Before He Was Voldemort (A Tom Riddle Fanfiction)

Chapter 40: Eleven Years Later

London, 1956

It was a rainy and bitter cold December night. The street lamps had been extinguished to mask the cloaked stranger walking down the sidewalk, his way lit only by the fraction of the moon that occasionally peeked though the parting of the storm clouds. The tall figure reached his destination, stopping before an iron gate that bordered the front of a homely brick townhouse. He paused to study the outward appearance of the average-looking home, and was instantly displeased by its chipping paint, unkept lawn and hedges, and the crooked shutter adorning the topmost window. The figure ignored these abnormalities and descended down the path leading to the front door.

Tom Riddle, now known by his moniker Lord Voldemort, removed the hood from his head as he reached the door. Up close, he could see faint light emitting from the front window, outlining shapes of furniture one would find in a lounge. Shaking away every thought of abandoning his quest, Voldemort produced his wand from his robes, pointing it at the door.

"Alohomora," he whispered, followed by the click of the lock and the slight opening of the door. Voldemort pushed it open and silently strode inside, shutting the door behind him.

He stepped into the tiled foyer, nearly hitting his head on the low chandelier dangling from the ceiling. The front entrance branched off in four directions; just ahead was the option to walk upstairs to the second floor or continue past the staircase into what appeared to be a kitchen. To the left was an open dining room area with a long table taking up the space, each place setting decorated with fine china. It was evident that it was a room scarcely used. This portion of the house would have been completely dark if not for the lone candle casting soft light throughout the entry hall.

It was the room to Voldemort's right that caught his attention. Just as he'd suspected outside, this was the lounge. It was the only room in the house properly lit by a lamp. Voldemort strode soundlessly into the sitting room, listening for any sound of life coming from the upstairs rooms. Perhaps the homeowner was sleeping.

But surely not at this hour, Voldemort thought. It is well before midnight. She has always retired to bed at inopportune times.

And yet, she was nowhere in sight...

Unknowingly, a young woman sat in the corner behind Voldemort, watching him curiously. Her seat was angled in such a way where one entering the lounge would not notice her at first glance. The woman didn't look the least bit fazed as she swept her gaze in the direction of the tall figure lurking in the dimmed room. "Good evening, Tom."

Voldemort, out of habit, gritted his teeth at the sound of his real name. But even after all these years, it was still acceptable that the woman before him was the only person who could still refer to him as Tom Riddle. Hearing his birth name uttered from her lips was almost endearing, in a way.

The Dark Lord emerged from the shadows, taking in the sight before him. Corinne Carrow, who had barely aged a day since 1945, sat surprisingly calm in a rocking chair cradling two infant-shaped bundles in both of her arms. Voldemort's startling appearance didn't seem to affect her. He couldn't help but draw a sharp intake of breath.

"I see you have your hands full," he said curtly, his emotionless eyes locked on the sleeping infants.

"I do," Corinne agreed, smiling softly down at her children, crinkles forming around her eyes. "A girl and a boy. Their names are Alecto and Amycus."

Voldemort nodded, his gaze darting down at her ringless left hand. "I don't suppose you married their father?"

Corinne shook her head, swallowing hard. "He left me after he found out I was expecting."