Tommy, Son of a Dark Lord

Chapter Five: Birth


Days had passed, how many he did not know, but Draco could tell by the lightening and darkening of his small environment. He drifted in and out of sleep, aware for a while that something in the fluid must be affecting him.
He had shifted a few times, stretched as much as the bubble would allow and then he would sleep some more.
Vague memories of his life before this, came and went, never clear enough anymore to be sure that they had ever truly occurred.
One picture was clearer than the rest, a dark haired boy with bright green eyes and funny round glasses. And this memory had a name, too.
Harry Potter.
The more he tried to remember other things, the more Harry Potter came into his mind.
Harry Potter was the hope.
Harry Potter would save.
He was musing over Harry Potter, when his world became unstable.
The bubble began to shift, rolling around him and undulating up and down. It would squeeze him tighter, then loosen and the liquid would slosh around his ankles.
Draco was becoming frightened and the feeling made him curl up closer to himself.
Voldemort had been napping in the sitting room when the first cramp struck. He rolled to his feet and headed for his bedroom, hoping that it was finally time to welcome his baby boy.
When he reached his room, feeling dizzy and tired, he stood near his bed watching the movements of the bubble dangling over it.
A warm rush of water ran down his legs even as the end of the bubble began to leak out onto the end of his mattress.
A quick wave of his wand and these fluids were dried and gone as he climbed onto the bed, peeling off his robes as he went.
He was prepared for his ultimate achievement.


Lucius walked through the doors of his family home, passing by the ruined portal and through the debris that was once his pride. “Come on, we’ll find somewhere to sleep tonight and see where the house elves are in the morning. Come along, Draco.” He said as his wife clung to him and his son ambled along behind them on unsteady steps.
He would have to rebuild, more than just his home, and as both he and Draco were without wands, Narcissa’s would have to do all of the actual spells.
“Master Malfoy?” came a timid squeak from a branch of the main hallway. When he turned he saw one of his few surviving servants cowering behind a broken chair. “Are they coming back, Master?” it begged.
“No, I don’t believe so. It’s just us for tonight, Gobbin. Go and find us some water and any food you can locate. What rooms are the least damaged?”
“Master Draco’s wards were strong, Sir. His room is good. We hided there. You and Miss Cissy could use old Master’s room.” Gobbin said before winking out.
Lucius sighed and turned away, heading for the stairs to his father’s room. It was near enough to Draco’s for him to be able to hear his son in the night.
He pulled Narcissa along, clutching her wand tightly on the chance that this was some sick trick and there was a hidden danger ahead.
Oliver followed the man, his eyes taking in the elegance of the home even after the death eaters had destroyed so much. His body still ached and his step was unsure, so he stumbled occasionally as he went and each time, Lucius Malfoy would look back.
“Watch your step, Draco. We just have to get your mother to bed, then we can go to your room. You’ll be safe here.” the man said and Oliver wanted to believe his words.
He was walking a frightening line in his guise, and it would be tragic if he failed, but his Gryffindor pride made him feel guilty for deceiving these people with hope about a son, who was likely already dead.
He stepped over a broken step just before the landing and turned down a corridor. There was a sparking to the hall that exposed a perfectly undamaged part of the home and Lucius sighed in relief.
“Father’s wards are still strong. All is not lost.” he said as he pulled Narcissa along beside him.
As Oliver approached the point where the wards began, his body slowed and felt heavier. Suddenly, he was afraid that the house would not allow him to pass, rejecting him as an outsider and giving lie to his deception, already.
He pushed on, lifting his feet one at a time and moving forward. His heart was pounding with the strain of the effort and beads of perspiration broke out across his forehead.
He kept on, running a thought through his mind over and over in desperation. “I am Draco. I am a Malfoy.” and he lifted another foot, ‘I belong here. I am Draco.”
That foot touched the ground and his other nearly flew from the floor. The wards had released him and he was free to move on as he wished.
Lucius was watching him from a doorway ahead, so he hurried forward.


Pain lanced through him and he ground his teeth over it as he thrashed on the bed, watching the dangling orb as it clenched in a simulation of the motions of true labor.
Voldemort curled up and panted as the pain eased for a count of five heartbeats.
The base of the orb had opened and was stretching around the beginnings of his child to be.
Tom Riddle smiled up at it and grit his teeth over the next pain.
Draco had watched the last of the fluid drain away and he choked on the air that returned to his lungs, just as the bubble squeezed it back out. He fought against the constrictions of tight bands of strong fiber that pushed him and tried to force him down.
Gravity had returned to him and his ears rang with the rush of blood to his head from hanging in this position, ass up with his knees near his elbows. The side of the bubble closed in and his head was pressed against the lowest part.
The pain was almost forgotten as Voldemort watched the cap of his new son’s head emerge from the opening just over him and slowly drop onto the bedding between his legs.
As Draco landed, the Dark Lord pulled him up to his lap and cradled him close. A wave of his wand bringing a soft blanket to him to wrap around his baby as he whispered vague words that had no real meaning to the boy.
For his part, Draco was disoriented and confused. His mind couldn’t focus on any thoughts and his throat felt closed to any words he might have spoken. His eyes were cloudy and the only thing he could clearly see was the smooth face of the man holding him.
He felt cold and sleepy, but his stomach was complaining of a need and the ordeal was hardly over.
Voldemort began to wash the boy’s skin, cleaning all the fluids and blood away. He aimed his wand at Draco’s face and spoke some familiar sounds, causing any fluids left to be coughed up by the boy. Then, a sudden pain in his belly made him scream as Voldemort cut away the cord connecting him to the deflated bubble.
The pain throbbed and Draco continued to cry out as his new daddy tied it off and cleaned him up.
“See there. All better, now stop.” the Dark Lord said wrapping the blanket tightly around the boy and holding him close.
The blanket obscured his view even more until all he could see was a pale expanse of flesh dotted by a single rose tinted nipple and he had a nagging desire to taste this. Latching his mouth onto the rise in his daddy’s chest and sucking deeply, he was rewarded by a flow of liquid, sweet and creamy and completely satisfying.
It never occurred to his dazed mind that this was the least bit out of the ordinary, so he drank on until he became sleepy and dozed off.
The Dark Lord sighed contentedly as he rocked the sleeping boy in his lap. He had spelled away the soiled bedding and replaced it with clean before disposing of the now unneeded birthing bubble.
Once his room was returned to its original look, he set about preparing it for the addition of his new little baby.
After putting the sleeping bundle into his own bed, he accio’d a smaller one from another room in the upper part of the house. This he covered with a cage-like set of bars and a padded cover.
Next, he converted some small towels into a larger size and stacked them nearby. He had already arranged a supply of t-shirts and little socks to dress his child in and he intended to make this effect perfect.
He peeled away the blanket and spoke a whispered spell on the naked boy.
A transparent silvery thread of magic floated in the air and down toward the Dark Lord’s new son. It slithered around until it had found the tiny opening to his urethra and climbed inside, undulating from side to side as it forced it way deep, bringing a whimper from the sleeping child.
Once fully seated, it expanded slightly, allowing a tickle of yellow fluid to escape.
Voldemort swiftly drew one of the terry cloth towels over it to catch the dribble.
When it stopped he put another under the boy’s butt and wrapped it up through his legs and around his body, pinning it on before speaking a leak proof spell over it.
Now, diapered and fed, his baby was ready to dress. The Dark Lord chose a blue shirt and some brown shorts with a flying wizard and his broom on the back pocket. He pulled these on, as well as some blue socks, before returning the blanket and picking up his son.
“Now, you are my boy. I know it’s a silly sentiment, but I think I will name you Thomas, after your father and grandfather. Sleep peacefully, Tommy. Daddy will protect you.” the Dark Lord said as he placed Draco into the crib and closed the cage.

The first morning of his deception was enough to tell the Gryffindor boy that he would more than likely die before he could convince anyone of his identity as Draco Malfoy.
The table was set.
Oliver entered the room following a blabbering house elf that had appeared to help him dress that morning.
The little creature hadn’t stopped speaking since it had gotten a look at the abuse done to its master’s body.
Salves, ointments, potions and bandages later, Oliver was dressed and entering the informal dining area where the Malfoy’s took their breakfast.
Lucius looked up and Narcissa turned from where she stood looking out the window.
“Ah, Draco. Come along, Son. We have all of your favorites here.” the man said as Oliver hesitated in the doorway.
“Oh, that’s good." he said hesitantly as he slid into the seat that was pulled out for him.
Then, Oliver looked at the table.
The place in front of him was set with two plates and a small bowl, stacked perfectly on top of each other. To the right there were not less than three unique spoons and two different looking knives. On the left, there were two forks, one longer than the other in handle as well as prongs.
Oliver was ready to panic and this was only breakfast.
He looked over at Narcissa, who had just settled in her chair and was reaching for a half of a grapefruit. She delicately lifted a short spoon with a pointy bowl and stabbed into the juicy flesh. Oliver quickly followed, placing it into his bowl and pulling the sugar bowl over to his area. After rethinking this choice, no sweets he remembered, he grabbed the matching spoon and prepared to eat.
Just as he was about to take his first bite, he looked up to find the couple staring at him. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked, softly.
“No. No, dear. We just didn’t know you fancied grapefruit. You’ve never had it before.” Narcissa said lightly.
“I . . .um . . .usually have it at school.” Oliver said quietly, hoping his lie would cover his faux pas. “I have been away for a bit.”
"Of course," the man said, looking uncomfortable. "That a difficult thing to deal with. Leave the boy eat, Cissy."
The rest of the meal was uneventful.
Oliver had toast, dry, and took some lightly scrambled eggs with bits of peppers and onions. He realized what he was about to eat and poked at it with one of the forks. He managed to eat some fruit, but left the rest behind, remembering the Dark Lord's rules, only just in time.
He excused himself and ventured off to walk in the gardens. He had forgone anything to drink.


Thomas Riddle, the third, is born.
Now, what will become of him? And poor Oliver, in his disguise, how will he manage?
Any guesses?