The Fearsome Name of Riddle

Château De Gloire

1948

The bell on the shop door rang as the last customer of the night left Borgin and Burkes. A darkness oppressed the pawn shop, musting in the walls and damp in the ceiling. Permanently cold, the dark artefacts littered around the place seemed to sap all heat from the room, even on hot summer days. Tom Riddle wiped down a shelf of its dust covering as his boss, Mr Borgin, locked the bolt on the door. Shuffling, the old man turned to find his employee, each step looking like it might be the one to knock him from his feet. 

"Tom," Mr Borgin barked, running a hand over his greasy hair. "Come 'ere will you lad."

"Yes, Mr Borgin." Tom spoke politely but his blank expression didn't change as he left his dust rag on the side. He crossed the creaking, wooden floorboards, meeting his boss at the front counter. 

"I have a good job for you boy," Mr Borgin said, licking his finger before turning the page of the large, old book in front of him. "There's an artefact over in the south of France, I've had my eye on it for a while and it seems that I need your persuasive skills to acquire it. Sound like something you can do?" 

"Of course, Mr Borgin." Tom nodded, straightening his dark grey waistcoat with a sharp tug down. His shirt sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows and his tie slightly loosened at his neck. "A trip to France sounds lovely, I can finally do something that will make my wife happy. I have a feeling she's beginning to become annoyed with me." 

"Women are like that." Mr Borgin laughed, scratching ink into the parchment of his ledger without looking up at Tom. "You can work until you die and they still won't be happy. My Mrs nags me day and night, I can't do anything right." 

A look of disgust went over Tom's expression. He had the suspicion that Mr Borgin wouldn't be the selfless slave of a husband that he claimed to be. 

"Well, Victoria is a patient woman so I want to at least try," Tom said, brushing the dust off his hands. "I'll take her with me to France, give her a break from the alley and spend the weekend with what time I have left after procuring the artefact." 

"You're a better man than most, Riddle." Mr Borgin chuckled as Tom turned to finish his duties. "I'd be leaving my wife behind, give myself a break." 

Tom made a judgmental smile, giving a small bow as he excused himself. He didn't like the way Mr Borgin spoke like Tom would agree, like he would ever think of Victoria the way he does about his wife. Maybe Mrs Borgin was horribly annoying and bitter, but then why marry her at all? Why subject himself to such torment? Victoria wasn't like that. She was used to better, a bigger house, more respect, but she had yet to truly complain, and for that he could never fault her. 

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A grey gloom hung in the air around the grand castle that sat on the French southern coast. The usual sunny shore threatened tears as thunder cracked in the distance. Victoria stood stoic with her hair wrapped into a tight bun, similar to how her mother used to wear it, her pale skin gleaming against her black dress in the flat gloom. 

Hand in hand, they looked up at the impressive structure. Gothic architecture with turrets and high walls. The stone work had worn with the weather and faded into pale greys in patches. Some walls crumbled, making it look unused but torchlight glinted in the high windows betraying the appearance. 

"I thought it would be sunny." Tom frowned, stroking a hand through his hair to put his curls back into place as the wind blew around them. "I had wanted it to be a nice trip for us. A coven that houses vampires live here, they use them in ancient rituals. Vampire blood is exceedingly hard to come by usually but their alliance allows the family that lives here to perform runic spells lost for lack of use and make potions with much higher potency than the average brewer is capable of."