The streets were giving way to rolling hills and I could catch a glimpse of the stately home nestled high atop one far off in the vista, as if the inhabitants were in their own private Mount Olympus, manipulating the mere mortals below. At first, my thoughts resumed, I had rummaged through all of the trophies and special awards, certain I’d find the name “Tom Riddle” etched onto one of them. After all, a wizard with my amazing skills had to come from an amazing family. Amazing simply didn’t do the Gaunts justice. My uncle, sitting in putrid squalor, barely deserved to be called human buried underneath all that filth, much less fit to be a relative to me!
The city streets gave way to dirt paths as I neared my destination. By now, it was nearly dark, the pinks of the sky turning to dull purple as a full moon slowly crept up, allowing its light to illuminate my way. My stupid uncle, shocked that I knew Parseltongue. Shocked that I resembled some rabid Muggle (but not for long.) Shocked, finally into darkness, which could not unfortunately be eternal, as I needed him alive. I chuckled as I reached the driveway of the house, remembering the look of disbelief upon his blotted face as I performed the Stunning Spell upon him and he thudded to the floor.
Alohomora, I grunted, the lock giving way and the gate grinding against the gravel, gingerly granting me entry.
I breathed in and out slowly, controlling the rage that was in danger of consuming me. I was approaching the house, ready for my retribution. My father, a filthy Muggle! I thought as I calmly strode to the front door. Abandoning my mother to die in the streets while he lived his Muggle high life.
The knob to the front door turned. No need to lock out intruders when you are the king of all you see, I thought bitterly as I stepped into the most ornate room I had ever been in. When all those around you are beneath you, and all that you see is yours. I heard voices coming from a partially closed door and silently slipped in.
The old woman noticed me first, the cordial glass slipping from her hand as recognition flooded her face. I looked momentarily at the young man standing by the fire and could see why she reacted so violently. She mumbled something to the old man standing between them and the two men turned to look, all three of them stood, staring at me in utter disbelief.
“Now see here, young man. . .” the old codger began as I pointed my uncle’s wand at his pickled old face and bellowed Avada Kedavra.
Shame to waste my first kill on one so superfluous, but it couldn’t be helped. The old woman barely had time to sputter, her husband’s passing slowly registering in her coddled old brain, as another bright green flash separated her corpulent frame from the stunted soul housed within. I turned to face my father, his blue eyes not so bright as mine, and his handsome face beginning to show the telltale signs of approaching middle age, but blightedly belonging to my bloodline.
He went to check on his parents, which I found quite amusing. “The. . .they’re dead. . .,” he gasped, standing up staring at me with a look of horror on his face.
“Really, Father?” I said, coldly, holding the borrowed wand boldly. “After dinner drinks? Marvelous.”
I pointed the wand at the decanter and some of the opaque liquid poured into a glass, which flew into my free hand. I returned my gaze to my father. He hadn’t moved. No attempt at all to forestall his fate. Disappointed, I slowly drank the amber liquid relishing the sharp bite as it poured down my throat. I had hoped my father would be a little more challenging than your standard Muggle, but I wasn’t terribly surprised.
“So, tell me, Tom,” I asked, modulating my voice as calmly as possible as the glass hovered back to the table. “Do you think my mother’s last thoughts were of you?”
The stupid look in his eyes told me that his mind had definitely flown to her in that moment, the first time since he’d left her that it had, I was certain. The Killing Curse whooshed from my wand, revenging my mother as it cleansed the earth of my last tie to Muggles.
I sat on the Muggle train, holding the box with the red ribbon, which up until last week had contained crystalized pineapple. I had taken it from Slughorn’s parlor after he had confirmed what I had thought about horcrux. They were safer in numbers. I had carefully exited his office heading for the Slytherin commons, determined to make my first one that very night.
Horcrux making is a fine old art, requiring a bit of your soul, of course, and a sturdy object to place it in. What better place than in my ancestor’s ring? The problem with Horcrux making is that it is a bit unpleasant. Slughorn had pointed out one of the disadvantages, killing, but hadn’t mentioned the other, the need to extract tissue from your own beating heart. I had actually enjoyed that first part, and had been surreptitiously contemplating who would make a likely next victim, but the extracting part of the incantation was nothing I looked forward to.
When I arrived back at the commons, Avery was waiting for me. I wasn’t surprised as he was the most devoted, yet I was in a hurry to start my incantation, so I brushed him off with some nonsense reason for my having to speak to Slughorn. He seemed satisfied and went up to the dorms, leaving me alone in the common room.
Imperturbatus, I called softly, pointing my wand at each of the entrances in turn.
I chose this spell because I had a feeling this incantation could be a little loud, and I obviously couldn’t risk intrusion during this delicate process. I took the ring off of my finger for the last time, hating to let it go, but knowing I would no doubt see it again one day.
The murders of my father and his family that previous summer had been done in such close proximity, that I figured my soul splintered but once. It made little difference, except the romance of using the portion of my soul split by my father’s demise as my first foray into Horcrux making appealed to me. I had found the necessary books in the Restricted Section of the library last year, but they were gone when I looked for them this year. It was risky to ask the fool Slughorn questions, but I had a feeling Dumbledore was behind their dissapearance and I couldn’t take anymore chances. I needed to make my Horcrux and find a safe place to hide it.
Horcrux making was old magic, predating the invention of the wand, but I was pretty certain that by using my wand I would be able to pare down the process and hopefully minimalize the painful portions. I put the ring down on the table, and silently invoked the spirits of millenium past to grant me the favor of immortality. Suddenly, the ring spiralled along the table top and the black stone shot out a blazing white light. My hand was shaking slightly as I opened my robe and held my wand to my palpittating heart.
Take this shard of beating heart and put it in this place I hissed, the Parseltongue language resonating through my being as a sharp pain pulsed through my veins. I could feel my wand grow heavy and carefully pointed it at the ring. The light seemed to suck in the heart shard in one greedy gulp, and the light turned a light shade of blue.
The pain was still resonating through me, but I knew it was now or never. Add to that this bit of soul to keep of me a trace.
The words were barely audible as the splinter of soul found its way out of my mouth and floated through to the light. It swirled for a moment as the ingredients melded into the stone, then the light slowly burnt out. The whole process had only lasted a moment, but the pain surging through my system remained. I willed myself to place the ring in the box, and carefully removed the enchantment on the doors, forcing myself to return to my room before anyone could see me.
Which brings us back to the present and this nasty, Muggle conveyance. I had seen the notice of my poor Uncle Morfin’s passing in the Daily Prophet and knew the time was right for my first Horcrux to go home. I’ve put every protection charm I could think of on it (one especially nasty one from a book Dumbledore had missed when he swept through the Library), so I think my pet will be safe without me. Besides, soon they’ll be others. Safety in numbers, especially when that number is seven.