Chapter 496 - Little Hangleton Ⅱ

Certain that she is alone, (mostly), Rowan carefully moves forward on the uneven ground and wades through tall grasses and thorny weeds. She visibly winces as a very thorny bush scratches her arm with sharp thorns despite wearing a thin sweater. Ignoring the stinging pain, she continues to wade through the cemetery until she at last spots a towering marble headstone only a few rows away.

Rowan carefully makes her way through the tombstones to halt before a large headstone with the name TOM RIDDLE. Next to his gravestone is another gravestone that reads, THOMAS and MARY RIDDLE. Paying her respects to the dead, she stood there silently composing her thoughts.

"You were a right-out bastard," Rowan finally said breaking the night silence. "Not that Merope Gaunt did not deserve to be dumped after having placed you under a love spell, but you should have at least waited until she gave birth. It was the right and proper thing to do."

Though truth be told, Tom Riddle Sr. probably reacted appropriately considering the terrible situation he suddenly awoke at finding himself. Not only had Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. been conceived out of a situation that is equivalent to date **** in reverse but had even been forced into marriage. And despite not being pregnant himself, Tom Riddle Sr. had found himself married to his equivalent rapist with a child on the way. Had the situation been in reverse, there would have been protests about women rights.

However, the child conceived out of such a terrible farce is never to blame. The correct thing to do would have been to at least have the child be raised by a governess. And though Tom Marvolo Riddle J. never had a chance in hell to ever possess or much less feel love, he could have at least been taught a basic construct of moral rights.

Tragically, the very vile act of using a love potion on another and becoming pregnant by said individual caused the love potion in the system of the other individual to affect the s.p.e.r.m, when connecting with the egg. There is no doubt in Rowan's mind that Tom Marvolo Riddle would have been born a psychopath or sociopath from the very start.

Statistically, there are plenty of psychopath's and sociopath's in existence, who never grow up to be serial killers, and actual become productive members of society. If Tom Marvolo Riddle had been taught manners, a code of ethics, he more than likely would have learned how to live within the norms of society. And without a doubt he would still have been manipulative and calculating as ever before, but the chances of his becoming what he was in the in the end was rather minuscule.

It is certain that he would have used his being a parselmouth to his advantage and become a powerful force to be reckoned with both in the Ministry of Magic and among pureblood's. But it would not have led him down the path of his obsession with death nor into creating Horcruxes. That does not mean he would not killed anyone, but simply he would have not become a serial killer, so to speak. All the death's he would likely would have produced would be all centered around his maintaining the status quo.

Rowan paused as she reached into the moleskin at her side for a purple vial. "Sorry, I thought I'd get that off my chest. And I do have a right, you know; I would know about having a terrible father. But he was turning a better leaf towards the end, so I think I would have grown to like him again, if not love him again.

However, you were the victim in this entire terrible farce, and no victim should ever be forced to carry or raise a product of ****, if they are not willing. And for that, you have my sincere apologies for my personal thoughts and feelings on the terrible situation."

Naturally, there is no response and frankly it would have been utterly terrifying if there had been. Still Rowan took a step back and pointed her wand at the grace. Her wand began to eerily glow as the ground before the graves peeled off like some sort of macabre skin.

Another wave of her wand and all three Riddle graves popped open as the smell of rotting flesh and dust fills the air. Trying not to gag, Rowan begins to sprinkle the first vial all over one of the corpses until it is used up, before moving onto the next with another vial until all three corpses had been thoroughly sprayed.

Satisfied, Rowan firmly slams the coffin lid's shut and the ground returns to how it was before. She did not feel particularly bad as she was not grave robbing or desecrating the corpses. She was simply ensuring that if Riddle in the future ever attempted to revive himself, he would most assuredly sign his own death warrant.

With a bit of unease, Rowan turns off her flashlight plunging her into darkness again. She waits in the utter darkness until her eyes adjust as she breathes rather shallowly through her nose and listens for any sound of movement. Thankfully, there was none, but still, she did not like being in a graveyard especially at night in the dark with nothing but corpses as her companions.

Once her eyes had adjusted to the moon's light, she places the flashlight back into the mokeskin, before flying up into the night sky. Hovering high over the graveyard, Rowan lets out a sigh of relief that she had not known she had been holding in. Turning her gaze away, she glances at the other end of the valley and realigns herself, before heading in that direction.

With her destination in mind, Rowan flew over the town of Little Hangleton filled with its sleepy occupants, who were left none the wise. All too soon, she found herself before a slew of trees. Carefully hovering over the woods, she searched for an old worn-down road or clearing. At last, she spotted a clearing in the distance, the former residence known as Gaunt Shack.

Rowan hovered for a moment in the air, before slowly circling and landing at the edge of the clearing. The worn and torn building was half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks and tall grass. It seemed a very strange location to choose for a house, or else an odd decision to leave the trees growing nearby, blocking all light and the view of the valley below. The walls were mossy and most of the tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were mostly visible at this time. Nettles grew all around, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime. Though the door still had nailed to the door, an incredibly old shriveled up black thing that had once been a snake.