Tom Riddle looked down at the address in his hands, then back up at the
mansion. This was the place. He took a deep breath before walking up to the
door. I am Lord Voldemort, he reminded himself to ease his nerves. He
opened the door silently with his wand, and then slid into the house. He
heard voices coming from the dining room, and he walked over, silently.
Tom Riddle, Sr. jumped up as a boy, about 17 years of age, appeared in the doorway from seemingly nowhere. "What are you doing here? I demand that you leave at once!" he shouted, trying to cover up his fear of this strange boy, who looked oddly familiar...
"What am I doing here? Don't you recognize me, father?" Tom spat the last, unfamiliar word out, and Mr. Riddle recoiled, not only from the hate in Tom's voice, but also because he remembered, and now knew why Tom seemed so familiar. Those eyes, which had haunted him in his sleep for years to come, those eyes belonged to her...
"That's right. Didn't know you had a son, did you? Didn't care either, I bet. You didn't care about her! They told me, told me how you left after you found out! Cared enough to screw her, but not enough to stick around! She died, right after I was born! SHE DIED WITH ME IN HER ARMS!" Tom had to try as hard as he could from crying. Anger and grief and regret swirled around him as he glared at his father and his family. "You just left and found someone else, huh? Thought you could put it behind you, thought you could forget, you thought I'd stay away? You thought wrong." He reached inside his pocket and pulled out his wand. The tears were coming, threatening to spill from his eyes, so that he had to blink to see clearly. "She died that day," he whispered venomously, "and now I intend on repaying the debt. AVADA KEDAVRA!" he shouted, and the blast of green flew from his wand straight at his father, killing him instantly. Tom had been so forceful that the curse had spread, killing his father's wife and son. Tom ran from the room, out the house, and down the street, and now the tears were pouring free from his face.
When he finally stopped, he didn't recognize where he was. "I don't care. I don't care about him, or his family," he whispered. " The world's better off without them. Damn those muggles! I hate them all! The world's better off without all of them!" He knew, then, that simply killing his father was not enough for him. He wanted revenge on all muggles, on their world and everyone who was connected with it. "I can deal with this," he thought.
"I am Lord Voldemort."
Tom Riddle, Sr. jumped up as a boy, about 17 years of age, appeared in the doorway from seemingly nowhere. "What are you doing here? I demand that you leave at once!" he shouted, trying to cover up his fear of this strange boy, who looked oddly familiar...
"What am I doing here? Don't you recognize me, father?" Tom spat the last, unfamiliar word out, and Mr. Riddle recoiled, not only from the hate in Tom's voice, but also because he remembered, and now knew why Tom seemed so familiar. Those eyes, which had haunted him in his sleep for years to come, those eyes belonged to her...
"That's right. Didn't know you had a son, did you? Didn't care either, I bet. You didn't care about her! They told me, told me how you left after you found out! Cared enough to screw her, but not enough to stick around! She died, right after I was born! SHE DIED WITH ME IN HER ARMS!" Tom had to try as hard as he could from crying. Anger and grief and regret swirled around him as he glared at his father and his family. "You just left and found someone else, huh? Thought you could put it behind you, thought you could forget, you thought I'd stay away? You thought wrong." He reached inside his pocket and pulled out his wand. The tears were coming, threatening to spill from his eyes, so that he had to blink to see clearly. "She died that day," he whispered venomously, "and now I intend on repaying the debt. AVADA KEDAVRA!" he shouted, and the blast of green flew from his wand straight at his father, killing him instantly. Tom had been so forceful that the curse had spread, killing his father's wife and son. Tom ran from the room, out the house, and down the street, and now the tears were pouring free from his face.
When he finally stopped, he didn't recognize where he was. "I don't care. I don't care about him, or his family," he whispered. " The world's better off without them. Damn those muggles! I hate them all! The world's better off without all of them!" He knew, then, that simply killing his father was not enough for him. He wanted revenge on all muggles, on their world and everyone who was connected with it. "I can deal with this," he thought.
"I am Lord Voldemort."
