Chapter One
Family Ties
"The Death Eaters are on the march Wormtail," said a cold voice, which belonged to a man sitting in front of a flickering fire.
"Indeed my Lord?" replied a squeaky voice that belonged to another man, who was standing beside the old leather chair.
"Yes Wormtail. They are at this very moment, gathering atop Stoatshead Hill, near Ottery St Catchpole."
"Why there my Lord?"
"There are very few wizards in that area. Only four families of wizards and witches live nearby. However, I have instructed the Death Eaters, led by Lucius Malfoy, to be as stealthy as possible and not to attract any unnecessary attention. I believe they are capable of meeting without being-"
"But my Lord…"
"You foresee a problem with this plan?" Voldemort said, raising his voice, "This plan crafted by myself, Lord Voldemort! The greatest sorcerer of them all?"
"I don't mean to be out of place my Lord, but…" Wormtail paused, whimpering and shaking slightly, "the Weasley family lives in Ottery St Catchpole."
Voldemort paused for a moment, considering this piece of information offered by Wormtail, apparently considering its worth and usefulness.
"I see what you are thinking Wormtail. Yes, Voldemort can see what you are thinking. One of the Weasley family, one Ron Weasley, is Harry's best friend is he not?"
"Yes he is master," replied Wormtail.
"That is of little consequence," said Voldemort firmly, "I will not be visiting Stoatshead Hill, and so Harry Potter will not sense the Death Eaters presence."
"O-of course my lord. I was stupid to ever question you my lord," said Wormtail, still shaking and whimpering.
Wormtail remained silent for a few moments, but then seemed to pluck up the courage to ask Voldemort a question.
"My lord, if I may be so bold as to ask… Why will you not be visiting Stoatshead Hill?"
"I have left Lucius Malfoy in charge Wormtail. He is more than capable of completing my orders. Also, I have… other business to attend to.
Voldemort sat down in front of the fire, on an old chair with leather coverings. The room, which Voldemort and Wormtail were in, was part of the Riddle House. The Riddle House was an old manor, and was the finest house for miles of open countryside. The Riddle family had not lived there for years, but people still called it the Riddle House because of the strange events that had transpired there.
One evening, the made had found all three Riddles dead, with their eyes half-shut, and their mouths open. Frank Bryce was arrested for the murder, but was never convicted. The true murder, was a young man who called himself Lord Voldemort. Then, only last year, Frank himself had disappeared, and a flurry of rumour not seen since the night the Riddles died was roused.
In actual fact, Frank had been dead for quite some time, at the hands of Lord Voldemort, before anyone noticed he was gone. It was over four months after his death that his disappearance was at last realised. Many members of the village had noticed that he no longer chased away children who vandalised the Riddle House, but everyone thought that he had just given up, or that his bad legged had finally disabled him and prevented him from running. No one cared however, because nobody really liked Frank.
The night that Frank's disappearance was first noticed, The Hanged Man was more crowded than it had been in anyone's memory, and louder than it had been for fifty years. Many people came to have a drink, enough in fact to send the landlord on a short Caribbean holiday, but as usual, the loudest and most insistent was old Dot. Dot had been living in Little Hangleton for over seventy years, and had been just as loud and obnoxious fifty years ago when the Riddles died.
"Always 'ad nasty air about 'im, old Frank did," Dot would tell anyone who would listen, "been like that ever since he came back from the war. As you'll know, everyone thinks he killed the Riddles, and there's no doubt in my mind that he did it," said Dot, as if to show without a doubt that whatever she said was unquestionably true. "I reckon he did a run for it, all the pressure got too much for 'im, seein' as how we know it was 'im that killed 'em."
Dot went on in this air for some time, as everyone listened with rapt attention. Within half an hour, everyone in town was as knowledgeable about everything that had happened as old Dot, and also believed that Frank had run off to find another place to live.
Midway through Dot's recital of the story to a large group of teenagers, her seventh telling, an old man wearing a black cloak grunted in annoyance as she reached the murder of the Riddles, and how she was positive that Frank was guilty. Everyone listening to her turned to stare at this old man, who was easily as old as Dot, and Dot thrust her nose in the air at the sight of this decrepit old man.
"Do you have a problem sir?" said Dot, as if talking to an upstart child, and not an equal.
"I merely have, a… a difference of opinion," he said in a superior attitude to rival Dot's.
"Who are you to dispute these accepted facts?" retorted Dot.
"You wish to know my name?" replied the old man, after several seconds of thinking.
"I, and everyone else present," said Dot, with a quick glance at her audience, still listening in silence, "would indeed like to know your name."
"My name, my dodder old dear," said the old man in a deeply sarcastic bow, "is Marvolo Slytherin."
Everyone remained silent, completely nonplussed, but after several seconds, Dot tutted loudly.
"You have something to say Dot?" asked Marvolo, still with a look of slight disgust on his face.
"You were Hannah's father where you not? You know, Tom Riddles mistress?"
"I was indeed Hannah's father, but she was no mistress of Tom's."
"I beg to differ," said Dot, her nose once again high in the air, "they had a relationship of sorts, but when your daughter got pregnant, Tom left her."
"That was indeed the time, but not the reason. I do not, however, deny that he left her," replied Marvolo, "but it was the biggest mistake he ever made."
"You seem to be hiding information that is unknown to the rest of us
Mr. Slytherin," said Dot, in a would-be superior tone, every face in the inn now alive with interest, "perhaps concerning the death of the Riddles. Would you care to share it with the rest of us?"
"Indeed, I believe that fifty years is long enough for you to wait. It is my privilege," said Marvolo, bowing elaborately with much waving of his hands, " The true murderer of the Riddles and Frank Bryce, is my grandson. My grandson, the greatest dark sorcerer of them all, Lord Voldemort."
After several seconds of shocked silence, several people started chuckling quietly and whispering, obviously thinking that Marvolo was quite insane. Then Dot felt that she should voice everyone's opinion.
"I do believe you are quite insane, Marvolo. Lord did you say? Quite mad. Really… I mean to say-"
"Oh shut up you old fool!" interrupted Marvolo, "I grow tired of your incessant nattering."
Marvolo quickly drew a thin piece of wood from his long sweeping cloak, pointed it at Dot, and with a flash of green light, she crumpled to the floor. Several people screamed, and a few ran for the exits, but before anyone could do anything to stop him, he had disappeared.
