The Hand

The Hand steps into the room and looks over at the cowering man in the corner.
“You would be wise, Riddle, to do away with cowards such as him.”
Riddle glances at the man, “Wormtail has his uses. After all, it was he who gave me a body again. Or have we forgotten that ?”
“Careful Riddle,” The Hand warns, placing its hand in its robes.
“You will not draw your wand on me, I think,” Riddle stands up and walks around his desk and faces The Hand. “I have another job for you.”
The Hand straightens at this news, “I live to serve you, Riddle.”
“My lord,” Wormtail cowers even further when The Hand turns towards him.
“Do not be frightened of the Hand, Wormtail. The Hand obeys me. Speak,” Riddle says, facing Wormtail.
“My lord,” Wormtail says again, not looking at the Hand, “Why do you let this wraith order you? Surely, my lord, you can do with better servants who do not show you disrespect.” Wormtail lets out a squeal and stumbles backwards as the Hand advances towards him.
Riddle closes his crimson eyes, “Wormtail, what you fail to grasp is that the Hand is my most loyal servant. Are you not, Hand?” Riddle asks, not calling the Hand off of Wormtail.
“As always, Riddle,” the Hand replies, placing its hand once again, inside its robes.
“Good,” Riddle says, returning to his seat, “Now, about this job . . .”


Dumbledore sits behind his desk with his fingers steepled, staring at his desk. He looks up when a knock comes from his door.
“Come,” he says, watching as the door opens. When the figure walks in, Dumbledore raises his eyebrows.
The figure reaches Dumbledore’s desk and stops. “I have news of Riddle’s next move,” comes a quiet, rather harsh voice.
Dumbledore leans back in his chair and studies the figure. After a moment he says, “Who are you, that you have information of Voldemort?”
The re sre straightens and takes off its hood. An ebony cascade falls down the figure’s back, and the figure says, “I am known simply as the Hand. No doubt you have heard of me.”
Dumbledore looks at the figure and says, “Forgive my impertinence, but you’re dead.”
The figure laughs, “No, Riddle found me before I would have died, and saved me. I am his right hand and do all things for him.”
“And yet, you come here tonight with information? Surely that is not what a loyal servant of Voldemort does?”
The figure chuckles, “I am not his servant. He does not order me around. And I found that now I do not wish to remain in his . . . service, as you so nicely said it. Some things he wishes me to do are not to my taste.”
“So, you switch sides and come to me. With what information?” Dumbledore asks, not taking his eyes off the Hand.
“Why, who’s going to die next, of course!”