Tom, My Riddle

Chapter 1: My Lord ✓

The moment when Harry Potter's life would change completely, and hopefully for the better, would occur precisely six pm on his eighteenth birthday. That's when Death Eaters would arrive to collect him, as he was finally old enough to leave the godforsaken Faeroe Islands behind, a place he had never been able to leave before.

It would be an understatement to say that he was looking forward to their arrival. He loved the soothing nature, but after years of living in abandoned land where no other person besides his matron lived and where he could walk from one side of the island to the other, within a day, he couldn't be happier to leave it all behind.

But waiting for the minutes to pass was torture.

He nervously fiddled with the old letters he treasured more than anything, fearful of accidentally ripping them at the same time as he couldn't stop looking at them. Rays of sunshine gazed upon his face, comforting and almost calming his raging heart and erratic mind. Tranquil ocean and black sand surrounded him. Small waves continuously rolled in to the beach as it was an unusually wind still day. Normally it stormed.

He couldn't contain his happiness or the small smile that grazed his dry lips, as he very slowly, with shaking hands that barely cooperated, reread the last letter that had been sent to him for the thousandth time.

Lord Voldemort would finally come for him.

It had been years since they had seen each other, as the man apparently was very busy to Harry's dismay. Sure, the lord sent a few letters every year and Harry cherished them to an obsessive level, but apart from those few relics, he remained far away, causing Harry to long for him. Harry could count on his hand the small amount of people he had met in his life, and it hurt him deeply when barely any of those thought he was important enough to visit.

He wished deeply to become important.

A beautiful blonde boy, who was his only friend of the same age, suddenly appeared in the distance, walking over the warm sand right towards him, flocked by people he didn't know.

"Draco!" Harry jumped up to his feet, practically skipping around like a overexcited puppy as he collected his things.

It was time.

"Potter." Draco rolled his eyes at Harry's behaviour.

Harry was notably blushing while converting his eyes between the different strangers, nervously tucking on his robe. It wasn't his fault though, he wasn't used to meeting others. Only Lucius Malfoy and his son visited the house during summers, with the occasional new visitor every few years, but besides that he was simply surrounded by house elves and Mrs Rogers. She was an old witch that he loved to the extent he called her mother, although he knew that she was far too old to be his real parent. It wasn't a secret that his parents died during the war as death eaters, effectively making him an orphan raised by Lord Voldemort. Well, he was looked over financially at least... The visitations were far to rare for them to have any other familiar relationship except pen-pals. Not that it caused Harry to dislike him. He still adored Tom, even when the cold man showed him no affection.

"Hello," He mumbled to Draco's friends. They all stared at him as if he was an exotic animal in a zoo. It seemed rude to stare so openly, but perhaps this was normal behaviour?

It wasn't as if he would know...

"This is Potter's son? The Harry Potter that we've heard so much about?" A boy asked with raised eyebrows. "He looks so... Weak."

His heart broke a little bit from hearing that. He didn't want to be a disappointment for his dead parents and bring shame to their name. Nor did he want Lord Voldemort to be displeased when they met again, he was scared sick at that possibility.