Back To The Beginning By THE PEVERELL's LAIR

Chapter 25 : Death's Helping Hand

Tom Riddle grimaced as his body continued to ache with each of his movements. He was finding it difficult to lift his wand, let alone use his magic. Whatever Charlus Potter did, was not something ordinary. No way. He screamed in frustration. These bloody Potters have been a problem for sometime now, but they have crossed a line.

Sure, the family was powerful, but just what were they even made of? The younger ones had been troublesome in Hogsmeade, but that day, he had just underestimated the young Potter. Or had he? There was something unsettling about the boy. It felt like he was a volcano about to erupt. He shook his head. No. The boy had been lucky. Nothing more as was his father. They had been lucky. That luck will end. Very soon.

And it did. He had not been expecting to use that dagger against the boy. That was meant for Dumbledore. He had decided to take out the old fool, but with Harry Potter in the vicinity, he had to act. The boy had been a thorn to secure the Black alliance. He was responsible for spoiling his plans in the ministry. He couldn't let the boy go without consequences. He took his chance.

He limped up to the center of the room. He had a plan. A master plan. He went ahead and sat down in the exact center of the markings that he had ordered one of his Death Eaters to mark.

He had been planning to perform the ritual for a number of days now. He cursed his lack of vision. He had simply put it forward and had let it pass his mind. He was now facing the effects of his ignorance. Never again. Never again will he be slack.

"Gibbon!" A burly brown haired man rushed into the room as soon as he was summoned. "Is everything ready?" The man nodded quickly. "Good. Have them delivered here this instant." He ordered.

He looked deep in thought and all of a sudden, he called out the man who was leaving.

"At the stroke of midnight, we attack the Potters." He ordered. Gibbon froze in his place.

"My Lord?" He questioned. Tom glared at the man.

"We attack the Potters tonight. Get the men ready. By tomorrow, I will wipe out the name Potter from the pages of Magical Britain's history." The man nodded and left the room.

Tom was left to his contemplation and a few minutes later, Gibbon returned and in tow, brought a cauldron . He placed it right in front of Tom and stepped back. "It is ready, my Lord." He said.

"I have the mudbloods being brought in now." Two other men brought in bound and silenced muggles levitating behind them.

"Excellent. Leave." He ordered and the three men rushed out as quickly as their legs could carry.

Tom closed the doors and sealed the doors. Once he was ready for the ritual, he took up his wand and closed his eyes. He began to chant in Gaelic and soon, a green glow surrounded his body. He slashed his left palm with his wand and he let his blood drop into the cauldron. When he had the necessary amount and healed his wound. He opened his eyes and after a few minutes, he summoned the muggles and had them placed in the thirteen rings drawn on the ground.

He watched the fear in their eyes. He pushed away the urge to laugh. 'Pathetic.' He whispered. He raised his wand high up in the air and chanted once more. He pointed his wand at each of the muggles and thirteen yellow beams connected the cauldron to each of the muggles.

He tapped the cauldron and suddenly, a green smoke covered the entire area and engulfed him. The muggles went limp suddenly, their eyes bulged and skin pale.