Nobody's son / Mattheo Riddle

Prologue

✩‧₊˚‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾✧·ﾟ: *✧ 1986 ✩‧₊˚‧͙⁺˚*·༓☾✧·ﾟ: *✧

Rain poured over the cold French night. A tall woman approached the gates with a six-year-old clutching her hand, terrified. She had told him they would only stay there for a night. He believed her; at that age, he believed everything his mum said.

He believed her when she said thunder couldn't hurt him; he believed her when she said monsters only existed in books; and he believed her now that she was promising they would be back home by morning.

The little boy didn't even notice all his clothes packed in a trunk, alongside his few toys and favorite blanket. He didn't see his mother cry silently the whole journey there, looking worried someone might see them.

When the boy kept asking where they were going, she always replied with "Somewhere safe, my love."  He didn't understand.

His shoes and clothes were soaked when they arrived at the biggest house the boy had ever seen. He thought it was a castle like the ones in his books.

His mother crouched next to him and placed both her hands on his cheeks while rain still poured on their faces.

— Angel, listen to me.

Her eyes were red and puffy; the boy hated seeing her like this.

— Mummy? Why are you crying?—

He reached for her face with his small hand and brushed away a tear.

— Everything is going to be alright, my little angel. Remember what I told you?

He nodded.

— That's my boy.— She let out a half-broken smile and kissed his forehead

The huge metal gates opened, and the woman quickly got up. She took the boy's hand again and walked down the long path until they reached the front door.

A woman received them under the dim lights. She was beautiful.

When she saw the boy's mother, her face turned pale. She rushed to hug the woman and then turned to the boy. She looked at him carefully. The boy did too.

— Is this him?— she asked his mother.

She nodded.

— Come in.

The Manor was beautiful. Warmer than expected, and meticulously decorated. The boy stayed in the living room, taking in every detail and admiring the paintings on the walls while the two women disappeared into the next room. He had been told to stay there, and so he did until he overheard his name. The door was halfway closed, and he knew listening was wrong, but he did anyway.

— You made me a promise, Cissy.

— I know.

— If something happens to me...

— Don't say that, Arianna.

— Cissy...

The boy listened more closely. His mother spoke barely above a whisper.

— He can never know what he is... at least not for a while

The boy frowned. He approached a mirror in the hallway and looked at himself. What he was? He was a boy; he was six; he had a small scratch on his knee from falling while running, but there was nothing more.

Then he heard a cold man's voice.

— No, keeping him here puts Draco in danger.

— He's a child, Lucius.