Tom Riddle and the Pure-Blood Prince

In the Hog's Head Inn

Aberforth Dumbledore, the tavern keeper was busy even on a cold and gusty February. Students from the school were here today for yet another Hogsmeade visit. It was not unusual to find over seventeens coming just to boast about getting into the bar. Finally getting able to see it's interior, after all those years of wanting to, they discovered it was quite the dingy, even a dodgy atmosphere, and perhaps not such an exciting pub for young people. All but to a very different sort of young people....

The law that no underage wizards could come in didn't matter to these youngsters. For they had another's laws to abide by. The two of the scoundrels that were underage (the younger Lestrange boy and Macnair) entered invisible, evading the shrunken heads.

Over tankards of ale they whispered in dark corners. Seven of the thirteen were present, donning great hooded veils, as always is the fashion in the Hog's Head. The only one who appeared absent was their gang leader. Yet he'd chosen to remain unseen, in a way Avery and Macnair's best Disillushionment charms couldn't top.

They seemed alone and nobody was going to listen. Riddle already instructed not to talk in detail about the plan until the others arrived and they got the room he bought for this day. So they milled about, clustering around the sawdust filled benches, clasping tankards of strong Ale.

After a few moments, the other veiled witches and wizards gave up paying even the slightest notice. The words coming from the boys' mouths, under their veils were perfectly banal. An outsider would have no way to determine what they were talking about.

"We should try to procure goods from the Hog's Head's cartel! They're famous for poisons here!"

At that exclamation, heads turned, swiveling back on their stools.

"Keep your voice down, Macnair" admonished Antonin Dolohov sharply.

"That is immaterial to our objective," spoke Riddle detached, but stern. It was eerie how its source could not be placed, but nobody could place the voice, when seven figures were huddled together with their visages covered in veils.

Riddle checked his fob watch and spoke in a carefully controlled low voice. "They should be here soon. He was told to show at one and to bring a person of his choosing."

A fleeting stab of rage passed through the young man. He had brought half his organization out for important business. It would be a grievous mistake for any man to deny their end of a bargain when made with Lord Voldemort.

The two Lestrange brothers were the quietest, staring into space meditatively. It seemed they were contemplating something huge and daunting. Travers was momentarily distracted. "My Lord," he whispered. Travers felt around and nudged Riddle in the elbow. "My Lord – Shall we get you something? Don't you desire a vat for yourself?"

Riddle ignored this. He did not need a drink. For now he wanted but one thing. He must concentrate solely on it. It was a selfish goal. He believed he must see it succeed against all odds.

"He will come," finished Riddle firmly as if stating it aloud could make it truer.

Rookwood was staring mulishly into his ale. He seemed deeply troubled. "Prince? Miss Prince, My lord. Does she know?"

Riddle paused and shot a look across the room. Strangely enough the bartender, whom Riddle was aware of being Professor Dumbledore's brother, stared right where Riddle stood, almost as if he could see him. Aberforth was wiping a glass longer than necessary. Riddle watched and then jarring laughter broke from above, low enough to be constrained for mainly the boys to hear. "No."

"May she ever learn of it? Will she ever know the truth? She is a part of our fraternity-"

There was a loud clink of cutlery, the bartender putting away some utensils to be washed. Riddle cut across brusquely, "No. I am telling you no. I don't want her to know....that it was us."

Whatever they were discussing, the Dark Order clearly understood what they were keeping from Eileen.

And Macnair scoffed, "And where's Prince off to?"

"Madam Puddifoots." Riddle promised he'd be there later.

The two men entered the pub, their eyes adjusting from violent rays outside to the dimness indoors.

"We're here for a sting operation. Yes," said the taller of the two men, obscured by a heavy veil. His voice sounded like something corrupted, foul, and his breath under his cloak if one got close enough, might have smelled like sulphur. He'd just entered the Hog's Head, buzzing with activity, and reeking of vomited mead and rotten dragon tendrils.

So many bodies occupied the space; it was difficult to discern his quarry from the fray. It could be any number of the small groups flocked together.

"I suppose you've got the ministry in on this?" said the shorter of the two, thinking he was clever. "You know, to get the ones running the illegal business arrested...and finally put away in Azkaban?"

"We have," the taller wizard answered with strong conviction in regards to his colleague's question. But the truth was he'd unwittingly led his co-worker for another reason, as this was no sting operation against the poison cartel. They were here for an entirely different matter. And he refrained from adding that personally he felt the poison cartel was something he did not wish to see disappear. Even though it was against the law.

"Now we need to work cloak and dagger if we're to get anything done today.... I've got to find our friends."

"I know, Smith. Of course!"

Riddle heard the name Smith and his eyes darted immediately to the two standing closest to the door near the stairs.

"They're here. Let's go."

And Riddle, as lithe as a panther made his way, still invisible, the line of seven veiled figures going up behind him.

"Good afternoon," said Rookwood pleasantly. "We're here to see you Mr. Smith. Our master rented room six."

Mr. Smith nodded curtly.

Everybody started up the rickety stairs and onto the first landing where the last room down the corridor waited. Riddle was looking forward to the privacy of the room and being interlocutor for the two parties, finally brought together.

Aberforth Dumbledore made haste to the stairs and got between them. It was quite brave of him as they made a rowdy procession.

"Are all of you going in the same room? I don't generally allow this!"

Riddle still unseen pushed Aberforth, but it did nothing to stop the innkeeper. "Old man! Out of the way," sneered Riddle.

"This is my building," bellowed Aberforth. "I've got to know what's going on up there. Perhaps if I come with you?"

The boys protested loudly, shouts of no coming in every direction and demands to be treated fairly as trusted customers.

Riddle's voice cut clearly over them, with the most acerbic remark. He knew instantly the one thing that would silence Aberforth. "Do you wish to get implicated for illegal charms? We know all about your beloved pastime with goats!"

Riddle laughed, throatily and drily. The others joined with vicious mirth.

Aberforth of course wasn't sure who exactly was speaking.

"Keep your fat-mouth shut," said Rabastan Lestrange determinedly, the last one to pass Aberforth on his way up. Rabastan gave him a shove.

And Aberforth shrugged his shoulders in defeat and walked away.
Somebody emerged out of the end of the corridor, laden down with child and another child hanging off her hip.

Seraphimus strode the fastest, Riddle unseen behind him. "Madam are you ready to leave?"

"My husband has not returned," she spoke demurely. "We'll be here a few more hours. Then we'll go home. I just want to use the loo."

But nobody listened. All the followers came inside and took over the room that she wanted to keep for a little while longer. The woman suddenly became more argumentative and showed some gall.

She sprung back in the room after the others. "Excuse me! I'm staying for an extended time, I'm afraid..."

"Get out," said one of the followers.

"No! My children need this place. We have not packed. I am not ready."

The door slammed shut seemingly of it's own accord. The woman, still clutching her small girl, ran for the door. It was locked.

"Let me out! So I can tell Mr. Dumbledore and he'll decide! Let us go, now!"

Banging issued from the recently bolted door. Aberforth demanded, "What the bloody hell's going on in there?!"

The woman opened her mouth to complain. But Riddle was quicker, an unseen force of agility, he grabbed her from behind, holding her mouth shut.

Aberforth was threatening to blast open the door with a hex.

Riddle took his wand out and pointed it at the woman's throat whispering, "You tell him that you're fine. Just fine. Refuse to speak, and the child won't see tomorrow! Hurry up.... Mr. Dumbledore is coming!"

The witch knew that the wand was meant as a threat to kill and she guessed it probably wasn't an empty threat. She steadied herself, trembling and saw the complacent smile of the painting on the wall. A frail ginger-haired girl not much different from her own. She must comply for the sake of the life of her daughter.

The hands clamped on her mouth released, giving her the chance to speak. But the cool wand still rested over her artery. The child – a girl of only four had been quiet, watching her mother being threatened with rapt terror. Now she began to cry, the most irritating clamor that only a child can sound successfully.

Aberforth, luckily hesitated to force the door open. He did not care to see a baby in the throes of a tantrum. He'd seen enough of those types of rages before.

"Hurry before he's here," Riddle spoke with jocularity. It was humor that was cruel to the core. "Tell him!"

The woman did a better than expected job at feigning composure. "There's nothing the matter, Mr. Dumbledore. I'm changing my baby is all. We'll be out an' gone 'fore nightfall!"

There was a soft sweeping sound as Aberforth's robes swished away down the hall. The unseen threat released their wand.

The child's bright eyes were full of tears and she screamed.

"Silencio!"

Meanwhile, the other Healer who had been tricked into coming was observing the encounter with great suspicion. He cocked his head and looked around at the disguised figures wondering at the identities behind them. And the painting of Ariana Dumbledore smiled serenely as if mocking the scene.

The woman was still angry of course. "May I go now? My husband could return any minute. Soon he's fetches us, I'll be on me way....I'll be fine to see the last of you nasty lot!"

"No. You won't," said Riddle calmly. He had finally revealed himself, a strikingly handsome youth, almost out of place in such austere lodgings.

"My Lord – surely if we modify her memory-"

"She will stay. Her husband has not returned. Make yourself comfortable, Madam. We shall not harm your child - Or you yourself. Sit and relax."

Riddle smiled broadly and gestured to the bed. The woman sat on the edge, rocking her child who sat on her lap, clinging to her robes.

Riddle explained it to the others, "This is the best way. When we're finished, her husband will suspect nothing. And...it looks as if we never used the room. Convenient, isn't it?" Riddle meant that the woman and her family would sign out, the woman would be Confunded and Riddle need never sign in.

The others, including the Healer, Seraphimus Smith nodded slowly. Only the unwitting Healer, not in on the plan looked bewildered. And the witch silently hoped that whatever was going to happen, it'd soon be over.

They quickly secured the room with enchantments, guarding against eavesdroppers. And they silenced the mother with the same spell used on the little girl. Neither would be permitted to talk.

Finally making themselves at ease they discarded their veils, and cloaks.

The others settled in by transfiguring chairs into existence. Meanwhile, Seraphimus Smith and Tom Riddle shook hands like formal partners from long ago. Some of the followers gaped at the alliance, wondering its origin.

"What has made our paths cross again, Riddle?" This was asked by Mr. Smith in almost a chummy manner.

""I always knew it was inevitable that I would need your assistance again." ." His voice was smooth and congenial. Voldemort was quickly getting into his element, his most persuasive mode. "You are too veritable a source of magical healing to overlook...You should take it as a compliment, Seraphimus."

Seraphimus was frowning darkly. He did not thank Riddle for praising his Wizardry and the work done at St. Mungo's Ward for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Riddle swiftly took the initiative and harangued over the meeting. "Seraphimus Smith as I understand it is the contender in line to be next Chief Healer. Is this the truth that I speak?"

Seraphimus conferred with this question in the affirmative. " I want that power...I have always strived to be the leader."

"So you see, Mr. Smith has a goal and we will help him succeed. His ideology differs with the current Chief Healer. In fact, his goal is in juxtaposition to the future I desire for all Witches and Wizards. That is why we shall usurp him for you, Seraphimus, and for the Dark Order and thus benefit all Magick kind. The current Chief Healer...Graham Prince shall be permanently abdicated!"

It was a grandiose idea and the follower's grew alight with excitement. Only Seraphimus twirled his mustache, looking twice as seedy as usual. And the other Healer shifted on his heels, looking to disagree. Seraphimus regarded his colleague, wearing the same dark frown.

The other Healer caught his eyes and burst out in spite of himself, "You lied to me! Smith, you are a knave and a trickster and I shan't have a thing to do with this!"

Riddle glared down at him but said nothing. He wanted Seraphimus to talk.

"You're right, I lied," said Seraphimus hollowly. "We haven't come to dismantle the poison trade..." and Smith grew agitated. "But I want nothing more than seeing Graham dead! I will get what I want."

But the other Healer remained fractious.

Seraphimus said, "You and I are getting paid up front, Clark!"

Clark, the unwilling one shook his head. "It's not worth getting caught for! Blow my whole career for a sac of galleons."

Although remaining as affable as he was with Seraphimus, Riddle's eyes flickered like a snake's. "Mr. Smith was told to bring an extra accomplice: you. This has already been preordained. It is a contractual net of agreements. Fail to adhere....and let's just say your life is not indispensable to us." And for added effect, Riddle looked around at all the people backing him. It really was an impressive show of support.

Clark gulped loudly, his Adam's apple bobbing. And he stared up at Riddle, galvanized. "Blimey! You're just a boy to me, son!"

"He's seventeen. And believe me he, knows what we're asking you to two to do," said Wilkes loyally. "He is of age, as are most of us present."

"Still a young man...How can someone so young be so powerful?!"

Riddle paused and said nothing, but anger was under the surface, piercing white-hot rage. It was more powerful, if he did not reveal his emotions or use force to persuade Clark. Even Voldemort understood that willing obedience is better than forced dictating. "So then, will you help us? Will you help us remove Graham from the power he should not have gotten to wield in the first place?"

Clark looked around and suddenly realized his own life would be in terrible jeopardy if he refused to assist. He could care less for his friend, Graham Prince at the moment. And so pathetically, stirred by fear, croaked assent.

The activity around the room shifted immediately. Seraphimus sat down, fingering a long, rectangular box, silver and gilded.

"Fancy a smoke, Tom?"

Keeping one for himself, he handed the box over to Riddle. He surprisingly took a cigar, and also by a flick of the wand, multiplied the quantity magically. Voldemort seldom smoked. Only at social engagements when it was called for.

Each of the followers had one. The room filled with vapory green smoke. And the witch with her girl sat silently, tears streaming down their faces, staring morosely at the smiling Ariana.

Seraphimus sat at ease, puffing on his cigar, cheeks bulging with evidentiary pleasure. "I think he suspects...Graham knows his life's been threatened. It's been like this for years...but still he never gave up working...Slaving tirelessly for his ridiculous cause. So he must die."

"Rabastan Lestrange is the one who shall do it," said Riddle with calm control. "You are proud of your pureblood ancestry, as we all are. We cannot tolerate him either."

"Prince! I can't believe Prince is Pureblood!" yelled Seraphimus. "The way he treats patients – especially the Mudbloods he caters to...he's even pressing legislation for muggles harmed by magic. He thinks muggles should be treated at the ward! Belongs in Bedlam....He's shaken up the hospital. And has influence in the ministry...Prince has stooped as low as a Blood-traitor, I'm afraid. I don't consider him Pure anymore."

"So I've heard in the Daily Prophet," said Rodolphus darkly. "He's a rabid iconoclast in direct opposition to Wizarding law! There's even been talk that he broke the Statute of Secrecy."

"Yes, that could happen. And Prince received in the last months an endless slew of mendacious acclaim. Mr. Prince is not worthy of this praise, he seeks," said Riddle.

Seraphimus interacted, speaking solely to Tom. "His wife runs the Ministry's treasury. It's been easy – too easy for Graham to change things. And when I say change, I mean for the worst. Graham is quite possibly the worst thing that ever happened to St. Mungo's!"

The other Healer had the tact to stay quiet. Yet he didn't believe Graham to be a problem. In the short time Graham was appointed Chief Healer, Clark had seen him do wonderful things for the Healing profession, all with a great sense of teamwork.

Riddle pursed his full lips, a disgruntled look. He took up his cigar letting out a long drag. It was as if it could unwind his thoughts and released them. The neat ringlet of green smoke curled, and exhaling, he spoke. "Rabastan will flee the scene of the crime. It is Rabastan Lestrange who will do it. I've spoken to him already," Voldemort indicated Rabastan sitting beside Riddle's sofa. "He agrees. Rabastan knows he aspires diligently to serve his master...by taking up the mantle through the killing of Graham Prince he proves himself viable, worthy to me. Indeed, this will be the first human being he killed...I could do it myself....No, it is your time. You shall take up the mantle. And Lestrange, when he is dead, I shall honor you above all others!"

Rabastan Lestrange would snuff out the life like candlelight, through use of the Killing curse. Rabastan acted like a zealous believer, emboldened and driven to subsume himself, and glad to do it with others present, for giving him this duty seemed to prove that Voldemort had the most faith in him, and that he was the best follower. The elder Lestrange brother dropped to his knees, onto the floor, bowed until his head reached the floorboards, like an earnest house-elf. "Master – th-thank-you! I shall be simply ebullient to get whatever reward is in it. You will not be disappointed!"

Rabastan raised his head, and looked gleefully at Tom, to where he sat above, legs outstretched. Naturally pleased, Riddle reclined back on the sofa and looked pensive again. One hand to his brow, the other puffed more on the cigar. It was startling, how at ease even Voldemort was for a dangerous mission, that a follower had to ask a realistic question.

"But m-my Lord," said Dolohov tremulously. "St. Mungo's has high security measures, right? How can Lestrange breech security? I suggest the Floo Network when he infiltrates the place!"

Riddle shook his head. "The floo network need not be utilized for the assassination. There are means of bypassing it completely. You will see in a moment, after I explain. The ministry's control of the fireplaces matters not when it comes to us. And so, I tell you everything..."

It was startling how much he believed the plan could not backfire, a hubris emanated off him. Everybody leaned in, fixed to learn how it would transpire.

A House-elf apparated in the room, creating a momentary distraction. The little creature was bearing a silver and gold decanter along with glasses and a bottle. The elf busied itself.

Traipsing to Riddle at the sofa, the elf knelt before the man who so obviously leader, bearing a silver platter, a goblet of wine atop. Riddle took the full glass.

"Excellent." Riddle meanly poked the elf with the end of his cigar, still inflamed. It burned a hole in his tea-cozy and he jumped about a foot in the air.

"The room where it happens will be purported empty. Mr. Smith's connexions with the place make it easy...The death will surely undermine the ward's security." Riddle took a leisurely sip of the wine, taking longer than usual, to keep the anticipation. Only Clark refused drink. His expression was mottled with disgust and tinged green. The conspiring, and the construing of the plan to kill Graham made him visibly ill. And the House-elf disapparated downstairs. He paid no heed to what was going on. These wizards were a race set apart from his, his superiors, his masters.

"Rabastan it will be easy to enter completely undetected. You will be on Polyjuice potion...," Riddle paused and slyly looked towards the Healers. Seraphimus, who never missed a twitch from Tom Riddle felt rising anger. He knew he could not trust him. Smith understood just how dangerous this young wizard was, having dealt with Tom a few years ago.

Riddle went on to explain a back-up to the possibility of the potion wearing off before the act was complete. If so, Rabastan would wear his mask and hood before his departure.

"And to confuse the facts, we do have a decoy. Seraphimus is going to plant this poison. This poison will seem to be the cause of Prince's demise. The phial says Dittany, so that people believe Graham didn't know he was handling poison until it was too late."

Seraphimus took the phial, falsely called 'Dittany.' "Certainly, Riddle. This is perfect to cover up the crime!"

Rabastan added, "Of course, I will kill him with my wand! The Avada Kedavra. I hope it is quick." The man to actually do it, shuddered at the thought of becoming a killer. The fact that he hadn't actually killed anyone yet, was the last shred of innocence to his character.

"Seraphimus understands. When the poison is put in the room, before Lestrange enters...It will draw attention away from the real culprit: my servant. This way, I remain in the shadows. The engine behind it, pulling the strings. However, most unfortunately for me, it is an illustrious murder. And as for Graham, he will lose his legacy as the 'Mudblood Healer'. He will slip into obscurity. But one day, one day the name of the Dark Lord who kills all those who dare deviate from the natural order...Will be known."

"You will be watching, My lord?" Rabastan did not sound as confident.

"There is a way to monitor things without breeching security... without actually being there..." Riddle thought of his time in the Junior Healer program when he was a Third and Fourth year. This was when he had first met Seraphimus Smith, they had been enemies then, but the contact proved useful today. He had a "friend" from high places.

Tom keenly observed his follower, and at once saw the trepidation present in the mind of Rabastan. He was not going to be fearless when he killed Graham. "You will kill him, or I punish you, doing my worst. For who am I? A rising Dark wizard, the next, the greatest Dark Lord... I am like the sleeping dragon of Hogwarts, capable of killing and more if provoked. If you fail the lives of your own will matter less...and later I'd discard you like a child does an old rag doll!"

"Yes, my Lord. You will be watching me, this relieves me from some of the pressure. Knowing you shall see it!"

The followers all understood that in a few years when Riddle left Hogwarts, all of them would be asked to kill regularly. They would asked to do terrible things...and if they didn't, they would die.

These thoughts only spurred Riddle on. Licking his lips with greedy relish, the thought of homicide seemed to arouse appetite. The droplets oozed from his chin, like droplets of blood.

"My Lord," said Macnair tentatively, and he indicated the wine dribbling to his collar, staining it. A careless brush of the hand and the wine wiped away, but Riddle did nothing to remove the stain.

"And Seraphimus, I promise you may get that promotion to Chief Healer!"

"It is I who is the next in line," he answered back, almost sullen. Seraphimus was not the type who needed encouragement.

They clareted all afternoon. The wine was as red as the blood that would spill with the Chief Healer's death, which they drank to, the booze sloshing down their gullets. The wine was dark, and evinced no light. A couple of times it appeared that Riddle's eyes flashed as red as the wine.

Riddle rose from the sofa. He paced the room with a mercurial gait, going up and down past his followers. Healer Clark watched the boy with fascination, his eyes widened with horror. He was fascinated by this young man's mystique. Who was the boy really? He seemed so much more than human.

But Clark wasn't happy that Riddle now focused on him, finally. After all why let himself in on it? What was he useful for? He was about to find out, and it was definitely a discomforting position for the unwilling accomplice.

Minutes later, he was in a heated argument. Riddle had finished explaining Rabastan's role.

Riddle turned to the window and spoke distantly, detached. "We are not framing you, Clark. Nobody is going to be framed. They will never discover who penetrated St. Mungo's, nor will they learn who it was that assailed Graham. That is true whether they think it poison or the Avada Kedavra."

"But if the imposter is caught while under Polyjuice...They will believe it was me that killed my co-worker!"

"That will not happen," said Riddle rigidly. "My follower flees the scene. And Prince dies a quiet, easy death! The ward remains undisturbed."

Clark shook his head.

Like a gust of wind Riddle moved to Clark aggressively, holding a long clear vial. "Further insubordination will result in disposing of you today....Not I personally, but one of my henchmen will finish you, if you'd like!"

Some of the followers shivered. Who would be asked to kill if things went that far?

Clark screamed, "NO! You can't kill me."

"Then give us a lock of your hair."

Clark took his wand to his head, his hand shaking. He was sweating. But he managed to extract some hairs and Riddle scooped it into the vial.

Riddle smiled, satisfied and put it away for safe-keeping. He looked around, clearly about to close the negotiation.

"You take me for a fool! You best not double-cross me," said Seraphimus selfishly.

"Ah, yes. You will receive your money now, Mr. Smith. It's like a fortune to you isn't it? 100 galleons added to your vault. Perhaps it will help put food on the table?"

Seraphimus's looked more venal than ever, his stained teeth glinting with an ingratiating grimace. "You jest with me, Tom! I'm a wealthy man. But greedy I may be, and I must gain from the endeavour!"

The sac of galleons was given to both of them each getting a stipend for their help. It came from the Lestrange's vault. Riddle had an ugly expression, it was a longing jealousy for money, and his own Gringotts account.

Almost violently the gang pounced on Clark. He was scared when they stripped him of his lime-green uniform, even taking the badge, a bone crossed with a wand. Rabastan would need it when disguised as Clark on duty. But soon enough they duplicated the outfit and Clark was in his clothes. It was done that way because the spell could not duplicate a garment that someone wore while the spell is being performed.

From the periphery Riddle spied Clark in denial of events. Before this meeting would end, he performed Legilimency. Voldemort already knew that every ounce of Seraphimus wanted to see Graham dead, and he needn't worry of Smith squealing on him.

Riddle addressed the situation at once. "You will take a Vow of silence for me, Clark. My terms are thus: You will not breath a word of what deliberated here...," Riddle paused and considered more just in case there were loopholes. "You will not do anything that obstructs our plans. If you go against us, the breaking of the vow results in your death. Do you understand?"

Clark looked tortured. "The Unbreakable Vow? Please don't make me make one of those!"

Travers said brazenly, "You, Sir cannot be trusted!"

Riddle didn't listen, but gave his orders instead. "Seraphimus - as his fellow colleague will take part in it. I will be bonder!"

And so, kneeling beside Smith, Clark took a vow to never tell and to swear he would continue to offer whatever help might be asked to carry it out. The shining gold bands that formed around Smith and Clark's clasped hands, sealed his fate.

Seraphimus and Tom said goodbye together. Voldemort couldn't help but add, "These days, I am the
greater adversary...Even greater than when I was a boy who barely possessed the skill to win against you in a duel. My powers far exceed your own."

Smith looked liked he had tasted something rancid. He spat, "Most likely." Although Smith was sure this was true.

They shook hands again. Smith gave a final look at all the young men clustered around. "It was smooth business, for such a bold undertaking. Good day gentlemen!"

A wave of his hand and Smith shot from the room, Clark gleefully in retreat.

"Now we deal with the woman...Apparently she has heard everything...."

All of them glided straight to the bed where the woman and little girl still sat propped on the coverlet, unable to speak.

Riddle decided out of curiosity to lift the Silencio spell off them. Luckily the little girl didn't scream again. She just watched Riddle with doleful eyes, scared and wild looking. But the woman stared down Riddle in her anger and spoke.

"You have no regard for life! No regard for life, all of you!" And she spat on the floor, at Riddle's feet. Instantly several of them whipped their wands out, ready to cast hexes and jinxes and worse.

"Death is the enemy," said Rookwood. "How about a silent Cruciatus, give her an idea who she's talked back to?"

"Don't bother," said Riddle.

"What?" Said Dolohov incredulously. "She's insulting you, My lord! Let me teach her!"

"We will spare her from harm. Lord Voldemort is merciful. She and the child may go from this place unharmed. However, she must leave in ignorance."

Wand out, Riddle pointed it between the woman's eyes. Bravely, she fixated them onto Riddle, daring him to attack. The woman would do anything to save her daughter.

"You will forget everything you saw and heard in this room this afternoon. You will have no memory that a man will be murdered. You will not remember any of the names connected to this. Go home peacefully with your family. Go home, put your daughter to bed and go straight to bed as well."

The woman's eyes slanted and became glassy. The Confundus charm had been performed. Amazingly she followed the words and blindly got up and grabbed her luggage and shuffled out the door, with her daughter. But as she went out the door the little girl let out a tormented sob, finally released of the shackles of fear she felt while those strange people talked of things she couldn't fully understand or verbalize. And of course nobody would believe a three-year-old.

Over the coming weeks Riddle repeated the plan to the Dark Order until they had it memorized verbatim. The day of the operation would be soon, just a few weeks away. They need hardly think for themselves.

Now Riddle went off alone, disappearing into the village teeming with students. His followers were left free to do what they wanted. It was another diabolical plan coming to ascension, this time targeting those closest to Eileen. He had promised Eileen a light dinner at Madam Puddifoot's.