"LETTER FOR MASTER Riddle," a house elf bowed, giving the frowning boy the letter, and popping away with its magic.
Alex Morfin Riddle— a mere 16 year old boy— opened the letter, frown deepening with each line.
Years ago, the dark lord had a son and named him Alex— as he wanted a common name because he didn't want too much attention on his son. And when the dark lord vanished, Alex was given to his mother.
His mother was a beautiful pureblood woman; blonde hair and blue eyes— the eye color Alex inherited, but the hair he did not. He inherited his father's dark black hair instead.
Fast forward years later, Alex's mother had died, which he refused to speak of— then he started living alone in Slytherin manor, which he was heir to.
Not wanting to be near Dumbledore, Alex attended Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts, but because of a situation, he started attending Hogwarts in his 5th year. It was a coincidence his father had came back by then.
Unfortunately, he didn't actually see his father the whole year like he had thought he would. Because of that, he ignored every letter his father started sending him, not even bothering to open it, and sent the owl back empty-handed.
It was a shame, really. He was looking forward to having a father.
"So, you're coming?" Draco Malfoy asked.
Oh, and he was friends with Draco— whom he had met during a pureblood ball a few years ago.
Draco visited often, but this year, he did not.
Alex knew why immediately; Draco was now a death eater.
"It depends," replied Alex, lighting a cigarette. "Who's attending?"
"The Parkinsons, Greengrasses, and many more. Mother didn't talk about it too much. It was—"
The other boy raised an eyebrow.
Draco shook his head, starting to itch his left forearm.
"An order from the dark lord," finished Alex, inhaling smoke, not looking away from him. "Why, Draco?"
"Alex, I can't," whispered Draco, standing up, grabbing his jacket and putting it on.
Alex exhaled the smoke and stood up. He was just a bit taller than Draco. "He's looking for me, isn't he?"
Draco became quiet, giving him the answer he needed.
"When is it?"
"In half an hour."
"Who the hell sends an invitation to a ball 30 minutes before?"
"I'm supposed to convince you to come," admitted Draco with a sheepish shrug.
The other boy looked away. "Is he going to be there?"
"My lord puts on a glamour when with his death eaters. I've never actually seen him without it, so yes, but I don't know how he will look."
"A glamour?"
"It's kind of.. well, looks like a snake—"
"Nevermind," Alex shook his head, walking away. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."
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Stepping out of the fireplace after flooing to Malfoy manor, Alex looked around the ballroom.
"Riddle," greeted Daphne Greengrass, who was walking by.
Alex nodded at her, not replying.
A cough made him turn around.
His lips quirked. "Still don't know how to use the floo?"
Draco coughed again. "Shut up," he mumbled.
"Draco, there you are!" Narcissa Malfoy walked up to the two boys. Her eyes stopped on Alex. "Somebody's in the living room waiting for you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy." Alex said, walking away from the two.
He turned around just for a few seconds, watching as Narcissa put a hand on her son's shoulder and was talking to him.
He shook his head, walking out of the ballroom.
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"Hello, son," said a smooth voice as soon as Alex closed the living room's door.
Alex turned around, looking at the man by the fireplace.
He had black hair and black eyes, a sharp jawline, and was wearing a suit.
"I'm not your son," replied Alex bitterly with a small sneer. "Don't call me that."
Tom Marvolo Riddle nodded, looking at the young boy. "I deserve that." He motioned towards the couch. "Sit down. Let's talk."
Putting his hands in his pockets, Alex walked up to him, sitting down on the couch, staring at the fireplace instead of the man. "What do you want?"
Tom frowned. "Why were you not replying to my letters?"
"You sent me letters?" Alex asked back.
"You didn't get them?"
"No," lied the young boy immediately. "No, I didn't."
Tom nodded, but it seemed like he already knew his son was lying. "Where's your mother?"
"Dead."
"Shame," mumbled the man. "How?"
"Murdered."
His eyebrows rose. "Who killed her?"
"A member of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore sent him to kill me, but he killed her instead."
"How old were you?" asked Tom, pouring his son a glass of whiskey.
Alex swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "Nine."
"And they killed her in front of you?"
"Yes."
"What did you do?"
"Killed him," replied the young boy as if it was obvious, taking the glass his father offered. "With a knife."
Alex didn't miss the proud look on his father's face, but he pretended not to notice, drinking the glass of whiskey instead.
"Why now?"
Tom seemed confused. "What?"
"You came back a year ago, didn't you? Why look for me now?"
"I've been looking for you all year."
"No, you didn't. You knew where I was. How else could you send letters?"
"My owl is special. He sends letters without being told the place." Tom replied truthfully, still not looking away from his son. "Alex, I didn't know your mother died. I thought you were still with her. Nor did I know you attended Hogwarts all these years—"
"I attended Durmstrang, not Hogwarts," Alex cut him off, looking away from the fireplace.
A green light. A scream.
Alex snapped out of it. "What?" He asked blankly, not hearing what his father had said.
"I said that I'm going to be coming back to Slytherin manor. Is that alright?" Tom repeated.
"Do I have a choice?" mumbled the boy.
"No," Tom shook his head.