The Years of Riddle

Chapter Seven | Little Hangleton, Summer 1944

Chapter Seven

Little Hangleton, Summer 1944

From a top a hill, the warm breeze shifting his robes thrown over pants wearing thin, Tom could just see a glimmer of light within the woods. The shack was just outside the village of Little Hangleton. It seemed an odd location for a house, for the trees grew very close and blocked all the light and the view of the valley below.

As he descended the hill a little, he wondered if in fact it had been abandoned. The walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen through the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all arund it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime.

Knocking on the door, there was no noise. Tom pushed the door open, for the latch no longer held it in place. Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair.

The Gaunts' house was more indescribably filthy than anywhere Tom had ever seen. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; mouldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Tom could see neither eyes nor mouth. The mand had raised a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left.

For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"

And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft. "Stop." Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending mouldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.

"You speak it?"

"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. His face expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.

"Where is Marvolo?" he asked.

"Dead," said the other. "Died years ago, didn't he?"

Riddle frowned. "Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin, ain't I?"

"Marvolo's son?"

" 'Course I am, then . . ." Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Tom saw that he wore Marvolo's black-stoned ring on his right hand. "I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle."

"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.

"That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, in 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it. . . ." Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support. "He come back, see," he added stupidly.

Tom gazed at Morfin, appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "Riddle came back?"

"Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"
Tom did not answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit. . . . It's over. . .."

He looked away, staggering slightly, and Tom moved forward. Morfin could tell him no more, nothing of interest anyway. Raising his wand, he uttered "Stupify." Morfin fell to the floor, and Tom knelt there, prying his wand and ring from his Uncle's stiff fingers.

The House of Riddle was the largest in Little Hangleton. There was a soft glow coming from the sitting room windows, and it was easy to see the figures within. With Morfin's wand gripped tightly in his hand, Tom walked up to the front door and found it unlocked. The family did not hear nor see him until he stood in the living room doorway, staring at two older versions of his own face.

The eldest male Riddle stood up from his chair quickly, taken aback. "Who are you?" he frowned deeply.

"Thomas –" the old woman shook in her seat.

"Mary, stay there." Thomas Riddle said firmly. "Who are you?" he asked again, studying his face.

Tom did not reply, just raised his wand. String straight at his father's face, he said hollowly: "Avada Kedavra."

Tom Riddle Sr. let out a strangled cry as his parents fell to the floor. "Why?" he gasped, grabbing his mother's no cold hand.

"You know why."

"You're Merope's son." He whispered.

Something clenched in Tom, something oddly human. "I'm your son."

"That wasn't real!" Tom Riddle Sr. was crying, gasping on his knees in front of the son he had abandoned. "She – she tricked me!"

"You're just like the rest of them." Tom hated this, hated the cold that seeped through him. He did not like this annoyingly human feeling. "I can't believe I wasted so long looking for a Muggle." He did not even say the words this time, barely thought them. In a moment, a flash of green – Tom's father was on the floor, glassy eyed and dead to the world and to his own son.

He did not linger for long in the Riddle house. Upstairs he found his grandmother's jewellery box, took a delicate string of small pearls; Gwyn was still scared of him for his behaviour on the way home from the station. He had to win her trust back, and it would take more than hair ribbons. Back at the Gaunt shack Morfin was still stiff; Tom altered his memory, returned the wand.

Tom did not stay too long there either, though he was curious as to what he might find there about his magical heritage. He must get back to Wool's. Gwyn would be waiting.

A/N: So quickly, just wanted to say I found conflicting dates as to when this occurred. Some said 43, others 44. I believe it was mostly 44 so I went with that.

Question: So Tom killed the Riddle's. Thoughts on the dialogue I created between Tom and his Muggle family? Also, Tom is giving Gwyn his...dead grandmother's....jewellery...that's morbid. 

Two chapters in one night, whoo!

Rose