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Challenges at the bottom.

Word Count - 561

The Last Strings

It was cloudy when he Apparated in. The house wasn't hard to find, it was the biggest in the village, on a hill overlooking the smaller properties.

Tom sneered at it. His father lived in opulence while he'd grown up sharing a room with boys that hated him and a caretaker that didn't care one joy about him.

Nobody paid him any attention as he approached the house, though he didn't pass the gates. Not at first. He lingered, watchful and waiting for the right moment.

It came, as the sun set, and Tom finally allowed himself to push the gate open and walk up the winding path to the house.

He thought to knock, but instead, with a little twitch of his hand, opened the door with his magic and stepped inside.

The Riddle house, they called it, down in the village. Home, Tom should have been able to call it, if only his father hadn't been a spineless coward.

Tom walked through the house, following the noise of his family eating dinner. When he opened the door, three people turned to look at him. At first they frowned at him, and the oldest man opened his mouth, presumably to ask just who he was, but then, recognition dawned.

Tom saw the moment they really looked at him and saw the similarities between Tom and the man he was named for.

"Who are you, young man?" the woman asked, sitting up in her seat, looking between Tom and his father.

"Your grandson," Tom sneered. His wand slid down his sleeve into his hand, though he hid it behind his back. His eyes were on his father.

Tom Sr couldn't meet his gaze. He was pale, and sweat was beading on his head. He gripped the table so tightly, his knuckles were white under the pressure.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice rough with fear.

"I want you to suffer," Tom growled. "Like I have since I was born, left at an orphanage to rot because you left my mother alone and unwanted."

"Tom?" his grandmother said, looking at her son.

"She named me for you, you know?" Tom said, not letting his father speak, not that it looked like he planned on it. "Tom Riddle Junior. That's how I found you so easily. Maybe that's why she did it."

"I suppose you want a pay-off, young man?" his grandfather asked, and Tom laughed, high and cold.

"You can keep your filthy money," he replied. "There's something I want far more than whatever riches you possess."

"Oh?"

Tom nodded, and once more, his eyes were trained on his father. "I want your lives."

The green light that flashed once, twice, thrice from his wand brought Tom the greatest pleasure. He finished the ritual he'd planned and the ring he'd stolen from his uncle settled with a slice of Tom's soul inside.

He left the bodies where they were, frozen in fear, for the muggles to find. Someone would come looking eventually, he was sure, and if they didn't, well… all the better.

Tom hoped they rotted.

He left the house feeling lighter than he even had before. The last strings attaching him to muggles were gone and he had begun his journey into immortality.

He didn't look back at the house as he left. He had no need to.

Written for;

Auction - Riddle House

365 - 125. Satisfy

1000 - 459. Cloudy