Did Voldemort Have a Kid?

Riddle Manor stood at the far end of the village, utterly out of place in Little Hangleton.

It seemed frozen in time, stuck four or five centuries in the past. Even the paved roads didn't reach it—only a narrow, muddy path now buried under layers of snow.

The Hat grumbled the entire way, repeatedly begging to take off and fly.

Harry refused. He didn't trust the Hat's piloting skills yet—he was more concerned about it nosediving straight into Riddle Manor. Not because he cared about the decrepit old house, but because Voldemort might have left magical traps inside.

As the Hat carefully rolled closer, they noticed something strange.

This house was not as abandoned as it appeared.

Someone had lived here for an extended period, though the traces were old—the most recent signs of activity were at least six months old.

They stopped at the entrance.

Harry drew the Sword of Gryffindor and cast Protego Totalum on himself, while Dumbledore waved his wand, cloaking them both in protective enchantments.

"I sense no magic," Dumbledore observed, eyeing the dilapidated mansion.

Harry nodded. "Neither do I."

He lowered his gaze.

The snow at the entrance had piled up past the steps. There were no footprints, no signs of disturbance.

He knelt and waved his wand, sweeping away the snow layer by layer.

Dumbledore watched in silence, unsure of his purpose.

"No one has passed through since the first snowfall," Harry concluded after exposing damp soil beneath the final layer. He dusted off his hands and stood up. "No footprints. The snow is undisturbed—no one has cleared it."

"So Tom never came here at all?" Dumbledore speculated.

Harry nodded. "If he never showed up, even better. I'd love it if he forgot to clean up his family's dirty history."

Dumbledore blinked, surprised. He followed Harry to the door before speaking again.

"You seem particularly invested in Tom's past scandals."

"Words are powerful weapons," Harry replied, tapping the door with his wand. "Second year, I got under his skin, and he lost his temper. That gave me an opening."

"You already know quite a bit about his history," Dumbledore murmured.

Harry paused at the doorway, his gaze deep and calculating. He glanced past the staircase, toward the dim depths of the house.

"The more I know, the more weapons I have at my disposal."

"And I think we came to the right place."

As soon as the door creaked open, a foul stench hit them.

Rotting wood. Decaying fruits and vegetables. And beneath it all—the unmistakable remnants of human decomposition.

Dumbledore swept his wand, sending waves of magic surging through the house, probing every crevice.

"No magical traps," he confirmed.

Harry strode straight for the second floor.

The master bedroom door stood ajar.

The stench was strongest there.

Or more accurately—it was no longer a corpse, just a skeleton.

The flesh had long been gnawed away by various creatures, which had since dispersed, leaving behind only scattered bits of remains.

"Dead for at least three months," Harry muttered, slipping on dragon-hide gloves and picking up a bone fragment. "Still has some color—no more than six months."

"He died over the summer?" Dumbledore summarized.

Harry nodded, setting down the humerus. He snapped off a small piece of rib bone and easily crumbled it between his fingers.

"Severe osteoporosis. Very old. He might've been as old as you."

"When I die, will I end up like this too?" Dumbledore mused.

Harry shook his head. "No."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"You'll at least have a coffin. Or an urn," Harry continued, examining the floor around the skeleton. "And a proper gravesite. I promise—even if your relatives refuse, I'll make sure of it."

Dumbledore chuckled. "That's the best news I've heard all year."

Harry dropped the bone. "Sixty or older. Male. Unknown whether he was a wizard."

"There's no visible external trauma. Those marks are post-mortem decay and scavenger bites."

"Unfortunately, he's been dead too long to check for poison. But if it was him, he wouldn't have bothered with poison."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened. "The Killing Curse?"

"Most likely." Harry sighed. "But that's just a guess. Too many traces have faded. I can't gather much from this."

He continued searching the room.

Whoever had lived here hadn't bothered cleaning.

That was good news for Harry.

The untouched layers of dust preserved the scene from three months ago.

But what he found next stunned him.

"Professor Dumbledore, you won't believe what I just discovered."

Harry knelt by the sofa, shaking his head.

Dumbledore's interest piqued. "More of Tom's dark history?"

"Possibly worse than that." Harry's expression turned peculiar.

"There's only one set of adult footprints in this house. And that person was pushing a four-wheeled cart. Constantly."

"And on this sofa, there was once a basket, about thirty inches long."

"You know what that means."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. He adjusted his glasses, staring at the couch in disbelief.

"You're saying... a child?"

Four-wheeled carts weren't common. Ones that required constant pushing—even rarer.

And when paired with a basket exactly the size of an infant's crib—

There was really only one conclusion.

Harry nodded. "Maybe. Maybe."

"Maybe this person just had a strange habit—he needed to push a baby carriage to walk. And for some reason, he couldn't sit on a normal couch without placing a heavy basket on it first."

"Of course, like you, I find it more likely that he was caring for a baby."

He straightened up and moved toward the bed.

Thick dust covered the mattress. Harry lifted it carefully.

Underneath, the surface was smooth—untouched by an adult sleeper. Only tiny tracks from small creatures scurrying across it.

Cold weather had driven them inside after they finished feasting on the corpse.

But there was no sign of an adult ever sleeping here.

Dumbledore hesitated, frowning.

Harry walked to the window and pushed it open. Cold wind rushed in, whipping against his face.

"I have two theories," he said.

"The first: A woman, having just given birth, took refuge here with her baby. But someone—perhaps a family member, an agent of the child's father, or someone else trying to separate them—found her."

"She had no choice but to use the Killing Curse to eliminate the threat and flee with her child."

Dumbledore joined him at the window, letting the cold air sting his skin. "That would make for a fascinating story, Harry. If you ever decide to write, you might rival Lockhart's novels."

"Then there's the second theory."

Harry's voice lowered.

"Our dear Tom Riddle, in his years of absence, fathered a child. An heir. And he cherished this child—raised it with great care."

Dumbledore's face turned icy. "As unbelievable as it sounds, if your findings are true... it's not impossible."

"Whose child?" Harry pressed.

Dumbledore hesitated.

"You know him better than I do. Who do you think the mother is?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "At Hogwarts, Tom was quite popular. But he never pursued a relationship. As for his life afterward... I know nothing."

His expression suddenly grew strange.

"Unless, sometime after his first defeat, he needed to recover and... sought out an old lover."

"This is an important lead. Harry, I will—"

"I'll have Rita Skeeter investigate," Harry interrupted smoothly. "She's far more experienced than you in this area."

Dumbledore nodded without hesitation.

They searched the house further, but after years of changing ownership, there was little left from the original Riddle family.

Outside, they found a small cabin—more lived-in than the mansion, though still covered in months of dust.

As for the old man in the master bedroom?

They had a strong suspicion of who he was.

But they did nothing.

Instead, Dumbledore placed a subtle suggestion in a villager's mind.

Soon, that person would "coincidentally" discover the body, ensuring the man received a proper burial.

Then they left for Great Hangleton.

The Hat obeyed traffic laws, cruising at a modest 50 mph. With the protective charms removed, it enjoyed the exhilarating rush of wind.

"If Tom did have a child, what would you do?" Harry asked suddenly.

Dumbledore had no time to answer.

The Hat slammed the brakes, nearly throwing them both off.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY? THAT MAN HAD A KID?!"

Harry sighed, rubbing his temple.

This was going to be a long drive.

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Powerstones?

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