasn’t as if he had charmed them or something.

With the treats secured in his messenger bag, he fished out one of the chocolate frogs. After he had learned his lesson since the first time he was introduced to the treat, he immediately grabbed the enchanted chocolate inside before it even thought of taking a leap. The frog squirmed between his forefinger and thumb as its limbs flailed around helplessly. Its croak broke half-way when its head was suddenly bitten off. The magic dispelled instantly and its limbs no longer moved as it turned back into ordinary, frog-shaped chocolate. A headless frog-shaped chocolate, to be exact.

His dark, bottomless eyes peered down the wrapper where a collectible card of a supposedly famous witch or wizard came with it.

‘Albus Dumbledore’ it said.

He dumped the wrapper and the card along with it into the nearest trash bin before he resumed his walk down the alley. More pieces of the chocolate frog were bitten off with a satisfied smile on his face.

Maybe he could convince his mother to eat out for dinner and then have dessert at the ice cream parlour later? She mentioned that her workload hadn’t been as busy as before, so she could promise to coming home early to spend more time with him. Though she always made sure to come home as early as she could.

He paused for a moment when his eyes were caught with one of the animals at the window of Magical Menagerie. It was a Ball Python. Its forked tongue slipped in and out to taste the air as its large eyes fixed on him. He stared back just as intently and for a moment, his left thumb caressed the ring around his left middle finger- a gift his mother gave him on his birthday. Dark eyes focused on the python’s for a few more seconds before he finally broke it to fish out another chocolate frog. He bit its head off first yet again.

The bell rang overhead the second he opened the door and the shop owner’s head snapped up from where he was reviewing his ledger behind the counter.

“Alduin m’boy!” Garrick Ollivander greeted exuberantly.

Alduin flashed his pearly-white teeth at the wandmaker, “Hullo, Mr. Ollivander. I hope your day has been well so far?”

“It certainly has been. What about yours? And how’s your mother?” he asked as he let him slip around the counter to follow him towards the back of the shop where his workstation was.

Due to the nature of his mother’s work, Alduin had to be left on his own a few times a day. Of course, his mother would never allow to leave him be unattended. She worried constantly for his safety, but fortunately, not to the point of suffocating. The only way to appease her worries was by befriending a local whom they could trust to look after him until she gets back.

Fortunately, Alduin was inherently curious and eager for new knowledge. He knew his mother would never leave him in harm’s way, so it was no contest at all that Alduin had no qualms about being left alone with a wandmaker this time. Previously, he was left in the care of a Potion Master during their stay in Louisiana. And Mr. Ollivander, the jolly and enthusiastic artisan that he was, was more than happy to share his knowledge and passion in the art of wand-making. Although Alduin had no plans of making wands himself, he was interested in the crafting and lore behind such artefacts, along with the ingredients used in them. His mother always told him to never pass up an opportunity to learn.

 “She’s been well, sir. Thank you for asking. And I’m excited what new things I will learn today,” he answered, “Oh! I also brought you something, Mr. Ollivander. It isn’t much but I do hope you will accept them.”

He pulled from his bag a dozen pumpkin pasties he had asked the shop owner to place in a separate paper bag.

The wandmaker’s eyes widened at his gesture, “Oh Alduin, you didn’t have to m’boy. I never asked for anything when I agreed to your mother that I would watch over you.”

“I know, but I couldn’t possibly let your goodwill go unrewarded, at the very least. I may be young but I know that it’s considered unwise to do a favor from a stranger. We’re hardly related by blood yet you agreed to watch over me. Please sir? It would make me really happy if you accept this. Think of it as a small token of appreciation for the knowledge you’ve shared with me so far. I certainly wouldn’t know all about the art of wand-making from a book alone!”

“That’s very sweet of you, Alduin, but…” the raven-haired boy looked up at him with a coquettish tilt of his head. His eyes widened up at him with a hopeful gleam, and finished it off with a shy smile.

The moment the man sputtered; Alduin knew he won. He quickly learned that most people couldn’t resist him whenever he made a face like this. The only exception was his mother, who seemed to have an immunity to it… occasionally.

“Oh alright! You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Granger. I just hope you won’t cause your mum any trouble in the future.”

“But sir, I would never! I promised mother I would be a good boy, after all,” he mocked affronted with a gasp before he broke into a laugh as he handed the bag of pasties.

Alduin then made his way to the small desk across the man’s worktable and took out his quill, as well as a leatherbound journal his mother gave him, as if he was a student eager to start his lessons.

“Now, where were we?” Mr. Ollivander hummed gleefully. His previous reservations gone after he swallowed a pasty.

“You were talking about the yew wand, sir, and how it’s known for making heroes and villains.”

“Ah yes! The yew wand. Made from the long-lived trees.”

Hours passed with most of it spend with Mr. Ollivander just talking. Every once in a while, Alduin would ask a question or two, to which he would jot down notes while also taking a bite off the treats he brought with him. Fortunately, the start-of-school season was past them and apart from the occasional customer coming by the shop, Mr. Ollivander was free to do his craft. When he wasn’t lecturing about the properties of wood and core ingredients, he would do a demonstration of making a wand.

Alduin always found that more interesting than lectures. Not that it wasn’t welcomed. For people to harness such power through a stick… well, the magic folk from other countries used staffs and books. And while his own mother had a wand (an old, weathered thing carved with vines that snaked around its namesake wood and empowered with a dragon heartstring core), she rarely used it at home. He was more used to her just simply flicking her wrist or waving her hand around without saying a single word.

He couldn’t wait to do magic like her!

Alduin bid the wandmaker farewell and promised to return tomorrow at the same time. The raven-haired boy wanted to stop by Eyecatcher’s before going back to the fountain where he would wait for his mother. Even though it would be safer to just head home and wait for her there, he didn’t mind waiting for her at the apparition point. Besides, the fountain there was a piece of art that had caught his eye the first time he saw it.

He had about two hours to spare, and while he can take longer hours, it was enough time to check the shelves and read the opening chapters if something caught his fancy. His mother may be a bit strict on his diet but she had absolutely no problems if he spent his allowance on books. She encouraged him even. Then again, maybe there was something at the store that he could get her as well. Eyecatcher’s may not be updated with bestselling works, but his mother told him that the hidden gems were always found in the unlikeliest places.

Who knows what books people sold, not knowing their true value?’ she once said.

Lost in his thoughts, Alduin unceremoniously stopped in his tracks no thanks to the figure he accidentally bumped into. No, not accidentally. The man in the hooded cloak purposely stepped into his path at the last second.

“You brat! Watch where you’re going! Now look what you’ve done!” the toxic green color of the cauldron cake’s filling stained the man’s robes. His hand caught Alduin’s much smaller wrist, and the way he yanked it up made him drop the half-eaten cake from his hand. “Do you have any idea how expensive this robe is?!”

Alduin only looked mournfully at his wasted cake.

“Where are your parents, boy?! I demand compensation!” the man shouted at his face like a yapping dog. The way he looked down at the raven-haired boy was deliberate with the intent of making himself look big and intimidating. His shouts have also started to garner attention from the crowd, and while most of them looked aghast and pitying, Alduin knew no one would step in unless there happened to be an Auror among them, or the occasional good Samaritan.

Instead of shaking in fear, the raven-haired boy only gave the man a dark look.

“You shouldn’t waste food,” he said with a disappointed click of his tongue. Then he looked up.

Taken aback from the unusual reaction, the man tightened his grip on his wrist and further shouted, “Are you deaf?! I said, where are your pa-!”

His tirade was cut short as something heavy and wooden fell on top of his head. The man cried out in pain as he bent over. He let go of Alduin’s wrist to clutch his own head.

“OW! What in Merlin-“ the man was once again interrupted when a peddler’s cart suddenly came rolling down the sloping cobblestone. It startled the owls as it passed by Eeylops Owl Emporium and added to the noise as it crashed squarely on the man’s back and made him fall face first on the ground.

Amidst the chaos, Alduin had stealthily slithered to the nearest alley between two shops and let the shadows hide him. He took a peek from his hiding spot and couldn’t help the triumphant smile that pulled his lips as he watched how the man was crowded. Some belatedly came to Alduin’s defense while the most vocal of them was the peddler as bits of the cart and its goods got broken off on its way down. They were demanding the man for compensation instead.

“My, my.”

A deep drawl came from behind him that made Alduin snap his head back in surprise. He watched as silent footsteps came forward from the dark end of the alley. The shadows stretched as another wizard, this time in complete black robes that blend with the darkness around them, levelled him with a look. Alduin instinctively straightened his back to meet the man’s equally dark eyes.

“Tell me, boy,” he began, “How is it that such… misfortune came upon that man at such an opportune time?”

“I wouldn’t call it a misfortune, sir. Luck was certainly on my side,” he answered smartly.

“Luck? Yes… how lucky you are that the chain of the shop’s sign and the wheel on the peddler’s car suddenly broke off and hit that man. Such an accident could’ve been yours if he weren’t there to take the brunt of it instead.”

Alduin shrugged noncommittally. That’s when the stranger took more steps closer until he was only a few feet away from him. The light from the setting sun that snuck between the buildings gave enough light for him to see his features.

He couldn’t help tilt his head curiously.

“What is your name, boy?”

“My mother told me it is proper manners to introduce yourself first before asking a name,” he answered instead.

Red flashed from the stranger’s onyx eyes but it was gone as soon as it appeared. That only made Alduin more curious about the man before him.

“Of course, my apologies,” he gestured to himself with his hand before motioning back towards him, “My name is Tom Riddle, and you are?”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Riddle. I am Alduin Granger.”

Ah, I do believe mother mentioned that name once.

Notes:

This adorable fanart! was made by imjaneees! Thanks so much! I just love seeing the two of them together! Especially Alduin! You can check her out on tumblr!

AGAIN, please read between the lines, and yes, I borrowed the name ‘Alduin’ from the dragon in Skyrim.
Will continue depending on the comments.
Ciao~!