House: Slytherin

Position: Year 4

Category: Standard

Prompt: [First Line] It all started with a simple "Good morning", and went downhill from there.

Word Count: 1093

oO0Oo

It all started with a simple "Good morning", and went downhill from there. Or, rather, any sane observer would have thought so; instead, the turn of events pleased Tom. Finding his family had proven quite a bore: researching archaic genealogies had never interested him, but, now that he was here and standing before a dilapidated shack, he allowed a feral grin to cross his face. Oh, he would enjoy this.

He strode to the door, which was a plank of wood with a rotting snakeskin nailed to it, and knocked twice. "Good morning?" he said. "Is anyone home?"

No one answered, but Tom was not deterred; he took out his wand and unlocked the door. His hand was on the handle and he was on the verge of pushing the door when he heard a voice croak, "Who are you."

"Your nephew," Tom answered smoothly, opening the door and allowing the light of the setting sun enter the household. In its orange glow, he saw a grime-coated, dusty, and cluttered room; then, in the shadows, something stirred.

It was man. In the shadows there stood a scarecrow of a man whose eyes bulged and stared in opposite directions. His hair hung lank and long, framing a sunken face. He squinted at Tom, seemingly blinded even by the faint, dying light. "Who are you?" he said, brandishing a knife in his hands. "How did you get in?"

Tom took an involuntary step back. That knife seemed ordinary, but something about it made the back of his neck prickle with unease. It felt… hungry. "I told you, I am your nephew."

His uncle's eyes darted from side to side, looking from Tom to the pitiful excuse of a door. "I don't have a nephew."

Ah, time to break the news. Tom strode into the room, purposefully avoiding the little bones strewn across the floor. "I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, and I am assuredly your nephew."

He didn't know what he had been expecting; however, his uncle's reaction took him by surprise. Instead of welcoming him, or even looking shocked, Morfin spat contemptuously on the floor. "She named you after that filth."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "I believe Marvolo is my grandfather's name," he said coldly.

Morfin snorted. "Maybe, but you'll never live up to it. What foul muggle tricks did you use to get in here, boy?"

"I unlocked the door," Tom said, his eyes flashing. "Alohomora is a basic spell, but apparently your wards are too pathetic to stop even that."

Morfin stilled, both of his eyes coming to focus on Tom. "What did you say?" he said softly.

"I used Alohomora. It was not difficult to enter your 'home'."

His uncle staggered backwards. "How?" he snarled, one of his hands scrabbling across the table behind him, knocking over papers and inkwells, while the other brandished the knife at Tom. "You aren't— you can't—"

"I can't what?" Tom said, his voice dangerously soft as he palmed his wand into his hand. He wasn't certain if Protego would stop Morfin's knife, but an offense would serve just as well; a few choice spells came to mind, none of them entirely legal.

"You can't have magic!" Morfin shouted, his hand coming to close around his own wand. "Crucio!"

Yet the beam of silvery light flew wide. Tom didn't even have to dodge. With a wordless Expelliarmus, he had Morfin's wand securely in his grip; then, he stalked forward. "What a way to greet a long-lost nephew," he drawled, his voice silky soft, only the faintest undercurrent of menace hinting just how dangerous he truly was. "One would think you didn't want to see me… luckily, I was prepared for that." Tom smiled, allowing the blood-red gleam to enter his eyes.

At the sight, Morfin swallowed hard. "You— you can't be— Merope was a Squib!"

"Ah, but it seems generations of relentless inbreeding have corrupted our family tree." Tom smirked. "I have power you can only dream of running through my veins," Tom drawled, slowly twirling Morfin's wand with the ease of much practice. "I promise you, uncle, I am no squib."

"We'll see about that." Morfin kept the cursed knife between him and Tom as he slowly backed away, his eyes flickering towards the snakeskin nailed to the door as he hissed, Speak, you filth.

Do not refer to me as filth, Tom hissed in reply. I am no muggle.

Morfin began cackling. "Are you sure?" he wheezed, the knife trembling in his grasp. "You certainly look like a muggle. You look like that muggle your blood-traitor mother was enamoured with."

Tom's eyes narrowed. "What muggle?"

Morfin leered at Tom. "Why, the muggle who lives in town. Stupid little Merope bewitched him— her, a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, running off with a muggle."

"Merope?" The name tasted strange on his tongue.

"Merope," his uncle said with a scowl. "Your whore mother. Stole the locket and married a muggle. But now— now she's dead." He grinned with wicked glee. "And boy, you look just like that muggle did…"

"I would tread carefully," Tom said, his voice low.

"Don't threaten me." Morfin bared his teeth in a rictus of a grin. "You're born of a squib and a muggle. You look just like him."

Tom gritted his teeth. "And pray, tell, what would this muggle's name be?"

Morfin grinned, his eyes bright with malice. "Tom," he said. "Tom Riddle."

Tom blinked. Then he drew his wand and with cool deliberation cast Stupefy on his uncle. Once Morfin had crumpled to the ground, Tom stooped over his uncle's body and took the cursed knife. The artefact could prove useful later… and while he was 'liberating' heirlooms, he may as well take the ring adorning his uncle's middle finger. It exuded a strange aura, and he thought he recognized the Gaunt family crest upon it.

Then, with the ring and the dagger safely in his pocket and Morfin's wand securely in his grasp, Tom strode out of the shack. His insane uncle wouldn't wake up for at least another hour, and that left plenty of time for Tom to pay a visit to another branch of his family.

Tom Riddle. A disgustingly common name borne by a disgustingly common muggle; yet, this promised be quite enjoyable. Tom smirked. It was time to assume the alias Lord Voldemort, although he would certainly use Morfin's wand.

After all, a family reunion wasn't fun unless said family ended up dead or in Azkaban.

And it had all started with such a simple "Good morning".