The moment Lord Voldemort stepped inside the large stone house he raised his wand at himself and muttered a spell. His soaked clothing became dry in an instant, the water that streamed down his face vanished. Only his dark hair remained damp. He knew that he was handsome, and that for his hair to be wet and falling in his eyes as it did so now would only add to his appearance. An appearance, which coupled with charm and wit, he knew, could get him many things. Access to many things.
He smiled as he thought of the way he had used his looks only a year ago, while passing his time at Borgin and Burkes. Smiled at the foolishness of the old women, the simplicity of the execution of his plan. Smiled at the weight in his pocket of his rightful property.
The cup of Hufflepuff he did not carry with him, nor had he used either of the items for what he had them planned for. He had already locked two parts of himself away – one a diary kept hidden and safe, the other another heirloom. Lord Voldemort was confident in the safety of these especial items, and pleased that the incantation had worked, though he had decided not to test the theory until he had all seven horcruxes. The only thing he found troublesome about these two was that neither deaths used to achieve them had seemed momentous, they were no challenge. Surely, he reasoned with himself, the horcrux made would be even more powerful should the death that split the soul be so great?
That was why he had not used the old woman's death to create another. She claimed to be of noble descent, but she was tainted, he was sure, and neither powerful nor strong. Yes, he had decided that only the deaths of the greatest would he use to create his horcruxes, and only the objects of the powerful.
A year ago Tom Riddle had disappeared and now only Lord Voldemort stood in his place. And Lord Voldemort had found another piece to add to his collection.
"Welcome to Ravencroft my Lord Voldemort," a clear, deep voice said softly behind him.
Voldemort turned to face a young woman standing on sweeping stairs framed by a large arched window. Her gleaming mahogany brown hair fell gently around her face and stopped mid-way down her back. She had bright ice-blue eyes and a full bee-stung mouth. She wore delicate robes of an older fashion which were a softer blue and clung to her figure. Power hung in the air around her, unseeable, untouchable but there.
Voldemort felt this power. It tickled his skin and tantalised his mind. The woman before him could be no more than a year older than himself, and yet she was as, if not more, powerful as himself. Voldemort gave the lady and intriguing half-smile, wondering whether he had finally met a challenge worthy of him.
The woman descended the stairs, swinging her hips seductively. Voldemort noted the movement with both interest and the same cold logic a hunter uses when dealing with his prey. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she continued to the left and headed through a large polished oak door.
Voldemort followed her into a room, sparsely furnished but still rich. There was a large roaring fire opposite the door with two large cushioned chairs on opposite sides a small table between the two with a decanter and two glasses on top. The woman was already seated and gestured for Voldemort to take the other chair.
For a moment they sat, silently regarding each other in the firelight. Then the woman spoke.
"I'd introduce myself, but as you're here I'm assuming you already know who I am." Her voice seemed to be laced with suggestion, Voldemort recognised skill in the voice.
"Yes," he said simply. "You are Felicity Triffen, the only one left of your family I believe. And of course," he added as though an afterthought, "the last surviving direct descendant of the great witch, Rowena Ravenclaw."
Felicity's eyes widened in surprise at the last piece of information, Voldemort also detected fear and a little bit of panic. He was sure she could sense his power as he could sense hers and it thrilled him to have such an effect.
"You're shocked." It was a statement Voldemort made quietly, enjoying the effect his words had had on the woman. Her confidence had left her for a moment. He knew that she would be reassessing him.
"You're powerful." Her statement mirrored his, but while amusement lingered in Voldemort's face, in Felicity's there was none. "To even find this house shows you have ability, and a brain to go with it. But to discover that much…My family has gone to a lot of trouble to hide who we are and where we are. From wizards and muggles alike."
"Yes, but you did choose a very weak secret keeper." The red gleam was there in his eyes again. "She did not have a high pain tolerance." An evil laugh escaped his lips.
Felicity narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?" She demanded. In a flash she was standing over him, wand drawn. The power Voldemort had felt on the stairs washed over him again – angry and hot.
"I told you, I am Lord Voldemort." He said, looking up into her eyes. "I had also planned to be your killer, once of course I had what I wanted from you. But now I wonder…power like yours would be foolish to waste. I'm intrigued." He stood now, moved forward "Fascinated". He came so close to her she could feel the heat from his body.
Her breathing became ragged. He pushed her wand arm down to her side and skilfully slid the wand from between her fingers. In a breath she heard him.
"Drawn."
Cold lips met hers fully for the briefest of moments. She jerked her head away and gazed up at him. Voldemort smiled as she looked into his eyes.
Images suddenly flashed inside Felicity's head – her family heirlooms, where they were now. She heard Voldemort whisper something and then… blackness. She passed out in the arms of Lord Voldemort.