Chapter 674 - The Master’s Return Ⅸ (1/2)
With the new moon approaching Little Hangleton could only be just barely seen nestled between two steep hills. The church was a stark dark outline and the graveyard was even darker. Across the valley on the opposite hillside, there sat a handsome manor surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn. On the lush well cared for grounds, the figure of Voldemort appeared with Nagini at his side. Removing his hand from the serpent's head, Voldemort is silent as he observes the sleepy village down below, and the manor which had once belonged to the Riddle family, (and still did in an ironic twisted manner to him).
Voldemort's crimson eyes turn away and trace the path down the steep downward slope from memory. The lane would curve right and round through a gap in the hedge onto a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those left behind on the path. The dirt track was crooked, rocky, potholed, and sloped downhill even more than the last one, before ending at the patch of dark trees a little below. One had to carefully look but would see the track open to a copse.
He had been so much younger, a mere fledging in his youth. And naive, so very naïve, that he did not know what he had been hoping for that night, but certainly not that. And worst of all, he had still carried that foul name of that MUGGLE, Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Voldemort's crimson eyes fill with old anger and for the briefest of moments an unfamiliar emotion that just as soon faded away as he once more delved into that night's disappointing memory.
It had been rather dark that night with only a glimmer of moonlight, and he had only had an old lantern to aid him. It had taken him several attempts of retracing his footsteps before finding the opening in the copse. He had not seen anything at first as the building was half-hidden amongst a tangle of trunks. Its walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around the hovel, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime. And there on the door nailed was a dead snake.
He had knocked, but there was no response except for a loud thump heard from inside. A sense of anticipation filled him as he shoved the door aside and stood at the threshold staring inside the hovel. His eyes moved slowly and narrowed at the indescribably filthy, the ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard that neither eyes nor mouth could be seen. The man held a wand in his right hand and a short knife in his left. Find authorized novels in , faster updates, better experience, Please click #%E2%80%99s-return-%E2%85%B8_52028643618122482 for visiting.
For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor. ”YOU!” He bellowed. ”YOU!” And drunkenly hurtled at Voldemort, a wand and knife.
”Stop,” Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue lest the reeking man approached him.
The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Voldemort. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.
”You speak it?”
”Yes, I speak it,” said Voldemort as he moved forward and allowed the door to swing shut behind him. ”Where is Marvolo?”
”Dead,” he replied. ”Died years ago, didn't he?”
Voldemort frowned. ”Who are you, then?”
”I'm Morfin, ain't I?”
”Marvolo's son?”
”Course I am, then…” Morfin paused to push the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see and revealing Marvolo's black-stoned ring on his right hand. ”I thought you was that muggle. You look mighty like that Muggle.”
”What Muggle?” Voldemort sharply asked as a tinge of uncertainty filled his insides.