Just a short story that came to my mind.

Warnings: murder is mentioned, and some unintentional Dumbledore bashing.

Disclaimer: I'm just playing around with the work created by Rowling.

Enjoy!

"Harry, my boy, please stay behind after class," Slughorn's voice could barely be heard through the ruckus of scraping chairs, chatting friends and students packing away their potion making items. It was the last lesson of the day and everyone was eager to finally start the weekend.

Harry waved his friends away – they were aware of the stilted relationship he had with the professor after his failed attempt to gain the memory about a young Voldemort – before he made his way towards the desk at the other end of the classroom.

"You asked for me, sir?" he asked as politely as he could. He felt slightly guilty for having used the Liquid Luck potion to trick the man out of the memory, but it had been needed.
"Yes, I did," the potions master told him as he finally met his eyes for the first time in weeks, "I know Albus has started telling you more about him. And though I do not agree with his manipulative methods, I do believe that there is something about Tom that you should know. Something Albus would never tell you."

He coughed out a bitter laugh as he leaned back into his comfortable chair, "he never liked him, Albus did. But Tom, Tom never cared much about Albus. Neither in the positive, nor in the negative way. In his eyes, he was just another teacher who disliked him for something he could not change. Until the circumstances changed, that is."

He hoisted himself out of his chair, "come, lets discuss this somewhere a bit more comfortable, shall we?"
He just nodded before he followed the waddling teacher into his office.
The man eased himself into his overstuffed desk-chair. He followed his example and let himself drop into the elegant wooden chair at the other side of the desk.

The small, magical instrument he had been admiring the last time he had been in the teacher's office slowed down and changed slightly, indicating that the conversation would be uncomfortable and awkward.
"Yes, well," Slughorn started with a cough that clearly stated how uncomfortable he already was. His eyes were fixed firmly on the magical instrument.

"There is no easy way to tell you this," he finally said after a silence that seemed to last forever, "therefore, I'll just jump straight into it."
He cleared his throat as he turned his eyes towards his own green ones, "when a young Tom Riddle first entered Hogwarts, he was not alone. He had a brother, a twin: one Ryan Riddle. They were neither born on the same day – I believe Ryan was two months younger than Tom – nor were they biologically related. But that didn't matter to either of them, they considered themselves to be twins, so twins was what they were."

"I have no doubt that I do not have to describe Tom," Slughorn said with a whimsical smile, "as you might know, he was brilliant, handsome, powerful and the perfect example of a Slytherin. Not strange, for the heir of that name. But he was also standoffish and distant from his peers. I've also no doubt that Albus told you that Tom was incapable of loving anyone."
Harry just nodded.
"That was not true," Slughorn said firmly, "it might be true that Tom did not love easily, but if there was one person he did love, it was his brother. And he loved him fiercely, without boundaries. He was also not afraid to show just how much he loved his brother, though I have no doubt that Albus would describe what he felt as obsession or possessiveness and not love. But that was what it was."

"Ryan was not as smart as Tom, not as quick to grasp new concepts or ideas either. And I don't even know if he was as powerful," the potion teacher continued, "I do know that he wasn't quite as fitted for Slytherin as Tom. Personally, I believed him to be better off in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. It is therefore my believe that it was only the presence of Tom that made him choose to go the Slytherin."

"But neither of them ever had problems with any of the other Slytherins," the professor told him with a soft smile, "Ryan was more social capable than Tom and had less problems making friends. And if someone did threaten either of them, Tom would react and the problems would just cease to be. Tom was fiercely protective over his brother and was always willing to drop everything to help him out. Be it with either his schoolwork, helping him grasp the theory or stop the bullies for going after the smaller of the two brothers."

"Ryan actually reminds me a bit of you," Slughorn stated softly, sadly, "they both do. They were both good boys. The perfect team. They would have been great, together. Even greater than Tom has become now."
He shuffled a bit uncomfortable, "sir, what happened to the other boy? What happened to Ryan?"

A lone tear made its way down the man's cheek, "he died."
"Did Tom…?" he couldn't help but ask.
"No," Slughorn shook his head so hard his moustache wiggled, "no, Tom would never, ever hurt his brother. He would destroy everything in existence before he would let Ryan get hurt."

"No," he continued as another tear made its way down his cheeks, quickly followed by another, "Ryan was found just a week before the end of their fourth year. He had seemingly fallen from a balustrade some floors up, but his entire body had been surrounded by some very strong light magic. His h-head had c-cracked open like an e-egg and most of his bones had been broken. He had died upon impact."

"Tom was the one to find him," he told him dully, "they had agreed to meet in the library after Tom had finished asking me some questions concerning the material for the upcoming year. He had been searching for his brother ever since Ryan had failed to show up. Tom, he just shut down after he had found him. Ryan's body was taken away and Tom was sent back to the orphanage on Albus' prompting. Alone. He was not even allowed to witness his brother's burial. All because Albus Dumbledore said so. He had changed when he returned for his fifth year."

"And the light magic?" Harry asked. He felt sorry for the boy who would become Voldemort. No one, no one, not even Voldemort, should loose someone like that.
"That magic was later tracked down to some of the sixth year Gryffindors – though they were seventh year students by that time," Slughorn said lowly, "they had apparently planned to scare Ryan as revenge for Tom beating them in a duel. I pushed for expulsion as they had killed a fellow student. But Albus claimed that it had been an accident and they got away with a loss of ten points each for bullying and a single detention."

It was clear that he was still angry with that decision, and it took him a couple of long seconds to get wrestle his anger back down.
"I was angry, of course. I was rather fond of Ryan and what had happened to him was far from an accident, though I doubt that the boys had planned to kill him," he continued with a disgusted huff, "Tom was another story entirely. He was just blank. I already mentioned that he had changed when he had returned for his fifth year, but he changed even more after he had been told that the killers of his brother got away with a slap on the wrist. He became colder, more distant and everyone brave enough to mention Ryan was looked at with such a glance that they felt compelled to just stop talking and walk away."

"He started hating Albus after that. Though I believe hating is not strong enough to describe how much he loathed him," Slughorn told him, "he became darker, more cruel, and he sealed the ability to love away until he had turned into the boy Albus is now teaching you about."

Silence fell as he finished speaking.

"Why did you tell me this, sir?" Harry finally asked after a handful of minutes.
"Three reasons," Slughorn said gently, "firstly, because, no matter what Albus is trying to tell you, Tom Riddle was not born a monster and he was fully capable of loving. He could be cruel, as all children can be, but he loved his brother so much that he would have willingly jumped in front of the killing curse to save Ryan."
He squirmed at that. It reminded him too much of the situation with Voldemort and his mother. Slughorn looked knowingly at him before he continued.

"Secondly, as I mentioned before, you remind me of Ryan," he told him, "only slightly in looks; your eyes are green while his were more of a bluish-grey. Your hair is darker than his, Ryan's was more brownish, not unlike Tom's. But your bone-structure is slightly similar, you are both small, and your personalities are somewhat akin. Both brave when dealing with threats. Neither of you back down when faced with challenges."
"And I'm not the only one who has seen the similarities," Slughorn said with a sigh, "Tom has seen it too, no doubt. And it'll just make him hate you more, especially because you look like his brother but follow the man he holds responsible for his death."

"And the last reason?" he asked.
"Because I believe that you should see Tom as he is: still a man, though one that has stared for too long into the abyss," he was told softly, "seeing him as a monster or a bogeyman is easy, but it is my believe that you should know what made him into the man he is today if you want to defeat him."

The small instrument slowed down even more and both persons present looked at it as silence fell.

"I believe that dinner will start in a handful minutes," Slughorn said suddenly curtly, breaking the tense but contemplative silence, "it is time we made our way up, don't you think?"
"yes sir," he said as he rose from the chair, "thank you."

He nodded his head towards his teacher and made towards the door.
"Oh, and Harry," he turned around as his name was called.
"Sir?" he asked.
"I suggest keeping this information to yourself," Slughorn told him, "Albus won't care, and the rest would just use this information to hate him even more."

"Yes sir," he nodded, before he exited the room.

oOoOoOo

He stared somewhat horrified at the wailing wrinkly, bloody, disgusting baby-like thing laying underneath the white bench. It was the only spot of colour besides himself and he both wanted to pick the thing up and comfort it and move as far away from the disgusting thing as physically possible.

"You can't save him," he was told by Dumbledore, who had appeared behind him.
"What is it?" he couldn't help but ask because, repulsed as he was, he did feel sorry for it. The baby-like thing fell silent at the sound of his voice and thin, weak-looking arms reached out towards him as if it wanted to be picked up by him. And only him.

"It was Voldemort's last horcrux, the one he unknowingly made on the night he attacked you and your parents," Dumbledore said.
"Why this shape?" he asked.
"Because he was mangled beyond what anyone could even consider," Dumbledore said with a forlorn sigh, "everyone, except Tom. He was brilliant, but so very dangerous and unstable. I was the only one who could see who and what he really was from the very start: a violent boy who would become feared."

"Sir, what about Ryan? Ryan Riddle?" he pointed out. The horcrux warbled out a mourning-like cry at the name.
"That poor, poor boy," Dumbledore said sadly, "Tom was obsessed with him. He couldn't go anywhere without Tom demanding to know where he was going. Tom controlled his very life. He had an accident, I believe, that led to his death. Tom was, no doubt, somehow involved. It was a sad day, but I was glad that the boy had finally gained freedom away from Tom."

"Slughorn told me Tom loved him more than life," he finally said after some time had gone by, "that he would have gladly given his own life to save his brother."
"Ah, I should have known that it was Horace that told you about poor Ryan," Dumbledore said evasively, "did you know that they weren't truly brothers?"
The horcrux made a noise that could only be described as a rage-filled cry.
"Yes," he answered simply, "but I don't believe that a lack of blood-ties mattered. And apparently, neither did they."

"Tom did love him, didn't he," he said, as he took a small step towards the vile, crying thing laying underneath the bench, "and his death changed him into the boy you claim he had always been."

"No, the potential had always been there," Dumbledore denied.
"One does not have to act upon a potential," Harry stated firmly, "I had just as much potential to hate as Volde- no, Tom had but I didn't. I've no doubt that I've just as much potential to become a dark lord as Voldemort used to have."

He walked forwards until he could crouch next to the horcrux. It reached its reedy arms out towards him and he gently touched one of its fingers with his own. Nothing happened.
He carefully picked it up and, after some hesitation, pressed it gently but firmly against his own body.

"I might not have known him, and I might have only met the insane, broken part of Tom Riddle," he stated, "but I'm quite sure that had Ryan Riddle lived, Tom Riddle would have never become Voldemort."

"Goodbye, Albus," he said before his former headmaster could respond and he turned around and walked away, the now cooing baby-like thing still held gently against him.

oOoOoOo

He forgot about the history of the Riddle brothers as time went by. Only to be remembered about it as he held his surprising fourth and youngest child just minutes after his birth on a beautiful but cold day in March.

The babe was small, red-skinned and wrinkled with baby-blue eyes that had fallen shut almost immediately and a small amount of fine, brownish hair. He didn't look like either his mother or his older siblings, but there was no doubt that he was his child. Though it was badly visible, he had little doubt that the bone-structure the babe had was similar to his own. But small and new-born the baby might be, he also reminded him of another. Someone who had been dead for some time now.

"Hello, my little surprise," he murmured, "it sounds odd, but you remind me of someone. I wonder if your eyes will turn more greyish or if they will become brown."

He stared down at the slumbering babe.
"I think we shall name you Ryan," he said softly as he gently nuzzled his new son, "Ryan Arthur Potter."
"I can agree with that," the tired voice of his wife sounded from the bed, "but why Ryan?"
"He was someone who died a long time ago, but was forgotten," he answered as he walked towards her and handed her the newly named Ryan. He pressed a loving kiss on her head.

"Get some rest," he told her, "I'll register our little surprise with the Ministry. I'll be back before you know it."

He left after he had pressed kisses to both her and his new-born son's foreheads and told them both he loved them.

oOo

Three months later little Ryan, snugly wrapped in a blanket that had his name and day and month of birth stitched lovingly on it by his grandmother, disappeared from his crib.

There were no signs of breaking and entering, and no magic-traces. Everything pointed towards the fact that the babe had gotten up and left on his own, were it not for the fact that he was far too young to have done so.

He was never found again, much to the despair of his distraught mother, siblings, grandparents, and many uncles and aunts.

But it was Harry, and Harry alone, who had an idea what had happened to his precious youngest son. And – even though he tried everything he could to get him back from times long gone by – he would forever mourn the death of his son, who had become the brother to another young boy and whose death created one of the most terrible dark lords history had known.

I hope you guys enjoyed this little one-shot

~Marwana