Disclaimer: Now, honestly, if I owned Harry Potter, don't you think I would be selling books and making tons of money instead of the crap pay that I get now? No, everything belongs to J.K Rowling; I just like to toy with the characters.
A/N: Takes place during Half-Blood Prince.
Voldemort picked up Morfin's wand and looked at the man disgustedly. It was strange to him that this piece of vermin could be related to him-- then again, he had just discovered that his father was a wizard-hating Muggle. He turned his back on his unconscious uncle and made his way out of the house.
Walking up the sidewalk to the Muggle house where his absentee father lived, he looked around at the yard. It looked like the Muggle was very wealthy; the yard was perfectly trimmed, with little bushes and flowers of every sort growing around, and the house itself was large. While I live in a shabby orphanage, this pathetic excuse for a human being lives in a mansion, Voldemort thought bitterly. He walked up to the door and tried it; it was locked. No matter . . . "Alohomora," Voldemort whispered. The door unlocked and Voldemort walked inside.
He looked around for signs that there was someone in the hall. No one in sight, but Voldemort heard someone talking in a room down the hall on the left. Walking as silently as a feline, Voldemort walked down said hallway and peered into the room. There was an old man and an old lady, along with a middle-aged man who looked almost exactly like Voldemort. My father, Voldemort thought to himself. Standing in the doorway of what looked like the drawing room, the Muggles failed to notice him for a few more seconds.
Tom Riddle Sr. looked up and gasped. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Who are you?"
The elderly lady looked at Voldemort, who had the coldest expression on his face that she had ever seen. "Tom . . . he looks just like you did when you were a boy, remember?" Realization dawned on Riddle's face as he looked closer at the younger version of himself.
"You . . ." He whispered affrightedly. Voldemort walked closer to him, only about three steps, but it was enough to make Riddle try to scoot his chair backwards.
"Remember me now, Father?" Voldemort asked quietly.
Finally the eldest man in the room-- Voldemort's grandfather-- spoke. "Tom, what in the devil is this young man talking about?" he asked his son. Then, to Voldemort-- "Who are you and what the hell do you want--," he stopped mid-sentence at the glare that Voldemort gave him. Voldemort looked away from the old man and turned to his father.
"You left my mother while she was still pregnant," he said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "She died giving birth to me. You left and never bothered to find me. You don't care that I've spent the last sixteen years in an orphanage, and you don't care that my mother died because of you."
At this, Tom Riddle Sr. looked outraged. "Listen here, boy. It wasn't my fault she died; she tricked me into marrying her, even though she knew I would never fall in love with a freak like her--," he said. He stopped when he saw the wand that Voldemort took out of his pocket. Blood drained from his face as water from a bathtub, and Riddle's eyes seemed to come out of their sockets.
"Is this some kind of a joke?" Voldemort's grandmother asked.
Voldemort didn't look at his grandparents as he raised his wand so that it was level with the eyes of his father. "You let a woman die because you were too afraid of her, because she was a witch. You're nothing more than a cowardly Muggle, and from this moment on, you'll be nothing but a corpse," he said. Riddle opened his mouth to speak, but Voldemort was clearly sick of listening to him.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort screamed. A green light flashed and Riddle died even before he crumpled to the ground.
Voldemort turned to his grandparents next, ignoring their screams and pleas for mercy.
Less than five minutes later, Voldemort walked out of the house without a backward glance. He walked up to the Gaunt hovel and planted the memories into Morfin's head that would keep Voldemort in the clear. As he turned to leave, Voldemort noticed the ring on Morfin's hand. Removing it from his uncle's middle finger, he examined it.
"Slytherin's," he murmured. He put the ring on his own middle finger and turned away, walking back into the darkness of the night to return to the orphanage.
A/N: So, whatcha think? Please review, guys, it really helps!