Chapter Thirteen
Smith Manor, February 1947
Tom Riddle was good at charming people. He had always known this, and now his job was to do just that – and he was very successful.
In a sitting room in front of an immensely fat old lady wearing an elaborate ginger wig and a brilliant pink set of robes that flowed all around her, giving her the look of a melting iced cake. She was looking into a small jewelled mirror and dabbing rouge onto her already scarlet cheeks with a large powder puff, while the tiniest and oldest house-elf you will ever seen laced her fleshy feet into tight satin slippers.
"Hurry up, Hokey!" said Hepzibah imperiously. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"
She tucked away her powder puff as the house-elf straightened up. The top of the elf's head barely reached the seat of Hepzibah's chair, and her papery skin hung off her frame just like the crisp linen sheet she wore draped like a toga.
"How do I look?" said Hepzibah, turning her head to admire the various angles of her face in the mirror.
"Lovely, madam," squeaked Hokey.
One could only assume that it was down in Hokey's contract that she must lie through her teeth when asked this question, because Hepzibah Smith looked a long way from lovely in his opinion.
A tinkling doorbell rang and both mistress and elf jumped.
"Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!" cried Hepzibah and the elf scurried out of the room, which was so crammed with objects that it was difficult to see how anybody could navigate their way across it without knocking over at least a dozen things: There were cabi- nets full of little lacquered boxes, cases full of gold-embossed books, shelves of orbs and celestial globes, and many flourishing potted plants in brass containers. In fact, the room looked like a cross between a magical antique shop and a conservatory.
The house-elf returned within minutes, followed by Tom. He was plainly dressed in a black suit; his hair was a little longer than it had been at school and his cheeks were hollowed, but all of this suited him; he looked more handsome than ever. He picked his way through the cramped room with an air that showed he had visited many times before and bowed low over Hepzibah's fat little hand, brushing it with his lips.
"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, producing a bunch of roses from nowhere.
"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" squealed old Hepzibah, though Tom noticed that she had an empty vase standing ready on the nearest little table, as she always did. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom. . . . Sit down, sit down. . . . Where's Hokey? Ah . . ." The house-elf had come dashing back into the room carrying a tray of little cakes, which she set at her mistress's elbow.
"Help yourself, Tom," said Hepzibah, "I know how you love my cakes. Now, how are you? You look pale. They overwork you at that shop, I've said it a hundred times. . . ."
Tom smiled mechanically and Hepzibah simpered.
"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" she asked, batting her lashes.
"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armour," said Tom. "Five hundred Galleons, he feels it is a more than fair —"
"Now, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" pouted Hepzibah.
"I am ordered here because of them," said Tom quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to inquire —"

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The Years of Riddle
Fanfiction"From a very young age he realized it was good to have someone to vouch for you, to believe you were good - especially if you enjoyed doing bad things." Tom Riddle couldn't love. There was no changing that, but was it possible for someone to love...