It was Frank Bryce's leg that woke him. It was paining him worse than ever in his old age. He got up and limped downstairs into the kitchen, planning on refilling his hot water bottle to ease the stiffness in his knee. Standing at the sink, he looked up at the old, abandoned Riddle house. The upper windows were glimmering with a faint light. Frank knew at once what had happened. The village's boys had broken in again, and judging by how the light was flickering, had started a fire.
Frank had no telephone, and in any case, he had deeply mistrusted the police ever since they had taken him in for questioning concerning the deaths of Tom Riddle and his family. He put down the kettle, hurried back upstairs as fast as his leg would allow, and was soon rushing out the door fully dressed; cane and key in hand.
The front door and windows bore no sign of being breeched. Frank limped around to the back and reached for a door almost completely covered in vines of ivy. He took out the key, put it in the lock, and noiselessly opened the door.
He let himself into the cavernous kitchen. Even though Frank had not entered it in many years, he still remembered where the door to the hall was and he groped his way towards it. He reached the hall and started to climb the stairs, blessing the thick layer of dust along the way, because it muffled the sounds of his feet and cane.
On the landing, Frank turned right and saw at once where the intruders were. At the very end of the corridor, a door stood ajar, a flickering light shone through the gap and cast a long sliver of light across the floor. Frank edged closer, grasping his cane firmly. Several feet away from the entrance, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond.
The fire, he saw, had been lit inside the grate. This puzzled him. He stopped moving and listened intently. A man's voice spoke within the room. It sounded timid and fearful.
"There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry."
"Later," said a second voice. This too belonged to a man-but it was strangely high-pitched and cold as a gust of icy wind. Something in the voice made the hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."
There came the clink of a bottle being placed on a hard surface, and then the dull scraping sound of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man pushing the chair into place before he withdrew from his sight. He was wearing a long black cloak and had a bald patch in the shape of a star at the back of his head.
"Where is Nagini?" said the cold voice.
"I-I don't know, My Lord," came the first voice nervously. "She set out to explore the house, I think…"
"You will need to milk her before we retire, Wormtail," said the second voice. "I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."
"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"
"A week," said the cold voice, "Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."
Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and twisted it. Owing, no doubt, to the build up of wax, he had heard the word 'Quidditch', which was not even a word at all.
"The-the Quidditch World cup, My Lord?" said Wormtail. "Forgive me, but-I don't understand-why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"
"Because, fool, at this very moment, wizards are pouring into the country from all over and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."
Frank stopped trying to clear his ears. He had distinctly hears the words 'Ministry of Magic', 'wizards', and 'Muggles'. Plainly, these expressions meant something secret, and Frank knew of only two sorts of people who would speak in codes: spies and criminals. Tightening the hold of his cane, he listened more closely still.
"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail said quietly.
"Of course I am determined, Wormtail." There was a sense of menace in the cold voice now.
A slight pause followed, and then Wormtail spoke.
"It could be done without Harry Potter and Victoria Venice, My Lord."
Another pause, more protracted, then-
"Without Harry Potter or Victoria Venice," breathed the cold voice softly. "I see…"
"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy and girl!" said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. "The children are nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard-any wizard-the thing could be done so much more quickly. If you allowed me to leave you for a short while-you know that I can disguise myself efficiently-I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person-"
"I could use another wizard," said the cold voice softly, "that is true…"
"My Lord, it makes sense," said Wormtail, sounding relieved. "Laying hands on Harry Potter and Victoria Venice would be so difficult, they are so well protected-"
"And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder… perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?"
"My Lord! I-I have no wish to leave you, none at all-"
"Do not lie to me!" hissed the second voice. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me…."
"No! My devotion to Your Lordship-"
"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had any where else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"
"But you seem so much stronger, My Lord-"
"Liar," breathed the second voice. "I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!"
Wormtail, who had been sputtering incoherently, fell silent at once. For a minute, Frank could hear nothing but the fire crackling. Then the cold voice spoke in a whisper that was almost a hiss.
"I have reasons for using the children, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few mothers more will make no difference. As for the protection around the children, I believe my plan will be efficient. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail-courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort's wrath-"
"My Lord, I must speak!" proclaimed Wormtail, panic in his voice now. "All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head-My Lord, Bertha Jorkins's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder-"
"If?" whispered the second voice. "If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else had died. You will do it quietly and without a fuss; I only wish I could do it myself, but in my present condition…Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter and Victoria Venice is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us-"
"I am a faithful servant," Wormtail replied.
"Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfill neither requirement."
"I found you," said Wormtail, a sulky edge to his voice now. "I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins."
"That is true," said the second man, sounding amused. "A stroke of brilliance I would have never thought possible from you, Wormtail-though, if truth be told, you were not aware of how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?"
"I-I thought she might be useful, My Lord-"
"Liar," said the second voice again. "However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform…."
"R-really, My Lord? What-?" Wormtail sounded terrified again.
"Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end…but I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins."
"You…you…" Wormtail's voice suddenly sounded hoarse, as if his mouth had gone completely dry. "You…are going…to kill me too?"
"Wormtail, Wormtail," said the cold voice silkily "why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with news that she had meet her on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns…."
Wormtail muttered something that amused the second man, who laughed an entirely mirthless laugh as cold as his speech.
"We could have modified her memory? But memory can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her memory not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail."
Out in the corridor, Frank became aware that his cane was slippery with sweat from his grip. This man had killed a woman and was talking about it with amusement. He was dangerous, a madman. He was planning other murders-these kids, Harry Potter and Victoria Venice, who ever they were-were in danger.
Frank knew what he had to do. Now was the time to go to the police. He would creep out of the house and head straight for the telephone box in the village. Before he could leave, the cold voice was speaking again.
"One more murders…my faithful servant at Hogwarts…Harry Potter and Victoria Venice are as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet, I think I hear Nagini."
The second man began making noises such as Frank had never heard. He was hissing and spitting without taking breaths. Frank believed the man was having a fit or seizure.
And then Frank heard movement behind him. He turned to look, and was frozen with fright.
Something large was slithering towards him and the door. As it drew closer to the sliver of light, Frank realized it was a gigantic snake a least twelve feet long. Frank stared as its undulating body cut a twisting trail in the dust on the floor. What was he to do? The only passage of escape was into the room with the two men who happened to be plotting murders. Yet, if he stayed where he was, the snake would surely kill him-
Before he could clear his mind, the snake was even with him. But instead of turning and attacking, the snake followed the trail of spitting and hissing noises into the room.
Sweat drenched Frank's brow and his hand gripping the cane was trembling. Inside the room, the hissing continued, and Frank came upon an impossible thought…. This man could talk to snakes.
Frank did not understand what was happening. What he wanted more than anything was to be in bed with his hot-water bottle. But his legs did not comprehend the message he was desperately sending them for they did not seem to want to move. As he stood there battling his physical form with mental stabs, the cold voice abruptly switched to English.
"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail."
"In-indeed, My Lord?" said Wormtail.
"Indeed, yes," said the voice. "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."
Frank didn't have time to hide himself. Footsteps sounded, then the door to the room was flung open.
A short, balding man stood in front of Frank. Fear and shock was written across his face.
"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?
The cold voice was coming from an elegant wingback chair before the fire, but the speaker was hidden from Frank's view. The snake was curled up on the ancient rug like some sort of sick pet.
Wormtail ushered Frank into the room. The fire was the only source of light in the room. It cast long, spidery shadows along the walls. Frank concentrated on the back of the armchair. The man occupating it seemed smaller than his servant, for Frank could not see the back of his head.
"You heard everything, Muggle?" asked the cold voice.
"What's that you're calling me?" said Frank defiantly. Now that he was inside the room, he felt braver, like his years in the war.
"I'm calling you a Muggle." Replied the cold voice coolly. "It means you're not a wizard."
"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said Frank. "All I know is that I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too," he added, a sudden inspiration, "my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back-"
"You have no wife," said the cold voice, very quietly. "No one knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows…he always knows…."
"Is that right?" said Frank roughly. "Lord is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"
"Because I am not a man, Muggle," said the voice, barely louder than the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However…why not? I will face you….Wormtail, come turn my chair around."
The servant gave a whimper.
"You heard me, Wormtail."
Reluctantly, the small man approached the chair and began to turn the chair. In the process, the legs of the chair got caught on the rug and the snake hissed slightly.
And then the chair was facing Frank and he saw what was sitting in it. Frank dropped his cane and opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he did not hear the words the thing in the chair said next. There was a flash of green, a loud rushing noise, and Frank crumpled. Frank Bryce was dead before he hit the floor.
Hundreds of miles in either direction, a boy called Harry Potter and a girl called Victoria Venice woke with a start.