There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it's been the ruin of many a poor boy
And God I know I'm one.
~ The Animals, House Of The Rising Sun
It was in the Room of Requirement he had his epiphany. It was moments afterwards he had bolted out of the room, a plan already forming in his mind.
About five minutes later he was in Little Hangleton.
The cobbled streets were old and many were cracked. Aligning the road were houses, semi-detached dwellings that were made of mismatched colours of brick. A few of them even had little flower baskets. How quaint.
A hill rose out of the landscape above the town. A gleaming white manor was perched precariously on it. It contained three stories, the windows dyed orange and red in the light of the setting sun. Looking around, Tom was certain it was the grandest building for miles of this derelict little town.
Seeing a pub - rather crudely called The Hanged Man - he was tempted to ask for directions, but he knew better than that. The Gaunt's certainly lived here, but the articles he had read had been less than complimentary:
'A Cinderella story for the ages ended last night. In what was seen as an inevitable move by residents of the town and those who knew him, Tom Riddle returned early last night. His bride was nowhere to be seen. Sources close to the family have said that Mr Riddle claims he was hoodwinked. Merope Gaunt, the daughter of Marvolo Gaunt, charmed him into eloping with her. Certainly reports at the time indicate his behaviour was erratic, however, our readers must ask themselves. What did Miss Gaunt, a member of a famously unstable family, have to offer that charmed Mr Riddle so completely?'
Hearing a commotion, he saw two men followed by several more spill out of the pub. The scent of alcohol was strong in the air, and the first two men began to brawl whilst the others cheered. Tom couldn't prevent the sneer that formed on his face. Duelling was far more elegant and quite obviously beyond these apes. He was just about to move along when he saw one of the women in the crowd look at him. She was clearly drunk, the glass of sherry in her hand being clutched like a talisman. For a moment her eyes widened as she took in his appearance and Tom quietly cast a disillusionment charm. Normally it wouldn't be effective this close, but the woman started swaying and Tom doubted she could see straight enough to notice he had merely became a chameleon of sorts. Pathetic.
Leaving the brawl behind him, Tom walked briskly up the street. Coming to a fork, one path led up to the Manor, the other along a more beaten path. Opting for the latter, he quickly left the town, taking the disillusionment charm off him when he could no longer see the street.
The road was lined with trees, their branches hanging low and brushing the unkempt grass. It was disgraceful that the last direct descendents of Salazar Slytherin lived in the muggle world, much less than in this decaying area. Anger bubbled up in him. How dare they let themselves be reduced to this! They were wizards, they shouldn't be ridiculed by reporters and simpleminded townsfolk. Slytherin used to be the most powerful wizard alive. To be reduced to this was quite frankly unacceptable.
A hissing interrupted his thoughts, and he scanned the grass, seeing a snake sliding along next to him.
"Where is your Master," hissed Tom, the parseltongue flowing freely off his lips, his eyes coldly surveying the silvery reptile.
"You speak our language too mortal?" the snake sounded pleased, "It is ever so nice to see one with the gift look so refined. What my Master has became is nothing short of appalling. Why is it that you seek him?"
Tom rose his eyebrows, his impatience rising quickly, "Show me where he is creature, I have no time for your chatter."
"Very well," replied the snake lazily. "Follow me."
When Tom first saw the shack he felt himself wince a little. It looked like it was only magic holding the shack upright, and even that was doing a poor job. Looking closely he saw a snake was nailed to the door further increasing his disgust of this family - he refused to call them his.
"Good luck," hissed the snake, before slithering underneath one of the vast hedges that surrounded the property.
Approaching the door, Tom nudged it open. If the outside was disgusting, it was nothing compared to the interior.
The living room was joined to the kitchen, and a fine layer of dirt and grime coated just about every surface. A broken chair was by the fireplace, several of its legs missing, and its intact brother was perched facing the fire, and bundled upon it was some sort of rug. The curtains used to be mauve, now threadbare and filled with holes. Other than that there was only the kitchen counters, deep veins in the surface of the wood, the varnish long gone, and the gas stove looked as if it hadn't worked for years.
Tom took all of this in in an instant, processing at the same time that what he thought was a rug was actually a person.
Hearing an intrusion, the occupant turned, his face a mask of anger and madness, fusing together to create a grotesque expression. The anger turned to fury when he finally took in Tom.
"You!" hissed the man, "Do you know what this means you filthy muggle?" He held up his left hand, a chunky ring resting on his index finger, "You disgusting excuse of a-"
"Silence!" hissed Tom, realising immediately that this man only seemed capable of talking in parseltongue. "Are you Morfin Gaunt, descendent of Salazar Slytherin?"
Morfin's eyes widened almost comically, "It can't be you? Sweet Merlin, you look mighty like that muggle."
"I came here to ask politely about, as you so eloquently put, that muggle, but if you're happy to keep uttering curses at me, I may cease being polite," threatened Tom, his eyes narrowing into slits. Morfin took a step back, even in his wasted mind recognising the truth behind Tom's words.
"What do you want to know about him?" Tom heard the contempt in Morfin's words. This would be easier than he thought.
"Everything," hissed Tom.
All throughout his tale Morfin cursed, and his fingers were wrapped around his wand so tightly that Tom was mildly surprised that it never snapped. He could feel his rage building too though. Not just at the fact his mother was weak enough to believe the stupid man could love her when she had tricked him, but that he could even bring himself to accept her for being a witch. The fact that he left her when she was pregnant with him, however, redirected his fury. If he hadn't gone then maybe she would have lived. The matron had never told him much about his mother, only that she seemed to have lost the will in the end. Picking the easy way out of death over protecting her own son. They were both at fault, but Riddle had created the situation in which she would have to chose. He wouldn't be so lucky to get a choice.
It only took him a moment to stun Morfin and steal his wand after he finished. Within five minutes he was approaching the house, climbing the hill hurriedly, and seeing a light shining from what must be the dining room.
He was correct. The colour seemed to drain from his father's face as he entered the room. Tom could see in an instant why Morfin got them mixed up. He was dining with what appeared to be his parents. They had finished with the starter and moved onto chicken casserole. It looked better than any of the so called meals he had had to eat at the Orphanage. Clearly the war wasn't felt here.
"You," whispered Riddle. His grandparents only noticing his presence then.
"My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. I believe you are my father," said Tom coldly, his blue eyes frosting over with contempt.
"Get out of this house!" yelled his grandmother, the old woman having found her tongue whilst his father's remained frozen, "Thomas," the woman looked to her husband, "Get your gun."
"There will be no need for such weaponry here, you see, I possess something much better," Tom smirked at the expressions on their faces as he revealed Morfin's wand from the pocket of his robes. It was obvious Riddle had not spared any detail when telling them what happened to him.
"Now," hissed Tom, circling around the table whilst his family remained seated in absolute terror. "I believe there is something that justice has overlooked. Because of your negligence I was forced to spend my life in an Orphanage in London whilst you," he looked around the room, taking in the tapestries and paintings, his anger spiking, "Never had to work a day in your lives. Well, who wants a taste of reality first?" He grinned as the table's occupants shrank back.
Casting silencing charms and setting up wards, he motioned them to move to the centre of the room. When they stopped, his grandparents actually knelt and prayed! It really was pathetic that humans turned to some imaginary man in the sky when in trouble! If God truly existed then he would never have been left by his mother, his father wouldn't have abandoned them, and he would have been happy. Now, however, that hadn't happened, and he was just angry.
Immobilising his grandfather and father, Tom rounded upon his grandmother. The woman tried to scramble away, but he dragged her back with a particularly nasty charm.
She was fun, but after being under the cruciatus for half an hour her heart gave out. Pity really, although watching his male relations try in vain to free themselves and rescue her certainly made up for it. Moving on to his grandfather, he was pleased that the old man lasted an hour before having to be put down.
His father, having seen the deaths of his parents was quick to tell him everything. How weak. As if only confirming his abandonment and lies would get him out of this alive. He lasted well into the morning, and by the time Tom was done he had tears streaming down his face and was begging for death. It was with great reluctance Tom delivered this small mercy.
Removing all his charms he left the building quickly. After seeing the splendour of Riddle Manor, the dilapidation of the Gaunt's home was more painfully obvious. Here he found Morfin, still lying unconscious amongst the dirt and grime. With little persuasion his mind accepted the memories as his own.
Eying the ring Tom took it. Age had almost destroyed the surface of this ring, only a faint engraving was still visible. He could feel the power emanating from it, the wealth of history it contained, and he wouldn't have been surprised if it was as old as The Founders.
This more than qualified as a vessel.
Putting the second part of his plan into action, he uttered the words he had memorised long ago. It was a long incantation, but this wasn't some mild spell that everyday wizards could use.
What made this spell difficult was the all consuming pain.
Deep inside of him he felt a tear forming. It was as if one of his organs was coming free of the rest, an empty space where it had once been giving an echo of loss. Albeit loss he could deal with, and it was only his determination that kept him going.
There was no way he would risk his soul if he wasn't sure he could do it. And really, was there anything he couldn't do?
After many agonising minutes, he carefully guided the sliver of soul into the ring. The metal band and stone grew hot at this intrusion, the magic rippling through it almost destroying the vessel. Almost.
Gasping, Tom felt truly drained for the first time in his life, but holding the ring he could feel he was successful. At his touch it seemed to thrum a little, recognising the main soul and responding to it. A few hours weakness was definitely worth this, and he felt euphoria rise within him.
He was immortal.
Moments later, Lord Voldemort apparated back to Hogwarts.
Not even a second later, Harry Potter woke up shaking, praying that that was just a dream.
A/N: This is a companion piece to Time Changes Everything. I really wanted to write Tom actually going to Little Hangleton instead of him thinking over the salient points. That doesn't mean, however, that this was easy to write! I actually don't think I've written a harder story! I'm pretty nervous about writing Tom most of the time so feedback will be really appreciated!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.