THE BIRTH OF LORD VOLDEMORT
The elderly man arrived home early and began unbuttoning his lavish fur coat. His watch was a treasure, a spoil of war but it matched the luxurious and pompous aura of his home. The man was one of the wealthiest men in the county and his country estate had been built and lived in by his family for generations. He closed the door loudly to announce his arrival to the household staff. Typically the butler was the first to greet him ready to take his coat and shoes.
'Welcome back sir,' said the butler in a monotone.
The old man growled.
'A beautiful day it is not sir?'
'Is it now,' snarled the old man grumpily.
He unbuttoned his coat and handed it roughly to the butler.
'Make sure you don't crease this George, it was expensive and I want it to look like such at the next Council meeting.'
'Of course sir,' replied the butler curtly. 'And will you need your daily paper?'
The old man snorted but did not look at the butler.
'I don't want to read more of that crap,' he barked. 'The worlds falling apart; I'm expected to pay higher taxes for these small town folk who have all these ideas when what they should be doing is tending to the work the Lord has set them. They should leave politics to the right kind.'
The man continued to the main dining room and sat down into the largest single armchair in front of the empty fireplace. A small wooden tea table was positioned at arms length to the left side and the butler placed his small silver tray onto the table and readied the old man's tea. The old man reached out and snatched the paper in spite of himself out from the under the butler's arm, he opened the paper and glanced each page briefly, muttering to himself.
'I tell you in previous times the army would be called to quell this nonsense. I didn't fight in the wars just so common folk can say what they like over us hard working kind.'
'Very good sir.'
'Thank you, you're always there when I need to rant,' said the old man more calmly. He glanced away from the paper and looked around the room briefly looking for something.
'Where's my wife?' he asked.
'Continuing with her artwork sir,' said the butler.
The old man laughed and coughed into his tea, choking as his laughter died away.
'What rubbish it is too but you know of course to never to repeat that to her, as long as she's busy painting she won't be getting in my way.'
The door behind the armchair opened and swiftly closed. The butler turned and bowed to the younger man who just arrived.
'Lord Thomas,' he acknowledged.
'Ah Tom,' cried the old man happily. 'Busy day?'
The younger man named Thomas chuckled briefly, smugly. He looked like his father, tall with a straight dignified posture, he was exceedingly handsome and as such he attracted much attention whenever he went into the village.
'The usual father,' he said.
'Chasing that Jameson girl by any chance?'
'Both of them actually,' he said snobbishly. 'But since they are the only good looking girls in the village it doesn't say much considering this is Little Hangleton.'
The old man chuckled heavily until he coughed into his tea cup again.
'The place hasn't changed much lad, I met your mother at a conference in Sheffield, glorious in her day,' said the old man.
'Well they'll do for now father, but I'm aiming a little higher in the future,' said Tom with a mischievous glint in his eye. The old man studied his expression for a moment before throwing his head back and laughing again.
'That's my boy,' he exclaimed with a playful punch to the butler's arm who nearly dropped his tray. 'You're much like me you are, still got it lad. Eh George, the boy learnt well from his father.'
'Indeed sir, many congratulations Master Thomas.'
Tom ignored the butler and settled into the armchair next to his father, clicked his fingers to attract the butler's attention.
'Get me some brandy,' he commanded.
The butler bowed and turned away towards the study where the old man kept a healthy selection of wines and spirits inside his antique cabinets, spoils of war though he would never publicly admit to it.
'We've had another request from the local gamekeeper father,' said Tom more seriously as the butler returned and handed him his drink. The old man clenched his free fist and banged it down on the arm rest.
'Ludgehill,' snapped the man. 'That man is always after something, for the last six seasons he has put a written request to stage his events on our land and every year I refuse.'
Tom laughed.
'He's persistent; I see why they chose him.'
'Persistent ha. More like trouble, thinking that just because he's been given a little authority the rest of us have to bow down and worship. I've worked hard my whole life, survived the wars only to be pestered yearly by a commoner with ideas above his station.'
The old man took a large sip of his drink.
'Now they even have a welfare state,' cried the old man in furious disbelief.
'Now now dear,' said a woman who had just walked into the room. 'Don't upset yourself remember what the doctor told you.'
'Upset? Upset? I'm not upset I'm delighted because this year I have him over a barrel.'
He turned to his son and lowered his voice so his wife couldn't hear him.
'I've sent him a letter saying that he may hold his event on the field this year.'
Tom looked at his father raising his eye brows in suspicion.
'Doesn't sound like you father, rather generous isn't it too a mere gamekeeper?'
'The generosity is all his,' cried the old man in amusement. 'I've told him he can use the field; for an event fee.'
Tom's face broke into a smile.
'How much have you asked for?' he whispered in a delighted voice.
'A little more than they usually pay on the Wayles site but since we are the closest property in the county, they don't have a choice.'
The man and his father laughed out loud.
'Ironic really boy,' said the old man. 'Who says capitalism is a bad thing?'
Tom laughed even harder.
'What have you been getting up to?' asked the old man to his wife.
'Oh Frank cleared a small space for me to work in the back garden, a beautiful summers day like this does wonders for the soul.'
'As long as it's cheap.'
The butler returned to the room holding several dinner jackets.
'Sir I'm about to go off duty for the day and Cook has asked me to let you know that dinner will be ready soon.'
'Bout bloody time too,' barked the old man who jumped to his feet and held his arms out to allow the butler to dress him in the jacket. 'That woman seems to get slower and slower.'
'I say fire her father and get a younger girl,' snapped Tom.
The old man eyed him for a moment.
'Hard to find a good looking girl who can cook though,' said the old man.
'I'm sure I could persuade her,' sniggered Tom.
The old man laughed again. The old lady came along with a glass of wine; her appetite for the beverage seemed to be increasing as the years went by. They entered the large dining room where the table was already made out with their finest china and glasses; the wine was standing waiting at the centre of the table to go with their food.
'I can't wait,' said the old man. 'I'm starving.'
The old man and his son sat down in their places but the woman was struggling while balancing the wine glass in her hand. The old man looked embarrassed and looked round.
'George!' he called. 'George where are you?'
There was no reply.
'Must've gone off duty,' complained Tom. 'He hasn't even made sure we've been served yet, I tell you he's another one who should go.'
'I'll consider it,' said the old man who got off his seat and leaned over to grab the nearby napkin.
'Go help your mother Tom,' ordered the man.
With a huff of child-like insolence Tom got to his feet and helped his mother into her seat. She immediately topped up her wine with looks of disapproval from her son and husband. They waited for a couple of moment before the old man started to get impatient.
'Cook!' he shouted, but there was no reply.
Suddenly the room darkened until there was only a silvery gaze over the table. All sound seemed to disappear with the light and the family looked around in disapproving expressions.
'Damn George,' snapped the old man.
'Got to do everything ourselves as usual,' barked Tom who tried to get to his feet but he couldn't move. Tom tried again and again but didn't move, his parents watched him curiously.
'What the blazes are you doing Tom?' asked the old man.
'I can't get up,' cried Tom. The old man laughed.
'Lazy, that's your problem boy,' said the old man who also tried to get up but was unable to.
'I can't move,' stuttered the old man in shocked bewilderment. He tried shuffling on his chair to try and dislodge whatever might be holding him there but nothing gave way. The woman tried also but got nowhere.
'Help!' cried the woman across the dining room table, 'help, HELP!'
'I'm afraid no-one can hear you,' said a soft voice from the doorway leading from the kitchen. The three people turned to the door to see who had spoken but they couldn't see him, the man was concealed in the darkness.
'George!' barked the old man. The soft voice laughed.
'I'm not your old butler,' said the voice.
'Well whoever you are don't just stand around doing nothing, someone's playing a joke on us,' snapped Tom impatiently.
The man didn't move. The woman signalled her son to be quiet.
'Can you help us, we seem to be trapped?' she asked more politely.
The boy laughed.
'I'm afraid I'm responsible for that,' he said.
The three people sat there dumbstruck.
'You?' said Tom in confused voice. 'How could you have done this we've been here the whole time and we've moved.'
The boy shifted from one side of the doorway to the other.
'I'm unlike anyone you have ever met before,' he said. 'You see Muggles like yourself concern yourself with such petty things, basking in your ill-informed sense of superiority when you remain blind to the real power right before you.'
The boy paused; his words seemed fluid and well thought out to achieve the maximum impact on those who were listening. He was well spoken and could easily come across as someone with riches.
'What power?' asked the old man.
'Me,' replied the boy simply.
'Your voice, you're a child I can tell, your voice is full of youth and arrogance, only a young person has such a voice,' barked the old man angrily, he complained about young people daily.
'I bet Ludgehill sent you to intimidate me into lowering the price of using our property for his games.'
The boy tilted his head.
'Well you can tell him I will not be intimidated by a boy of all people…'
'And only men like you who pride themselves on nothing more than the value of their estates can treat people with as much contempt as you do. I on the other hand do not need such riches and I, unlike you, do not need anyone else and serve no-one.'
The old man fell silent and the boy laughed.
'It's interesting as well that you guessed my age correctly, after all you've heard my voice before is that not right Mr. Tom Riddle?'
The old couple looked at their son. Tom Riddle however looked confused and impatient.
'How the hell should I know your voice, never seen you before in my life,' he said.
'Exactly,' exclaimed the boy. 'You abandoned me before I was even born and you left me with a question I could not answer, only to think about.'
The boy started pacing, but remained in the darkness the couple tried whispering to each other but the boy took no notice and continued on his speech.
'You see I always had a conflicting vision of my father; my mother died giving birth to me and my father was nowhere to be found, but I then discovered that I was special and so it made me wonder who my father was, how wise and powerful he must have been to produce a son as powerful as me.'
The old was growing impatient and banged his fist down on the table furiously.
'Just tell me what you want?' he cried.
BANG. There was a scream.
The old man had tried to interrupt the boy but had been thrown back into his chair with a bloody gash ripped across his face, he was now screaming in pain.
'I'd listen if I were you, this is the last speech you are ever going to hear,' hissed the boy menacingly.
The old woman and Tom were gasping with horror at the sight before them they tried to free themselves more frantically but they were still stuck in their places. The old man was crying loudly. The boy gave a loud sigh in a bored tone.
'Fine,' he breathed as he strove forwards into the light exposing his face at last with a wand outstretched and pointed into the old mans face. There was a quiet hiss as the old man's wounds retracted and healed, the blood also disappeared.
'There,' complained the boy angrily, 'feeling better now?'
The old man however continued on crying and yelling out in fright.
'Someone help us, help!' he shouted. 'He's going to kill us!'
The boy's eyes narrowed, he raised his wand and pointed it at the old man; 'Avada Kedavra!'
There was a flash of green light and the old man fell forward onto the clean table with a crash, clearly dead.
'No!' cried the woman who started screaming, the boy turned on her as well and with a swipe of his wand and another flash of green light killed her as well. Tom started screaming at the sight of his dead parents.
'No!' cried the boy and with a swipe of his wand magically gagged Tom. 'You're not getting of this that easy.'
Tom Riddle was thrown back into chair and fixed in position, his eyes wide with fear staring at the boy in front of him, who was very tall for his age and very thin but seemed somehow strong though pale.
'Now that grandmother and grandfather are out of the picture it's down to just you and me,' said the boy casually as if he didn't realised he had killed two people, he paused, took a deep breath and finished his sentence by breathing; 'Father.'
Tom simply stared, unable to show any reaction to the revelation due to the horror of the situation; he didn't believe it. However as he stared more and more into the boy's face he found himself shocked to discover with a cold realisation that the boy looked just like him, the spitting image in fact. This boy somehow looked just how he looked at that age.
'Yes look upon me,' hissed the boy. 'My name is Tom Riddle, named after the father who abandoned me; you.
'Except; I'm much more than you.'
Tom Riddle Jr. moved away from his father and sat down on the empty chair opposite him. They stared silently at each other momentarily, the dead couple barely registered to the boy but the man couldn't help staring between the two of them and the boy.
'I've read that some of the rituals people go through at reunions like this are very different; for some it is a tearful moment, for others it is shock and for other it's anger but most end up being moments where the child asks the parent one simple question; why? Why did you do it? Why did you leave, why did you abandon me?'
Tom Riddle Sr. sat quietly listening to his son, he was sweating frantically and crying, trying to plead through his gag but the boy didn't pay attention. Tom Riddle Jr. leant forward, placed his wand out in front of him and leaned back, crossed one leg over the other and placed his finger tips together.
'I'm different you see father, I don't care, once I learned who you were, where you lived and what you are the answer to the questions I had no longer interested me.'
Tom leaned forward towards his father and looked deep into his eyes.
'You see because right then, without ever speaking to you or knowing you personally I realised the truth. You were a weak sheep blinded in the glory of a powerful dragon, a creature that is by nature more powerful than you but that dragon somehow and foolishly loved that small and timid creature. But once you realised the true power of that dragon you fled, the real crime is that you broke that powerful creature, a creature of so much strength and power, all of which you couldn't possibly understand and she died.'
Tom sat back down in his chair again though not looking at his father.
'She died and with no knowledge of where that weak sheep was, I, the most powerful dragon the world has ever known was left condemned to the life of a sheep under the tyranny of people who should be kneeling at my feet and basking in my glory.'
Tom Riddle Sr. cried into his invisible gag as he sensed the crescendo of his son's speech. Tom looked away from the table, now talking seemingly to himself.
'You see I've come here not for knowledge, not for truth and certainly not for strengthening family ties, I've come here to show that the beaten dragon has not become the sheep and in spite of you I will become the most powerful dragon the world has ever known.'
Tom Riddle got to his feet and picked up his wand, his eyes widened with anticipation as he pointed his wand at his father.
'Today Tom Marvolo Riddle dies as I cast off the useless skin that your lineage has cursed upon me,' cried the boy, his eyes wide and his voice rising with anticipation. His voice got higher and higher as he let madness consume him.
'You will die here father as I christen myself new and baptise my soul now and forever as the greatest sorcerer the world will ever know!'
Tom Riddle Sr. pleaded and cried with the son he would never know, who he never even knew existed and he felt himself free as the magical gag vanished. He realised this was his only chance.
'No please! I beg you son, I DIDN'T KNOW; DON'T HURT ME…'
Tom Riddle Jr, stared silently, his teeth clenched and his eyes wide with madness.
'Tom,' whispered his father sincerely, softly. His son's expression relaxed suddenly, stunned as if he himself had been struck in the gut.
'Tom, please.'
Tom Riddle Jr. face suddenly became twisted and consumed by a fiery fury.
The boy screamed; 'I AM LORD VOLDEMORT!'
A flash of green light engulfed the room and when it vanished the boy was gone and the room was quiet. Sitting hunched over the table, wearing their finest dinner jackets were the last members of a rich family who sat dead in their places with no distinguishable reasons to say why they were dead. The boy was gone, never to be seen or heard from again by anyone in this village; in fact no-one would ever know he was even here to begin with.
A large woman entered through the back door, having taken the waste from the afternoon cooking out to the end of the pathway by the dirt road. She briefly checked on a hot gas stove, before preparing herself to face Mr. Riddle and his arrogant son. She always fretted facing them and only put up with them because she needed the money. She walked through the double wooden doors to the dining room brushing herself down with her hands as she went.
'Mr. Riddle I'm so sorry for the delay but I had to take the trash out and …'
A scream filled the room and travelled all the way into the kitchen and out into the country air, the scream ran down the paths, down the dirt road and into the village. The screaming cook ran into the first house she found and brought out into the open the mystery of the Riddle House.
END