Tom Riddle and the Pureblood Prince

Please review! We are now up to the climax of part two, which will be shorter than part one. I am sorry that I do not focus on this story. I hope you can still be kind enough to leave a review. They do help spur me on onwards.


A response to a reviewer on AFF: He did not perform sodomy in that chapter. I said he was remembering when he did it, several months before. Eileen had been unconscious when it happened last summer at her home on Stonewall Estate. I made that clear.


Flo: Thanks for the review. It means a lot to me.


Now on with the story. Sorry is has been so long, but I am very busy.


Chapter Forty: The Assassination


The majesty of St. Mungo’s Ward for Magical Maladies and Injuries pressed into him. He stalked down aisle after aisle.

The men and women donning lime-green robes that he passed looked like lab coats of muggle doctors. He was apart of the Healers today but only because he was working incognito under the bilious green concoction, Polyjuice Potion.

Just an imposter for his Master’s bidding. He was Rabastan Lestrange, a young seventeen-year-old Pureblood on a mission. He must not fail.

Lestrange nodded to Healers who apparently knew Clarke. Rabastan played the part, grunting acknowledgements. Riddle told his follower to mimick Clarke's mannerisms as much as possible. The real Clarke was Imperiused to stay home today by his colleague, Seraphimus Smith.

Besides St. Mungo’s insignia of a bone crossed with a wand, Rabastan had pinned to the uniform a tiny snake pendant. All members of the Dark Order had recently been bequeathed one. The Master who was set apart from all had a hideous skull pendant.

All along the way there was a presence. Riddle’s spirit could see everything. Rabastan knew his master was nigh. It was magic that Voldemort himself utilised specially for this occasion. It had been an ingenious idea. Back at Hogwarts Riddle stood in the Room of Requirement using a mirror that had direct link to St. Mungo's. To do this, Tom Riddle possessed his mirror, which was connected to St. Mungo’s mirrors, and so through possession he was encapsulating the mirrors in the ward.

Rabastan felt the eyes of his master boring in. Voldemort was the unseen monster creeping through the portals of the looking glasses right at this moment, gazing out. The spirit traversed mirror to mirror like a portrait moving from painting to painting.

How much could his Lord and Master see? Lestrange sensed a gaze that was focused, powerfully intelligent and aware. Lestrange could sense the order to execute the Chief Healer.

It wasn't going to be easy. Killing was not nearly as easy as the innocent believed. The young man realized this was the hardest thing he'd ever been asked of. It was just the beginning of a lifetime of pain, torture, and murder…

He came to the Chief Healer's private residence of office. It was a small labyrinth of three different rooms; all of them plastered in slimy yellow brick.

Lestrange felt claustrophobic in the tight spaces.

Graham was just coming out a door when he heard footsteps. Wasn't Clarke supposed to be absent today?

"Who’s there?" cried out the Wizard doctor uncertainly. His voice echoed down the corridors.

Lestrange was forced to reveal himself in Clarke's body. It would have been easier to do it without being noticed. Now committing murder was becoming that much harder.

Graham looked at Clarke hard and suspiciously. "Oh, it's only you. I thought there was an intruder...."

"No. Not all." Rabastan managed the answer but did not dare look in Mr. Prince's eyes. This was the one he must kill, the first person ever to die at his hand and the first one to die in the name of Lord Voldemort by means of someone other than the Dark Lord.

Lestrange for a long moment pretended to work and Graham thankfully went away.

Wandering around he saw a cabinet and pretended to fumble in search of something. ‘Good luck.... You’re obligated. Obligated to follow through!’

Rabastan silently recalled those words spoken by his brother, Rodolphus just hours ago. Introspectively he reflected that in mere moments from now he would be a murderer. The whole pack of Riddle's cult was counting on him. Rodolphus was right. He must not fail the mission or else the whole organization suffers.

Riffling through papers, Rabastan heard Riddle's spirit stir again.

"It is time. KILL....Take his soul."

He shivered and felt a choking sensation, as he felt constricted at the throat. Would he be able to do it, to make his move? It was time to utter the words, the spell that would curse the Chief Healer to his death.

Rabastan had doubts. He gripped the countertop and looked at potions sitting on a nearby sink.

The spirit of Voldemort kept it up, almost chanting in a whisper, "KILL! KILL! KILL!"

It wasn't exactly Riddle's voice or word choice as Voldemort's speech was naturally limited in spirit form. It was much more bone-chilling that way. The young man's apprehensions reached feverish pitch.

Hands wrenched free of the death-like grip on the opaque countertop. Out of the lime-green robes slid his wand and he readied himself.

Graham was moving in just the other room, tinkering with equipment in preparation for a Healing experiment. And here was Lestrange, disguised as Clark listening.

Out of a back door, Graham facing away, Rabastan spied the wizard working. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to see his expression when it happened.

Slowly, inexorably Lestrange raised the wand and inhaled deeply.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

Instantly almost the curse struck Graham and he fell limply to the floor. Eileen’s beloved father was dead.

With a surge of horror Rabastan turned tail and ran. He couldn’t bear to look at the lifeless corpse. But then he felt a euphoria shoot through his veins. The mission was a success!

He passed a mirror, and Rabastan waited for instruction. None came, only Voldemort’s snake-life hiss issuing a victorious proclamation:

“The blood of a Blood-traitor hath been spilt! By my doing!”

Rabastan grinned awfully, baring all teeth. And then jumped. He’d almost forgotten the final instruction!

On returning to the sight of the untimely demise of the Chief Healer, the decoy came out.

Daringly, he got a look at the sight of the dead man. That surge of euphoria spiked, knowing the power he vested. Lestrange was proud, proud to possess the nerve to employ the Killing Curse.

The decoy was a glass filled with poison falsely labeled as ‘Dittany.’ Lestrange took the false label off and threw it to the floor. Then dropped the bottle. It shattered into a thousand fragments. This obfuscated the cause of death, and made it appear that Graham died in a freak accident. Nobody could glean that this was a homicide, proxy murder constructed by a gang. Nobody would know that a Cult leader forged a premeditated contract with a man with inside knowledge about St. Mungo’s. They might not ever know that the Chief Healer died because somebody used the Unforgivable Curse.

The poison could kill within moments. Lestrange hurried. He raised his hood, for he could feel the Polyjuice Potion wearing off. He must not be seen.

But Lestrange was able to get past security and into the safety of the London muggle streets in no time.

Eileen Prince’s father and her son Severus’s grandfather were the first murder committed in the name of Voldemort. And yet it was devised with the plan to look accidental. There was no Dark Mark in the sky that day….

Rabastan Lestrange managed to slip quietly away. No alarm was sounded; there had been hardly a disturbance. It would be hours before Graham Prince was discovered. The assassination had been a smooth, covert operation.


NOTE: I hoped you liked that little glimpse into Rabastan’s mind and showing how hard it is to kill a person even for a Death Eater. Of course, only really difficult for the very first murder. Now comes the interesting part how Eileen and her family react to the death.