Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Challenge [Ancient Studies] - hair, pocket, wealthy
Riddle Manor
He had sneered distastefully as he walked towards the largest manor in Little Hangleton, Riddle Manor.
It was obvious for anyone to see that his father had come from a wealthy family as the manor stood grandly in the centre of the village, gardens well kept and in perfect condition. He could only assume that the inside of the manor would be in a similar condition. There was obviously money to spare within his father's family yet his mother had been forced to live in that dump. His mother had been forced to fend for herself in London, weak as she was.
He could feel the brush of the extra wand that he had borrowed from his dear uncle in his pocket as he walked. His true yew wand remained in its holster for easy access, one could never be too careful.
He passed only a few people on his way, each person nodding at him in greeting. One woman had a freshly picked daisy in her hair and had waved cheerily. He had greeted her in return while inwardly sneering at her obviously lack of control.
Upon reaching the doors of the large manor he lifted his had to knock at the door. There was a slightly shuffle on the other side of the door before one of the doors swung inwards to reveal a rather stout man.
"I wish to see Mister Riddle," he said, almost biting his tongue at the 'mister.' One could not simply address a man of such low morals without feeling such a word like acid in one's mouth.
The man glanced at him for a moment, a slight look of shock on his face before the man stepped back to allow him inside. The short man led him up a winding staircase to a room where a fire was crackling cheerfully.
There were three people in that room, one that looked almost like a carbon copy of himself and a graying couple. His family.
He found some kind of amusement at the openly displayed shock on their faces. They had obviously not expected to see someone that looked so much like one of their own that there was almost no doubt that blood was shared between them.
"And you are?" the graying man asked.
"Tom Riddle," he replied, ignoring the urge to reply with some morbid line. It would simply not do for them to guess his surprise for them.
"That cannot be, unless you are the child of that Gaunt woman," the middle aged man sneered in distaste.
"What do you want from us?" the woman asked, finally snapping out of her shock.
He laughed. "Nothing that you will willingly give," he replied darkly. The meaning of his words hung heavy in the air as realization lit those pathetic faces. He laughed darkly and pulled out his dear uncle's wand. There was no need for there to be any blame placed on himself anyway.
He walked out of the manor satisfied. No one would remember seeing him thus no one would be able to prove that he had truly been behind this act of revenge for his mother. There was no reason for there to be a scratch on his perfect record while there was already another upon whom blame could easily fall.