The Storm | Regulus Black

Mr. Riddle

The mysterious nature of Mr. Riddle was evident. Agatha was apprehensive, nervous about the supper she and her family would eat with Mr. Riddle.

Primrose had told Agatha that the man was quite unpredictable, persistent and incredibly wise, Agatha assumed to the point that even she could not outsmart him. Her father, on the other hand, had said that she shan't worry about Mr. Riddle. The man had been sending quite a lot of letters to her father. Herbert saw him as yearning for contact with important pure-bloods. This was surprising. Why would a Gaunt have been yearning for acceptance, no less missing in action for such a long time, almost no one knowledgeable of his existence? He was a Gaunt, anyway. Agatha thought he would have been at every ball and gala and dinner from the beginning of time. And how in the world was there no story behind him? As far as she had heard from her mother, the man had been immensely attractive during his younger years. She believed it self-explanatory that he would marry and, for that matter, even more self-explanatory that he would reproduce and not leave the Gaunt family behind. The Gaunts were a pivotal family in Slytherin history, there was no way that Mr. Riddle took this for granted. And where did the surname Riddle come from, anyway? There was no mention of a Riddle having been at Hogwarts before Mr. Riddle attended. And, while Agatha had stupidly stated in front of her mother that the name Riddle sounded oddly muggle, it was not an irrational question.

Nevertheless, Agatha intended to find out as much as she could about the man, and when Agatha set her mind to something, it usually ended with good results.

Her head was filled with inquiries about the man as she got dressed. She wore a quite ordinary dinner gown which was a shade of dark purple. It was quite a neutral shade, or, neutral as in the colour itself; it was not Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff nor Gryffindor.

Agatha looked at the time, Mr. Riddle would be arriving in five minutes' time. Therefore she hurriedly descended the marble stairs and entered the entrance hall. The large chandelier shone upon them from above and Agatha noticed that Koble, her house elf, had swiped the large, golden frames that held paintings and portraits of Burkes through the years of dust.

"Very well, Agatha," nodded her mother. "However, you could have worn your hair up, it would have flattered the gown." Primrose was looking judgmentally upon her daughter who felt like sinking into the marble floor. The older woman was wearing a Slytherin green gown and, ironically, her hair was down.

"Ah, Caractarus, there you are," said Herbert. "Remember that he especially wants to meet you."

Caractarus nodded and straightened his back more, if possible. His blonde hair was combed neatly to the side and he looked as if he had come straight from the 50's, Agatha thought as she remembered looking through the pictures in fashion magazines her mother had stored from her teenage years.

There came a knock on the door and Koble stalked across the room to open it. When the door opened an ageing, although quite handsome man walked in.

"Mr. Riddle, how excellent of you to come," said Herbert with a small, businesslike smile as Mr. Riddle tossed his travelling cloak at Koble.

"Thank you for inviting me, Mr. and Mrs. Burke," said the man. His voice was soft albeit hard and a bit threatening. "Good evening Caractarus, Agatha," he smiled.

"Good evening, it's lovely to make our acquaintances, Mr. Riddle," Agatha smiled softly.

He nodded and his lips brushed the skin of her hand, for some odd reason, the place where his lips and her skin had come in contact burned.

"Shall we move into the dining room, then?" suggested Herbert with a brisk clap of his hands.

"Yes," gushed Primrose with a warm smile.