Tom Riddle and the Pureblood Prince

Please review! This is a challenging chapter, and I had to go slow. But frankly anything involving Voldemort has to be brilliant and is very difficult to write. Plus, I’m going back to school in September, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep going as I a real-life job too.


Continuation and final passage of:


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


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 dictation. “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! Twisted bastard. 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.

The gang pounced on Clark, and Ariana was crying silently at the violent sight. They stripped him of the lime-green uniform, even taking the badge, a bone crossed with a wand. Rabastan would need it when disguised.

Soon enough they duplicated the outfit and Clark was clothed again. 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.


NOTE: Yes, they are plotting the death of Eileen’s father! I hope you guys remembered that Graham is her father! This will change Eileen’s life forever. I will let you know that Eileen will discover eventually that Voldemort orchestrated her dad’s murder, but it won’t be for a while…possibly she won't find out until her Seventh year....