Chapter 2:
Little Hangleton was not the kind of place where one would want to spend a vacation. While the far north-western corner of Surrey wasn't somewhere many wanted to visit there were a considerable number of people moving into the region in order to be within a short commute of London. Little Hangleton was an exception to this trend however. The small village of only a couple hundred was somehow perpetually cloudy and dark. The lone estate, the former Riddle House, was in a state of disuse (as the man who purchased it never spent more than a few weeks in it after he'd bought it all those years prior) and more of an eyesore than anything to the townspeople as it had fallen into disrepair in recent years.
The churchyard seemed particularly vexed to always have poor weather, and today was no different. The small chapel itself was vacant at the moment (as it was a Tuesday) and the minister was on call elsewhere, splitting his duties between Little Hangleton and a few other nearby villages. So when Frank Bryce saw a group of people appear in the center of the graveyard he knew something decidedly un-keen was occurring. He stepped out of his cottage and walked toward the small stone wall that enclosed the cemetery. There was a group of people wearing long hooded robes standing around an open grave. He turned around quickly, heading back toward town to get someone to help him confront the group (as it would be exceedingly unwise for someone his age to go up against a group of grave-robbers alone) only to catch a brief reflection of a green light on a tombstone before falling to the ground, dead.
"Well that was annoying. Can't have the locals spoiling out plans, can we?" Macnair sneered as he walked over to the body and nudged it with his toe.
"We haven't the time Walden, come, the last ingredient must be added now." Crabbe muttered impatiently.
A moment later two more robe-clad men appeared with one bound and gagged man being dragged between them.
"What took you so long?" The man stirring the cauldron said as he nervously glanced around to ensure they were undetected.
"Chap's a good bit better of a fighter than we remembered." The man holding his left arm stated as he struck his side, causing the bound man to wince slightly before resuming his struggle.
"Well he was in the order. What did you expect?"
The man on the right huffed as he dodged another attempted shove from the man. "Are you certain he'd be alright with using him? I mean, he's a blood-traitor, so the potency should be fine, but I figured he'd want Potter."
"Yes, but with the American and British authorities now on high-alert due to the failure in Ohio we don't have much time to waste. It's less than ideal, but with the boy who lived remaining alive we need to move ahead in our plans and eliminate him before he's a threat." Macnair paused as he smiled wickedly at the man the two had drug there, "Besides, Weasleys are common enough if one goes missing they won't even bother looking, let alone thinking we were involved."
As the one stirring the cauldron checked to make sure that the potion was ready the left captor undid the gag. "So Arthur, ready to do something meaningful with your life?"
The ginger-haired man looked up at him, "Avery, I always figured my undoing would be at the end of someone who mattered's wand…" He focused his green eyes intensely upward as he spoke, "It appears as though I was wrong." Avery quickly smacked him across his already bruised and bloody face, causing Arthur to spit a mixture of reddish saliva from the corner of his mouth. Avery pulled up on his hair before revealing a dagger and bowl.
Two minutes later the bowl of blood was being poured into the cauldron as the former husband and father lay on the ground deceased.
"Is it ready?" He asked.
"Yes, add it now." Wormtail said as he stood back, allowing Avery to add the final ingredient to the cauldron. A blinding white light flashed as the final catalyst was added. Wormtail quickly scuttled away to stand behind the small crowd of death eaters as Avery stood in front of the cauldron, soon greeted with their master as he slowly arose. The dark lord was gaunt-much so more than before-and was paler than ivory. As he descended the smoke coalesced into his robes, and soon he was standing where the cauldron had been.
"Oh great dark lord, how we have awaited your return." Avery stated as he bowed before the cloaked figure in front of him.
The wizard remained silent as he looked at his followers, then down at the corpse of Arthur. "Why did you use a Weasley when I specifically instructed the use of Harry Potter's blood?" His voice rasped.
Avery took a small step back and swallowed, "Oh great one, we wished not to offend you, but given recent events it became necessary to revive you fully…"
"What recent events?"
"…one of our members discovered that he was attending an American wizarding school, Zauberei Academy. We attempted to discover his identity and strip the mudbloods of their abilities, but we were discovered."
The dark lord's face hardened. "Did you find the boy?"
"Unfortunately, no. None of the students were aware that Potter attended the school-despite our attempts to discover his false identity."
"This is an unnecessary roadblock to my success. You have failed me for the final time Avery." As Avery fell onto the ground and a final wheeze escaped his lungs Voldemort stood and removed his hood, facing the others, "The wizard who finds the identity of Harry Potter will be handsomely rewarded. Fail me again and you will join Avery. I am a patient man, but I have waited long enough. The boy will die by the end of this year."