Harry Riddle || Harry potter

Chapter 2: False Charm and Broken Vows

August 1, 1980

Lily Potter felt like a whore, but smiled and asked her husband to go and get her something to drink. He jumped to do it, kissing her on the cheek and leaving the room, like she'd been counting on.

For a moment after the door closed, she tried to justify what she'd done. She and James had married right out of school, when they'd been barely eighteen. It was too soon, really, they hadn't known each other well enough, but they'd been in love and hadn't cared. Those first two years, she'd tried to be a good wife, the perfect wife, taking care of the house and cooking dinner and all those other things wives did. But James hadn't taken to domestic life very well; he'd wanted to go and party with Sirius, and frequently did. And having a wife hadn't stopped him from sleeping around.

She'd been hurt the first time, when Remus had hesitantly told her, but James had promised to never do it again. He'd lied.

So, she'd adapted. Gotten used to it. Learned to ignore it.

But she'd been screaming inside.

One night a year and a half later, when he'd come in late like usual, smelling of perfume and firewhiskey, she'd finally snapped, screaming and yelling and throwing things and finally storming out, crying pathetically. She'd wandered around Diagon Alley for what felt like hours, the tears still coming-

And that had been how Mister Tom Riddle found her.

He was older than her, probably by quite a few years, but he'd been devestatingly handsome and charming, saying everything she wanted-needed-to hear and gaining her trust within an hour.

But psychopaths are always charming.

She'd known it was wrong. She was married, she'd taken vows . . . but had James ever let that stop him? Had he ever once thought of her when he was with another woman, ever thought about how she'd feel?

So, she'd pushed him out of her mind and took a plunge. And she'd loved Tom, for those few months. She really had. She thought he'd loved her, too, but then she'd learned that it had all just been work.

She was an Order member, after all. Constant vigilance, as Moody said. You never know when a a snake in lion's clothing might come along looking for inside information.

Dumbledore had been shocked that You-Know-Who had somehow known about the 'surprise' attack on his forces, and the massive loss of life the botched operation had resulted in dramatically weakened the Light.

Lily had been just as shocked, too, until she'd seen the photo. She'd been in Dumbledore's office when, surprise surprise, she'd looked off to the side and found herself staring at Tom Riddle's smirking face. He was younger than she knew him, wearing Hogwarts school robes, but it was unmistakably him. The picture hadn't been framed, just lying out on a table near a worn file dated 1943.

"Who's that?" she'd asked, her mouth working separately from her brain.

Dumbledore had glanced over and frowned deeply. "An old student of mine, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Very brilliant."

"Really," she said, licking her lips and feeling inexplicably nervous. ". . . He . . . looks familiar, somehow."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well, if you've had the misfortune to catch a glimpse of Lord Voldemort, I suppose he would."

Her mouth had gone dry and her blood froze in her veins. "You . . . Know . . . Who?"

"Hmm." Dumbledore conjured letters in the air above his desk, forming the name Tom Marvolo Riddle. With an eerily practiced hand, he rearranged them so that they were a sentence: I Am Lord Voldemort.

She'd never seen Tom Riddle again after that, never gotten a chance to confront him (not that she would've, considering). She'd gone back to James, told him she'd been staying with her parents for the past month; he'd said he was sorry, that he'd never do it again, and for once, he hadn't.

Probably because she'd also told him she was pregnant.

The next nine months had been agony. James hadn't doubted it was his (what reason did he have, after all?), but she'd been unsure. No, actually, she'd been sure, but sure that it was Tom Riddle's. She'd been living on pins and needles as a result, looking over her shoulder constantly and staying up all night, only getting sleep during the bright light of day. She'd given some flimsy excuse to James (was insomnia an actual symptom during pregnancy?) but she was fairly sure he believed it. After all, she was his perfect wife, why should he doubt her?

She almost wished he did, though. She'd tell him if he asked, she was so tired of the lies. But she could never broach the subject.

But she still wasn't sure. She didn't want to confirm it, to see it spelled out right in front of her, but she had no choice.

Locking the door, she turned and aimed her wand at her sleeping son, quietly saying, "Parentis."

A gold light shot out of her wand, enveloping the infant for a brief moment before floating up and forming letters that looked something like the ones from Dumbledore's spell all those months ago.

The word "mother" formed, underneath of which was her own name, as she'd obviously been expecting. Then, ever so slowly, the word "father" was written, then underneath, the first letter "T". It was all she needed, but she watched anyway as the full name was written out, feeling sick.

There was a horrible, drawn out silence as she tried to digest the information (she'd just given birth to Voldemort's spawn, Good God, what was she going to do?!) but then there were footsteps coming down the hall and she forced herself to banish the names and unlock the door.

She'd managed to get back into bed by the time James burst in, followed by Sirius and Remus, who both immediately rushed over and started cooing childishly at the baby.

Peter Pettigrew came in last and paused at the threshhold, but she never did notice him.