The Fall Of The Lords: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT
It was really a matter of politics, Boreal thought idly, toying with a limp copy of the newspaper. Nice touch that, sending Asriel after the Riddle boy.
It looked foolish on the surface, an attempt to civilize the half-blood. A blind guess, everyone had thought. A foolish supposition that the boy might be a true Slytherin. Everyone had smiled confidently when it became obvious that the boy would never prove a Slytherin, could never bluff his way through the contempt and isolation with true arrogance. Everyone had thought that they could relax, that Slytherin house at Hogwarts, like South Hall at Durmstrang, still defined true nobility. This.boy, this.half-blood, was a mere aberration, and error committed by a spell thousands of years old. It would not be repeated.
Surprising, too, how Riddle had turned in the child responsible for the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle had enjoyed a surge of popularity when the chamber was opened, as the Slytherins gradually realized that if one of them was responsible for the opening, it must be Riddle. Considering the marks the boy had received, one would have thought him capable of seeing THAT. And Asriel had stayed the boy's ally for all of it. Even on graduation, he had cultivated the friendship. One would have thought it would form SOME bond of affection on Riddle. Evidently not.
Because, after all, Riddle had transcended the condescension and the contempt. He truly was a Slytherin. And he had just played all his cards. He had thrown himself into a political tangle he could not surmount. Charles Snape was out of the running. Lestrange was confused. Nott was in France, and Crabbe and Goyle were harmless without him. It was for Boreal Malfoy, with a child on the way, and no rivals on the field, to make the next move.
Malfoy smiled, and it was a smile of genuine pleasure ans he looked again at the image, in full color on the Daily Prophet's fron page, of a long- dead Asriel Snape pinned to his living room wall with a muggle knife, and, above it, written in the corpse's blood: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
Yes, Tom Riddle, we shall watch you career with great interest.
It was really a matter of politics, Boreal thought idly, toying with a limp copy of the newspaper. Nice touch that, sending Asriel after the Riddle boy.
It looked foolish on the surface, an attempt to civilize the half-blood. A blind guess, everyone had thought. A foolish supposition that the boy might be a true Slytherin. Everyone had smiled confidently when it became obvious that the boy would never prove a Slytherin, could never bluff his way through the contempt and isolation with true arrogance. Everyone had thought that they could relax, that Slytherin house at Hogwarts, like South Hall at Durmstrang, still defined true nobility. This.boy, this.half-blood, was a mere aberration, and error committed by a spell thousands of years old. It would not be repeated.
Surprising, too, how Riddle had turned in the child responsible for the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle had enjoyed a surge of popularity when the chamber was opened, as the Slytherins gradually realized that if one of them was responsible for the opening, it must be Riddle. Considering the marks the boy had received, one would have thought him capable of seeing THAT. And Asriel had stayed the boy's ally for all of it. Even on graduation, he had cultivated the friendship. One would have thought it would form SOME bond of affection on Riddle. Evidently not.
Because, after all, Riddle had transcended the condescension and the contempt. He truly was a Slytherin. And he had just played all his cards. He had thrown himself into a political tangle he could not surmount. Charles Snape was out of the running. Lestrange was confused. Nott was in France, and Crabbe and Goyle were harmless without him. It was for Boreal Malfoy, with a child on the way, and no rivals on the field, to make the next move.
Malfoy smiled, and it was a smile of genuine pleasure ans he looked again at the image, in full color on the Daily Prophet's fron page, of a long- dead Asriel Snape pinned to his living room wall with a muggle knife, and, above it, written in the corpse's blood: I AM LORD VOLDEMORT.
Yes, Tom Riddle, we shall watch you career with great interest.