Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Emrys S.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Lord Voldemort, sat inside his personal chambers, alone. An owl, that he recognized as Dumbledore's, flew in through the window, dropping a letter at his feet. He cautiously opened the letter and read its contents.

His emotionless mask came crashing down, the letter fell to the floor.

Dear Tom,

Ever wonder what happened to that lovely son of yours? Little Raiden Riddle? Oh yes, you thought he was dead, didn't you? He isn't. Or he wasn't. He didn't die when your lovely wife did. And believe me, I was tempted. An innocent child born to darkness, destined to grow up in light. Until you tried to kill him, unintentionally of course. The prophecy was a fake, my boy, a ploy, to get you to go after the Potters. The Potters never had a son, Tom. Young Harry was yours. Was yours until I killed him, only hours ago. I was tempted to let you kill him, not knowing who he was, but the boy was meddling. Just like you, dear boy. He discovered this little secret, he discovered his true identity. He was ready to run to you, run away from me. Until I killed him. A little bit of snake poison in your goblet can go a long way, can't it Tom? The poor boy, he was innocent. But when one is the Prince of Darkness, one could never be innocent. I forced him into Gryffindor. I forced him to make friends with the Weasley brats, keeping him away from his Slytherin friends. I controlled him, Tom, and then I destroyed him. Your most precious, your son and heir. Your little baby boy, is dead because you failed to protect him. You'll meet your son in hell, Tom Riddle, that I will make sure of.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

His tears cascaded down his face, his emotions flowed freely. His only son, the center of his world. Dead. Harry Potter never existed, it was Raiden all along. His sobs echoed off the room walls, his human appearance came forward. His knowledge filled green eyes were tear filled, tear tracks etched on his face.

"Raiden, oh Raiden. I failed you." he muttered in a whisper, remembering his raven haired son when he first came out of the hospital. The bright, emerald green saucers that stared up at him from the pale face of his healthy baby boy. He cried for the first time in years, as he held his son, his own child.

He remembered the day that the Death Eaters brought the news his wife and unborn child had been captured. Many Death Eaters died that night. He hunted furiously for them, until he found his wife's body. She had already given birth, right before she was killed. Until the fateful night at the Potter's, he had been restless, knowing his son was out there, somewhere. Seeing young Harry put him in pain, as the boy reminded him so much of his own son. Born on the same day, same age, similar appearance.

He howled in anguish, startling and scaring multiple Death Eaters that were in the manor at the time. The letter was now dripping with his tears.

"Please, please don't be dead…" he prayed. Suddenly an owl swept through. A snowy white owl. Hedwig.

He picked up the letter she dropped and looked at it, hope rebuilding.

The Order of the Phoenix is located at #12 Grimmauld Place, London. Harry Potter hangs on to life by its finest thread. He is in the main bedroom on the third floor of the house. Come quickly, time is of the essence.

He apparated right out of the room, right into the bedroom. He gasped as he laid eyes on his son. The boy looked like he had been through hell and back. He was as pale as a ghost, his jet black hair, untidy and unmistakable, and behind the closed lids, were entrancing emerald green orbs, filled with knowledge and experience.

He gave a strangled sob and rushed to his son's bedside. Letting tears fall, he caressed his son's cheek. He was so cold. He pulled the warm duvet over Raiden(Harry), running a hand through the boy's raven locks.

"I never meant for this to happen to you." he mumbled, barely audible over the howling winds outside. "I wanted you to have a childhood, better than mine ever was. I didn't know, I didn't think through my actions, I acted like a reckless Gryffindor. My actions destroyed your life, my child." His tears fell on his son's cold hand as he held it.

Suddenly his hand warmed up. His skin regained some color, and Tom Riddle regarded his son with a gasp. A glamour charm was coming off, showing his real appearance. His eyes flickered open, revealing those entrancing orbs.

"Dad?" he muttered weakly. Holding his son's hand close to him, he responded:

"I'm here, my child. I'm here."

The weakened teen smiled, facing his father as just that, for the first time in his life. He looked into the concerned face of his father, and knew that the man cared for him more than anything else.

And he finally knew all would be well.

FIN