** I do not own the rights to Harry Potter, the names and original ideas belongs to J.K Rowling.**

Chapter 6

Everything was quiet in the old Gaunt-house. The thick layer of dust was evidence of the time that had passed since anyone had resided there. But once more would the bulding serve its original purpose and once more would a descendant of Gaunt alight.

It was almost dawn; the light was beginning to fade from the sky and the cicadas were singing outside in the tall grass. The street lay completely quiet except for the occasional breeze sweeping by, causing the leaves in the trees to rattle. And then there was the sound of a muffled explosion as a figure suddenly appeared out of thin air on the street. The figure was wearing a black cloak with a hood that covered its face.

For a minute it did nothing but stand there, as if paralyzed or waiting for something, and then it started walking towards the door. Thirteen slow steps before it reached the large wooden-door. It was not as if the figure was walking at all, it almost seemed like it was floating. From the cloak, a spark shot out, aimed at the lock of the door, and immediately the door swung open.

The hooded figure created footsteps in the dust as he entered the old house, and it almost seemed like the fresh wind that emerged through the door gave life to all the things that had been dead. The dark room was illuminated by another spark from the cloak, as it lit up an old candle. It cracked when the fire devoured the dust and the cobweb that was covering it, before it turned into a tall flame that kept a steady balance.

Then there were more sounds like the one when the figure appeared, and eight other cloaked figures entered the house. Once they saw that the house was not empty, they took off their hoods.

The first figure was a woman; short and skinny with big, frizzy hair who looked absolutely deranged with long fingernails and staring, hungry eyes. It almost appeared as if she was born from the definition of demented.

After her came a tall man who revealed a long mane of the purest white shade, and a long walking-stick. He had a sense of pride about him, as though nothing could pull him down from the peak upon which his high and mighty self was placed.

Eleven more came forth, all of them men who, as soon as they saw the figure inside the house, took off their hoods to reveal their faces. They all gathered around the little table in the room and waited for the dark figure to join them. When he did, he too, took off his hood to reveal his face, only, he did not look anything like the people standing in front of him.

All the handsome features Tom Riddle's face had once bore were now gone; the long nose looked as if it had fallen off and the former warmth of his eyes were filled with malice and slanted like the ones of a snake. His skin made him look fragile since it appeared to be transparent, and his fingers had been altered to look long and slender. The charms that once inhabited the body of a young man were vanished and superseded by the utmost cruelty.

"Things have not been performed accordingly", Tom said. The voice that used to be soft and intoxicating had been turned into a mere whisper, a hiss. He spoke without so much as lifting his gaze from his hand, he knew that they were listening intently to every word he said.

The ragged woman was the first one to speak. Once she opened her mouth she revealed years of ignoring her appearance; it only made her look even more deranged.

"I'm sorry, My Lord, I've failed you miserably, I only live to serve you". She was leaning so far towards Tom as she could, like a dog seeks forgiveness from its master. Her voice was desperate and this was not what Tom wanted, he wanted soldiers; a weapon. Something he could use in his war.

"Miss Lestrange is right, My Lord Voldemort, we did fail you, and it won't happen again". A man from the back of the room came forth to plead and ask for forgiveness. Tom Riddle was not known to these people, to them Lord Voldemort was the only one that existed. A name that would put fear in all of the world once he had become the greatest, true leader.

The patience he had with these people, he thought, was more than they deserved, more than he was willing to give them. He did not care for them the way he cared for himself, they were nothing more than means to achieve his goal.

Two minutes passed before Tom began speaking again, only this time, the voice was more than a hiss. This vermin in front of him had failed to perform the task he had ordered them to, therefore he did not see any other reason to keep the one responsible for this mishap.

"Who is accountable?", he asked sedately.

This one question sent a shiver throughout the entire room, and caused each and every of the followers in front of him to look down. They all knew what was coming, but there was never any way of knowing if it would result in punishment or another chance. Where the latter was the preferred prize.

A long time went before any of them made a single sound, even longer before there was any movement. The movement came from a young man on Tom's right side who took a small step forward.

Before he had even set his foot down to take his step forward, there was a green flash of light and the man dropped dead. There were sighs of terror coming from all around the table; the only one still smiling was Bellatrix Lestrange. Her eyes were fixed on Tom and she looked as if she was ready to jump up into his arms.

There was only silence in the room.

"There are more important matters to be discussed", Tom started, his voice was back at being a hiss, "the Ministry of Magic will fall, they will no longer be the authority. Their reign is over, I will be the new master".

Without another word, Tom disapparated out of the room, leaving his followers behind in the dust and darkness of the Gaunt-house.