SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1D/C: I don't own anything.
A/N: This is a weird fic that came to me while I was having Thanksgiving with the family. I bet it's been done before, I just haven't found that fic.
Summary: Harry Potter has never met his grandfather. With good reason, too. He's a Death Eater. But when he finds the grandson he never knew he had, will he give up everything to protect him?
Prologue: Richard musing
How was I supposed to know her last name was Potter?
Better yet, how was I supposed to know she had a son? My son, to be exact.
How was I supposed to guess that, on one lonely night, in the middle of a pub, twenty years ago, would have the sort of effect it did. How was I supposed to know that one of the most famous wizards in all of history is my grandson? How was I supposed to know that I helped cause my own son's death?
Best question yet: Why am I blaming myself?
My name is Richard Patterson, the father of James Potter, the grandfather of Harry Potter, and the biggest supporter Lord Voldermort has. I'm more of Tom's right hand man than any of the others can imagine. I was Tom Riddle's best friend in Hogwarts, which is how this tale begins.
Every good story begins at Hogwarts. I can't think of one that doesn't. Anyways, I was a young Gryffindor–young, with dashing black hair, beautiful hazel eyes, and large geeky glasses. I was a Seeker, and I was popular. Perhaps most popular for something most people don't know. I was Tom Riddle's best friend.
Don't ask me how we met, because frankly, I think I've forgotten. All I can really remember is feeling sorry for him, sneaking into the Slytherin common room to apologize, and from that moment on, we were inseparable. We were the talk of the town: Never before had a Slytherin and a Gryffindor been such good friends. And we were. We told each other secrets. I was there when he needed me, and he was there for me. He even taught me Parseltongue, something I was amazed to learn. We even found out about our ancestors, which is probably why we stuck together so closely. My pure blood family goes back so far, I found out that I was the Heir of Gryffindor. I knew this, knew it all my life. It was something my mum had told me. But the crazy part was that he was the Heir of Slytherin. And so, from then on, we were determined. We were going to be the greatest sorcerers in the world...And we were.
Of course, I was still popular after Hogwarts, where as Tom wasn't. I was a Seeker for England. They said that I had been born with the Snitch in my hand. A little bit of an exaggeration, but it made you feel good all the same. I can't remember how many times I had begged Tom to leave his Dark Arts ritual, if just for a day, to come and watch a good ol' game of Quidditch. He never did, and so that left me alone, going to pubs as often as I did. One night, I saw her.
'Her' being Faith Potter. I hadn't known her well. She was one of those girls who followed guys like me everywhere. She and I had been in the same year, and both of us in Gryffindor. But, England had won the Quidditch World Cup, and so we were all drunk as fools, and did a tiny bit of things we shouldn't have done.
Well, it was tiny for everyone else. It was something huge for me. I had a son.
Yeah. Can you believe it? Me, Richard Patterson, wild Quidditch star and all around drop dead gorgeous man, with a son? Crazy, isn't it? Worst part of it is that the bitch died giving birth, and her selfish brother never told me about...him.
Him...James. That was his name. James Kyle Potter. I hate the name. It's too common, just like Richard. For a wizard with James' decedent, he deserved an extraordinary name, like, I don't know, Merlin or something. Not James–stupid Muggle name...
By the time I had actually met James, he was already out of Hogwarts and married. He didn't have Harry yet, thankfully. Of course, I couldn't spend my whole life getting killed by rouge bludgers and racing on a broomstick...I was far too intelligent to do that. But yet I wasn't stupid enough to tell everyone that I was Tom Riddle... pardon me, Voldermort's supporter. So I was a Ministry official most days, and I was famous once more.
No one had ever put two and two together, not even me. No one had figured out that old, charming Tom Riddle was the wizard everyone feared. And no one seemed to figure out that the familiar, always happy James Potter was the son of legendary Quidditch star Richard Patterson. I didn't even figure that one out...
What was that? Oh...how did I find out that James was my son? That, my friend, is a good question. Perhaps I'll answer it soon. But right now I must go. I am being needed.