Tom Riddle and the Pureblood Prince

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Continuation of….


Chapter Thirty-eight: In the Hog’s Head Inn


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.


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