Splitting One's Soul

The Sword of Gryffindor

A black gate twice as high as you with ornamental snakes draping around the bars stopped you from getting any closer to the mansion in the distance. The first snow had fallen and you were freezing as you waited in front of the gate to gain entry. Tom did not look amused, he glared in the direction of the mansion, teeth grinding and brows furrowed.

"They knew I was coming, this is unacceptable," he mumbled.

You laid a hand on his arm to soothe him and felt his muscle twitch.

"What are we doing here exactly? You didn't tell me."

"Borgin is convinced that these people have the sword of Gryffindor, my sources tell me it should be at Hogwarts but I wasn't able to convince him."

"Maybe your sources are wrong?," you asked and Tom's head whipped around in your direction.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Obviously I trust you but not necessarily your sources."

He leaned towards you, his face mere inches away from yours and looking as if he was about to threaten you which stirred something inside of you that really shouldn't be stirred.

"I have spent years ensuring their loyalty and reliability. Distrusting them means distrusting me," he said, his voice was too calm for his threatening stance.

In that moment the gates opened and Tom let go of you, to your surprise he took your hand in his and led you over the gravel road leading between rows of trees towards the mansion.

"So, what exactly are we doing here then?"

"For one, we get paid to do this, no matter how useless the task. And it is important to teach these people to not make these false claims, trying to scam us."

In the doorway stood an old man in black robes awaiting you, as it turned out he worked for the family living here as a caretaker of the home.

"These riches, passed down from generation to generation of pureblooded wizards, don't clean themselves," he said with a toothless grin, face beaming with pride to be serving such a family.

The foyer was enormous, a big candle-lit chandelier hung under the ceiling far above to shine its light on the stairs that led all the way up. You followed the old man through several dimly lit hallways until he showed you through a door into what looked like the dining room. A heavy wooden table stood in the middle with several white candles of various sizes on top of it, their flames flickered in the wind that came through the open window. On one of the chairs around the table sat a man, he was wearing a suit and something around his neck that looked like snakeskin, his thinning hair was oiled back and his mustache neatly trimmed. He did not rise when you two entered, instead expected you to come to him and so you did. As you stepped around the table you saw that he was not wearing a snakeskin around his neck, it was an actual living snake. While you were quite shocked at that, Tom watched it with great interest as he introduced both of you to the man who in turn introduced himself as Caspar Yaxley.

"I was told it was just you," he said. "Riddle, is it?"

"It is. And she is with me," Tom replied and then pointed at the snake. "An interesting accessory."

"Accessory indeed, he takes it with him wherever he goes," a soft female voice said behind you.

A plump woman dressed in silk robes entered the room and looked Tom and you up and down with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

"Is that so?," Tom asked her.

"My wife," Yaxley said, gesturing towards her. "And yes, I never part with her."