"In the heart of every riddle lies the lurking shadow of an enigma, a whisper of the forbidden that dares us to solve the unsolvable."

E. V. Grace

Author's Note

Okay, okay. I get that Harry never actually faced Voldemort during this scene. But the opportunity to create some havoc just couldn't be passed - as well as allowing me to introduce an OC that will be 'released' upon Halloween. Count this as a... bonus chapter if you will - and could possibly be the reason for the rating I've given to this whole load of crack.

Also, I do know I skipped the Third Book, but as I can recall, Harry doesn't actually encounter Voldemort - or Tom (be it just Tom or Tom'inny again) in - that one either. The possibility for a one-shot that's aimed at having a bit of fun with Sirius Black... That is something that is certainly on the table for the future.

Anyway. Back to this, um, introductory / bonus chapter...?

I do hope you enjoy.

Nestled on the outskirts of the English countryside, the village of Little Hangleton stands as a quiet, unassuming enclave. It is a village that's steeped in both history and mystery, surrounded on all sides by rolling hills and shaded by the canopies of ancient trees; a quaint town that exudes an eerie tranquillity, one that belies the dark secrets that do hide beneath its picturesque façade. And it is at the heart of this small, seemingly quaint community wherein the imposing Riddle House does loom.

The epitome of opulence and influence, this structure was once a home that had commanded the attention of all who saw it, its grand and austere architecture truly a sight to behold. Yet, the Riddle House now stands in a state of desolate decay, a rather stark contrast to its former glory with its windows shattered, ivy crawling along the walls, and a complete and pervasive sense of foreboding that all but contributed to the atmosphere of unease clinging to the building like a ghostly shroud.

The history of this house is entwined with the legacy of the enigmatic Riddle family, whose tale is as tragic as it is perplexing. It is said that decades ago, the patriarch of the family, Tom Riddle Sr, lived within its walls, seemingly untouchable in his societal stature. The Riddle House had stood as the embodiment of wealth and status, a testament to the family's prosperity. However, and behind the façade of affluence, the family was plagued by inner turmoil as one day, Tom, known for his distant and lonesome demeanour, found himself ensnared by the effects of a love potion crafted by the Gaunt family's last surviving member, Merope Gaunt.

Descendants of Salazar Slytherin, as well as being well-renowned for their pure-blooded heritage, the Gaunt family had found themselves reduced to complete poverty and absolute obscurity. The only daughter of Marvolo Gaunt (someone who could have possibly given Salazar Slytherin himself a run for his money with just how Muggle-hating he was), Merope found herself falling in love with the very epitome of what her father hated - a young Muggle man.

Yet, and quite possibly due to his own distant behaviour, Tom Riddle did not share in Merope's feelings.

- Insert Love Potion -

Going against not only her father's deman-er, I mean, wishes, as well as the very laws of the magical world she did live within, Merope dosed Tom with a Love Potion. And because of the potions' involvement, their union was founded solely upon Merope's manipulation, rather than her genuine affection for the man she did so claim to love. This union led to the birth of a child, one who would never learn that very same overwhelming emotion, and of whom was destined to become the most infamous Dark Wizard in the Wizarding World - Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort.

Yet, and it was upon the discovery of her pregnancy with Tom Riddle Jr wherein Merope did stop dosing her husband, believing now that she was with child - his child - Tom Riddle Sr would surely not leave her. This however, was not to be the case, Sr growing outraged upon learning of Merope's manipulations and leaving the witch divorced, pregnant, and alone.

Merope's death was as tragic as it was quick, stepping into His eternal embrace not a minute after she had managed to bring Tom Riddle Jr into the world. Yet, and despite having been left a widower by Merope's death, Tom Riddle Sr continued to remain ignorant of the son he had been responsible for conceiving, leaving Jr orphaned and devoid of any and all familiar connections. Raised within the walls of Wools Orphanage, Tom Riddle Jr grew up unaware of the secrets and lineage that marked his existence.

Meanwhile, and back in Little Hangleton, the Riddle House continued to stand as a symbol of the family's affluence - and the shadowy rumours that did surround it. It was a place of both grandeur and desolation, all but a reflection of the dichotomy that had characterised the Riddle family's legacy.

And these rumours...?

Having confounded the village for generations, the Riddle family, once prominent and influential, was discovered to have met a sinister end within the halls of their very own home; death by mysterious circumstances - Tom Riddle Sr, his parents, and his sister, all found lifeless within the confines of the grand Riddle House.

It was said to have been half a century prior, though the story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that none of villagers of Little Hangleton could be quite certain as to what the actual truth was anymore. Yet, and despite all the differences within these tales, one thing always remains the same.

...fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning, when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, and a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead.

The maid had run screaming down the hill into the village, and roused as many people as she could.

'Lying there with their eyes wide open! Cold as ice! Still in their dinner things!'

- taken directly from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Chapter One: The Riddle House

To this day, their deaths remain unsolved, shrouded in ambiguity, rumours, and suspicion.

Local whispers within the community hint at curses and Dark magic having been used, while the others believe that one Frank Bryce, a loyal gardener for the Riddle family and Muggle accused of the murders, had been nothing more than a scapegoat. And even despite his acquittal, the chilling presence and persisting rumours of the Riddle House continue to endure, fuelled by the memories of those who had lived and died within its walls.

Yet, and possibly the most mysterious rumour of them all, one that should be particularly noted upon, is the one of the inexplicable survival of the youngest member of the Riddle family, a baby grandson who disappeared in the wake of the tragedy that had claimed the lives of his family. The circumstances of his disappearance, combined with the disturbing lack of evidence - or witnesses, for that matter - have only fuelled the chilling speculations that surround the Riddle House.

"Do you really wish to see what I would have done had I known where it was?"

The question had been asked in nothing more than a casual drawl, yet it had the dark hairs on the back of a sun-kissed raising.

A young man swallowed heavily, yet his gaze never left the green eyes before him.

"Yes," was all he could - would say.

Had he just not asked to know such a thing?

The smile that appeared on painted lips had the young man's brain stalling, his eyes widening as they were suddenly confronted with the rather sharp tip of an ivory wand.

"Legilimens..."

The moon hung low in the ink-black sky over the town of Little Hangleton, casting its silvery glow upon the narrowed streets and abandoned houses. An eerie silence enveloped the place, broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustling of leaves as they swayed in the chilling, yet gentle breeze. It was a town haunted by its own history, a place where darkness had taken root not that very long ago.

Yet on this particular night, Little Hangleton was haunted by another presence.

Invisible to the casual observer, a formidable figure stirred in the shadows. A creature of the night, feared by many yet known only to a few - 'Death's Own' did stalk her way through the desolate streets with a feral grace. Her massive form moved with an unsettling fluidity, every step a calculated, predatory motion.

She was a sight to behold as she stalked her way passed overgrown gardens and decaying fences, the scent of rot and death heavy in the air as she circled the once-glorious Riddle Manor. There was something about this place, something that called out to her far more magical instincts. It was not the scent of prey that had lured her to this place, but something of a darker nature; a presence that was tainted by a malevolence and power that stirred a hunger in her like no other had before.

As she neared the imposing manor, her emerald eyes shimmered with curiosity and anticipation. She knew that she was getting closer to whatever it was that had drawn her away from Him, the only one who truly should have mattered. But as her heart continued to beat like a thunderous drum within her chest, Death's Own was overcome with the thrill of the hunt, and her large, padded paws made no sound upon the cracked pavement as she approached the manor's entrance.

Yet, and before she could step forth inside, a figure emerged from the shadows - a man who lived upon the grounds.

Frank Bryce, the Gardener of Riddle Estate, had heard a strange noises from inside the manor and had decided to investigate. He brandished a pitchfork as he stepped outside, though his eyes, once-narrowed with suspicion and rage, were quick to widen with terror instead as he found himself not confronted with the teens he did so despise, but with a colossal creature that seemed born from the depths of his darkest nightmares.

Death's Own regarded the man with a calculating gaze, her hot breath misting in the cold night air as she took in his scent. She hadn't missed the way Frank had been limping, just like she could smell the illness in him that robbed him of his strength, and in one swift movement, her decision made, she exhaled a potent breath.

A cloud of noxious fumes escaped her mouth, enveloping Frank before the Gardener could even give out a call of alarm. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the ground unconscious, his pitchfork clattering to the ground. Death's Own blinked, seemingly surprised by the instant reaction he had produced because of her usually deadly breath, and leaning over his prone form, she gave his prone form one last sniff - almost as if making certain she hadn't accidentally killed the poor man.

Satisfied that he was not dead, as well as confirming that he was not the one who had brought her here, Death's Own turned her attention back to the manor. It seemed that whatever had taken her from her forest, from Him, it was inside. She didn't know what 'it' was precisely, only that it was something that both intrigued and teased her senses - wetted her usually-satiable hunger.

The interior of Riddle Manor was as decrepit as its exterior, she found. The once-magnificent floors were now cracked and warped, covered in layers of dust and decay. Yet, there was a strange, dim light emanating from the upper room, drawing in Death's Own like a moth to a flame.

Whatever she was hunting, she was getting so very close.

As she silently ascended the decaying staircase, careful of the holes and weakened wood, her sharp claws left no trace upon the worn steps. The glow above grew stronger with each step she took, illuminating her path through the otherwise pitch-black house.

She knew she was close - close to whatever it was her instincts did so crave.

Though, and as she reached the top of the stairs, voices, low and murmuring reached her ears and caused Death's Own to pause. Her ears twitched, curiosity clearly piqued. She continued stealthily onwards, making certain to use everything she remembered to keep herself quiet as she made her way closer to the source of the sound, navigating the narrow hallway with an eerie silence.

Peering through a cracked door, green eyes were slow to blink at the sight they'd discovered. In the dimly lit room beyond, a meeting looked to be taking place - a meeting of dark figures cloaked in secrecy.

Little did Death's Own know, Barty Crouch Jr and Peter Pettigrew were before their very own Dark Lord - the source of the rotting scent that lingered over Riddle Manor. The pair were bowed before a chair, one that the Dark Lord Voldemort's withered and decaying body had been placed in. Nearby lay Nagini, the wizard's ever-loyal serpentine companion, her beady eyes focused on the proceedings with a rather fixated fascination.

Voldemort was no more than a husk of his former self, a spectral presence all but struggling to retain a semblance of corporeal control, and Death's Own found that she could sense nothing but the Dark Magic that permeated from his decaying form, an energy that seemed to pulse and writhe with contracting bursts of power.

Yet, and as her emerald gaze fell upon Peter Pettigrew, something inside her mind seemed to slide into place. Something about the rat-like man niggled at her, something that such the sight of him bowed before the Dark Lord had her suddenly overcome with an unexpected rage, all thoughts of what had drawn her to the manor forgotten.

Death's Own's enormous chest rumbled with a low growl, and saliva begun to drip from her fangs as they were revealed to the dim lighting of the room; gleaming ominously from the shadows she did hide within. Silence fell upon the manor, all conversation drawing to a stop. Though it was broken as Peter suddenly trembled, something far more than just fear crossing over his featur-

Squeak!

With a frenzied, rather girly sound, man had become rat; fear driving Peter into his Animagus form as the usually hidden animalistic instincts surfaced - and utter chaos ensued as Death's Own revealed herself, leaping at the rat then dove for the nearest exit, his tiny body skittering across the floor; legs moving so fast in their terror that it actually took friction a moment to realise it was something that existed.

Death's Own predatory instincts kicked into high gear and she lunged for the man-rat, her massive form causing the entire room to shake. And Nagini, who had been just waiting for an opportunity to sink her fangs into the meat-bag that always stunk of fear and betrayal, sensed the perfect chance to fulfill said dream. She uncoiled and slithered after both, her forked tongue flickering in anticipation as food skittered across the floor before her beady eyes.

Barty Crouch Jr could do nothing but erupted into manic laughter, his sanity clearly having come under question whilst he'd been imprisoned-then-imperialised-then-released (cough - escaped - cough); his mind all but unravelling as he watched the absurdity of the situation. Whilst Voldemort, in all his weak and decaying glory, tried to assert control over the situation, utterly seething in wrathful frustration as his orders went unheeded and unheard.

"Stop this madness!" the Dark Lord hissed. "Barty, Nagini, kill the beast!"

The chase began in earnest as Death's Own pounced after Pettigrew, who darted through the narrow hallways and secret passages of Riddle Manor - all the while Nagini trailed after both in her slithering glory. The manor's decrepit walls seemed to close in on the trio, creating a surreal, labyrinthine landscape that all but echoed with the manic laughter of one Barty Crouch Jr.

Voldemort, reduced to nothing more than a spectral observer, watched as the chaos unfolded with an ever-growing mix of helplessness and fury. He watched with disbelief as his once-loyal-(ish) followers descended into complete and utter madness; one having lost his mind at the sight of the second turning himself into a rat before being chased by an oversized cat, all the while the third was far to busy trying to catch the second for dinner.

As the chase continued, Death's Own let her feral instincts take over. With a guttural roar, she went crashing through crumbling walls and tore up rotting floors, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake. Peter Pettigrew could do nothing but squeak in utter terror as he scurried away from what he knew to be his death - and just barely had the time to narrowly avoid becoming dinner for a second hunter he hadn't even been aware of as Nagini's fangs snapped closed around the empty air behind him.

The laughter of Barty Crouch Jr continued to follow them, mingling with the frantic squeaks and growls and hisses of the chase. It was a surreal, almost comical scene, like something out of a twisted carnival; as if Riddle Manor, once a symbol of prestige and power, had become nothing more than a playground of madness as it entertained the rather obscure 'cat and mouse' game. And Barty, with his (already) lost sense of propriety, could do nothing but add to the chaos; his voice becoming a dissonant melody as he suddenly produced circus equipment seemingly out of thin air - hoops, hurdles, and trampolines?

With but a flourishing bow, he set up an impromptu obstacle course for his fleeing comrade, enthusiastically yelling for Peter to do what Peter did best; following orders less he feel pain, or worse - be killed.

(Seriously... expelled was the worst thing she could think up?)

"Come on, Peter? Leap through the hoops of destiny!" the mad Death Eater did exclaim, a wicked glint in his eye as he encouraged the Animagus rat to navigate the makeshift obstacle course - something of which resembled far more like a muggle circus piece than an actual course.

The man-rat looked more bewildered than ever as he tried to navigate this new obstacle, his once-comrade clearly thinking that the giant cat and slithering snake chasing him weren't enough. Peter narrowly missed tripping over a trampoline, wondering if but for a fleeting moment what in Merlin's name Barty expected him to do with them. Yet the snapping jaws behind him had his mind returning to his more pressing concerns, and he scurried under the next trampoline, barely managing to clamber over Nagini's head as she struck out too early in her haste; a squeak of absolute terror leaving him as death snapped its fangs shut right before his eyes.

In the midst of this circus of madness, Voldemort watched with a growing fury and horror, the Dark Lord unable to do anything in his weakened state but observe as rat, cat, then snake passed his field of vision.

Rat, cat, snake...

Rat, snake, cat...

Snake - rat and cat leap over snake...

Rat, cat, snake...

Rat, cat, snake...

Rat, snake, cat...

Cat, snake, Ra-

Time seemed to come to a screeching halt as everyone within Riddle Manor seemed to realise that something was amiss.

Green eyes blinked as Death's Own found no prey before her - yet that she herself had seemed to become prey.

Something clearly didn't add up here...

Turning to the two behind her, it seemed as though the snake had also come to the same realisation (as well as possibly thinking a disease-breathing cat wasn't very appetising) as Nagini herself turned towards the rat who was now quivering at the rear of their rather peculiar conga line. The serpent hesitated, as if considering the cosmic joke that had turned predator into prey, and her flickering forked tongue darted in and out, sensing the air for an explanation that would never come.

As for Peter, he felt like a circus performer forced out onto a tightrope without a rope, balancing precariously between life and death. Each leap, each somersault, each missed step was a step closer to his demise, and it was all being orchestrated by the deranged puppeteer, Barty Crouch Jr.

The poor man was starting to question whether facing the wrath of Voldemort might have been a more merciful fate then fleeing the jaws of death.

"Stop this, you fools!" came the rather squeaking order from said Dark Lord, a man who was clearly far more than just a shadow of his former self. Though his words only seemed to restart the clock and the chase was on once more; the man-rat squeaking and squealing in utter terror as both fangs and jaws snapped at his heels.

Barty Crouch Jr, still chuckling like a certain dark-haired witch, could only wave his wand and conjure a ringmaster's hat for himself, the Death Eater planting himself on the arm of his Master's chair as he announced, "Dark Lords and Ladies, presenting the great escape artist, Peter the Perilous! Watch how he demonstrates his most noted of abilities - fleeing for his tiny, rat-like life!"

The wizard almost fell of the chair as he broke down into another round of riotous cackling, and Death's Own let out a rumbling growl of frustration as the madness and chaos around her became almost to much to comprehend. She was determined, however, leaping over obstacles, her large form agile and surprisingly graceful - considering the circumstances - as she hunted down her prey.

"Peter, old friend!" Barty cried from his perch, the man grinning manically as he produced even more circus equipment - even a bloody cannon! "It's time for your grand finale!"

The rat Animagus looked utterly bewildered and terrified as the his supposed 'friend' gestured towards the trampolines and flaming hoops, all of which were now set up before the cannon.

What in Merlin's name is happening?! he thought with a horrified squeak that was drowned out by the uproarious laughter coming from one Barty Crouch Jr, the man-rat's unwillingness to perform never even taken into consideration as claws, jaws, and fangs all continued to try and take a bite out of his hide.

"I said kill the beast! Stop this madness or I shall kill you all!" Voldemort continued to squeak-screech from his vantage point.

His threat - however pitiful it was - fell upon deaf ears, though, Barty Crouch (whilst still perched on the arm of the Dark Lord's chair) continuing to direct the Animagus rat through his makeshift circus, encouraging Peter to perform an increasingly amount of absurd and dangerous stunts.

"Come on, Pete! You can do it! The crowd is waiting!" the Death Eater cheered, clapping his hands together like the deranged ringmaster he was as Peter reluctantly jumped through a flaming hoop, landed on a trampoline before being promptly launched off said trampoline, and landed with a rather comfortable Thump into a pile of shredded paper that had been stuffed inside the cannon.

Death's Own and Nagini came to a screeching halt as the cannon suddenly fired, launching their prey into the air with a mixture of confetti. Their expressions were mixed, a blend of confused amusement lighting up their predatory eyes.

It truly was a scene that defied all logic, all but a circus of madness within the walls of a once-dreaded manor. Voldemort's threats continued to grow in both strength and desperation, yet the chaos showed no signs of abating. Barty Crouch Jr, his once-thought-to-be-loyal follower, continued to ignore his orders as he produced even more circus props, each more absurd than the last. While Nagini and the gigantic cat continued to chase after Peter Pettigrew, who had momentarily transformed back into his human self and was now screaming down a hall as he attempted to juggle flaming torches; giant cat and snake hot on his heels.

In a moment of triumph, Peter Pettigrew leaped through a hoop, barely managing to keep his tail from becoming scorched on the flames that engulfed it. His eyes were wide with fear as the gigantic cat chasing him followed, her form effortlessly slipping through the hoop like some lion jumping through a ring of fire at a Muggle circus; jaws ready to snap closed around his form.

But Nagini, ever the opportunist, lunged and snatched up the Animagus just in time.

With a triumphant hiss in the face of the great predator, the snake then - much to Death's Own puzzlement - slithered over to her master like some dog who'd fetched a bone and dumped the still-twitching, yet clearly dying form of one Peter Pettigrew onto the Dark Lord's lap like some prize worthy to be praised over.

Barty Crouch did fall off the side of his master's chair then, the expression upon Lord Voldemort's face being too much for the deranged wizard.

Dark Lord Voldemort, for all his glorious darkness and power, could barely raise a weakened and feeble hand, his lips struggling to form words as his features contorted with a mixture of frustration and confusion.

"I... I meant for you to kill the beast, Nagini," he stammered, trying to regain some semblance of control of the situation.

Barty Crouch Jr. continued to laugh even as the circus equipment disappeared into thin air, as if they had never been there. And Death's Own padded her way back down the stairs, feeling disappointed that her prey had been stolen from her, but also a little overwhelmed by the surreal absurdity of the situation as a whole.

The manor once again fell into an eerie silence as she disappeared back into the dark, the echoes of the bizarre and unpredictable night but a haunting memory that Death's Own knew wouldn't be leaving her mind anytime soon. And as she vanished into the night, deciding that it was high time she got back to watching Him, she left behind the Dark Lord minus one rather important follower.