Chapter 1
Albus Dumbledore;
This is Sullivan Riddle.
I need protection. My father, the Dark Lord, has lately been requesting worse and worse things of me. I do not know how much longer it is until I crack. I can never be the son he wants. His requests are unreasonable and sickening. I cannot do this any longer. I must get out.
Please, you are my last hope. I am not cut out for this. I beg you, take me in. I realise it will take a lot more than my word before you trust me, and it would be foolish for it to be otherwise.
Request a time and place. I will come. Alone. Bring as many of your people as you feel necessary. However, I promise you; I mean no harm.
I will give you free rein with whatever method you feel is necessary to confirm my sincerity. Veritaserum, Legilimency, what you like.
I promise you; I have not got an ulterior motive for sending this; I am not my father.
Respectfully,
Sullivan Erbus Riddle
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Sullivan waved a hand, casting a Tempus. Two fifty-seven. He stood, brushed off his robes and straightened them. Time to leave. He strode over to the corner of his room (Done in multiple shades of grey, with musky orange trimmings on the dresser and bed frame), Sullivan sucked in a breath and held it, then stepped into the shadows of Riddle Manor.
The shadows reached for him. They surrounded him like a cold caress. They pulled him in, and their slippery hands passed him through time and space before he arrived in the shadow of a large and twisted apple tree.
The shadows nimbly clambered and flowed over grass and dirt, and delivered Sullivan into the middle of a large, grassy clearing, where they flowed like droplets off of him, retreating to melt into the shadows around.
Sullivan straightened up once more, and he looked around. He was standing in a flat clearing strewn with apples- half-rotted having fallen off of the apple trees surrounding the area. He could see a small stream to the right and a collection of odd boulders on the south horizon. The temperature was hot, and the sky was mostly clear.
He walked forward and looked around for Dumbledore. Why he had chosen this spot to meet eluded him. That man had always been slightly on the strange side, however.
Crack! Sullivan whirled around at the crack of Apparition- on edge. His wand (Sullivan had always enjoyed wand crafting as a hobby. This was one of his best ones, Thunderbird tail feather with Aspen wood, 14 inches, nice and supple), was in his hand before he knew it, slipped out of his dragon hide wand holster with a flick of the wrist.
He almost expected that his father had figured him out and came for him. He relaxed when he saw who it was. Gaudy robes, untamed beard and all, it was the one and only Albus Dumbledore. Sullivan slipped his wand back into its holster, though still tense, wary of the possibility that Dumbledore had used this to corner and remove him.
He moved forward, stumbling over a small boulder, and flushed slightly, not that it was noticeable with his dark complexion.
Sullivan had short, straight brown hair. His skin was olive. He had piercing black eyes that were speckled with red, defined cheekbones and small lips. He was well-built and tall, clearly taking after his father (before he became a monster) in the way of good looks.
“Professor Dumbledore.” He nodded his head at the older wizard. Dumbledore studied him with those piercing blue eyes, seemingly x-raying him. Sullivan met his eyes, inviting him into his mind, lowering his shields when he felt the unmistakable prod of legilimency. I have nothing to hide.
Whatever Dumbledore had seen seemed to be to his taste, as his smile became warmer and more real when he pulled back.
“Mr Riddle,” Sullivan shuddered at the formality.
“Please,” he said, “Call me Sullivan.”
Dumbledore inclined his head, “Very well, Sullivan. We will be apparating to another spot presently. Is that to taste?” At Sullivan’s nod, Dumbledore gestured for him to grab ahold of his arm, which he did so. They spun, and both Sullivan and Dumbledore disappeared on the spot.