𝕬 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖎𝖘 𝕭𝖔𝖗𝖓 | 𝑇𝑜𝑚 𝑅𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒 |

Chapter 61- The Best Man for the Job

There was also the fact that they would surely tell her. He couldn't have that happen. Voldemort may still have done something horribly cruel to her, but he would sooner die then let her discover the ugly truth about what really happened to Tom Riddle.

He reached Malfoy, Lestrange and Avery without being caught and told them of his intentions. They had no choice but to follow him into darkness. Tom had always been the leader and always would be. Ever since he found out he was a descendant of Slytherin, he had them all under his spell. The rumor spread throughout the house and soon everyone had started calling him the Heir of Slytherin, or sometimes the Dark Lord. He had come up with Voldemort soon after. He rearranged his own plain name and started using it as a sort of alias. Only professors and some of the people in his own year dared to call him Tom. The old Death Eaters had brought him quite a band of followers when they all 'disappeared' from the Ministry. Then, Voldemort traveled far and wide, looking for people who sparked his interest to join him.

He'd forgotten all about his promise.

                                                               *~*~*

It was December 31st, 1956, when Voldemort decided to come just a little out of the shadows. He and a few of his followers had Apparated into the snowy town of Hogsmeade and started heading for the Hog's Head Inn, immediately. It was decently crowded for a Sunday night, so the five could slip upstairs to one of the rooms without notice. Nott and Rosier entered with him, while Muldber and Dolohov guarded the door outside. Voldemort removed the hood of his traveling cloak to brush off a little of the snow. He was becoming less and less like Tom Riddle each day. His dark eyes were not yet that piercing scarlet red he had often dreamt of, but they were slowly on the pathway there. His face was as pale as the sprinkled snow glistening on his shoulders.

"My lord, would you like us to accompany you up to the castle?" Rosier asked him, taking off the hood of his own cloak as well.

"No, I need to go in alone..."

Voldemort started the hike up the winding snowy path from Hogsmeade a few minutes later. He did not have the time to waste. He was walking at a brisk pace and soon found himself a few feet away from Ogg's hut. He stopped to peer in the window. Hagrid and Ogg were sitting, laughing. It was probably about something stupid. They nearly looked his way, but he managed to duck in time. Sitting in the snow under the frosted window, he waited a brief moment for their gaze to pass over. Voldemort could see the wilted tree sitting by the lake, off in the distance. Memories flashed. He rose immediately and pulled his cloak farther up on his head, so he could not see anything but the snowy road ahead. He kept on walking. Finally, he got a glimpse of Hogwarts, as he drew nearer in the foggy, snowy haze. There it stood in all its glory, a place that he had once called home. Eleven years had come and gone and yet it didn't even show.

Voldemort abruptly stopped once more in the entrance to the castle. He could hear the clacking of someone else's heels on the stone floor and quickly glided up the staircase, before whoever was there could see him. He reached the third floor and for some reason the stairs to the headmaster's tower had already been revealed. The gargoyles had stepped aside for the unwelcomed visitor. Voldemort slowed his pace as he carefully climbed the stairs. When he reached the door, he didn't bother knocking, but just simply entered. It was more or less the same as his other office had been. It was, instead of a square and slightly cluttered space, a large circular room. It was still full of little objects and odd noises. The walls were not plastered with the trinkets and doodads of trivial things though. They were covered with portraits of old headmasters, who were currently snoozing in their frames, unperturbed by the late arrival. The portrait of the young, sunny haired girl that used to hang centered on the wall in his old office, Dumbledore seemed too have gotten rid of. She must have not gone with the décor anymore. Dumbledore sat behind the enormous, claw-footed desk, showing no sign of surprise. Voldemort looked at him with a somewhat surprised look though. If you thought one of your old students was dead, surely, you'd show some kind of emotion if they came walking into your office late one night uninvited.