The Banshee's Hand

Patience always has a limit. No matter how strong someone believes their fortitude to be, it always has a breaking point. Riddle's was toeing the verge. Burke had sent him on another trip to see that disgusting Hepzibah woman. The foul old walrus had so much junk littering her house, Riddle felt sure that sooner or later she would show him something of actual value to him. He'd been bombarding her with charm for weeks but this latest venture had produced nothing. On top of this, there was the news of Vergeltung's arrival in London that Dolohov had given him just the day before. Nothing more had been heard of him since then. Not that it mattered in the slightest to Riddle. He had more important things on his mind as he entered his favourite haunting spot.

The atmosphere inside the Banshee's Hand was unusually tense. Riddle immediately spotted his 'friends' at their usual place. There was a young wizard, probably in his late twenties, sitting alone at a table a few feet away from theirs. Apart from that the place was deserted. Riddle strode over to the bar.

"One Firewhiskey, Gratus ...and make it a large one." Gratus twitched nervously in acknowledgment and reached for a glass. His trembling hands caused him to fumble and then drop the glass, which shattered noisily on the floor. Gratus cursed under his breath. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"What?" asked Gratus hoarsely. He wiped the mounting sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "Oh n-n-nothing ...nothing ...but why? Why here? There's ...much b-b-better places ...too public ...far too public ..." the poor man rambled to himself. With some effort, Gratus finally managed to pour Riddle's drink. Riddle laid some coins down on the bar and walked over to his associates, leaving Gratus to his troubles.

"He seems a great deal more incoherent than usual. I suppose that's to be expected when he regularly gets drunk at his own bar," commented Riddle as he sat down. Tiberius let out a loud guffaw. He wasn't laughing at the joke.

"It's to be expected, Riddle, when he's got Vergeltung staying in one of his rooms!" he stated bluntly. Tiberius waited to see the look of shock on Riddle's face, but there wasn't one to see.

"So Vergeltung is staying at the Banshee's Hand?" His look was one of total indifference.

"Yes, my Lord," said Rosier quietly. "It seems he arrived late last night, after we'd left. Gratus is quite anxious about it all."

"He thinks the Ministry will burst in at any moment and arrest everyone," sniggered Tiberius. "Stupid old fool."

"He has nothing to fear from the Ministry," piped up Titus in his usual unexpected manner. "They don't even know that Vergeltung exists. That's probably one of the reasons his father kept him out of the public eye."

"Well, you won't turn him in, will you little intern? Sorry, I mean 'brother'." asked Tiberius loudly. Augustus flinched at his brother's shout. He didn't particularly fancy the idea of too many people in Knockturn Alley knowing that he was working at the Ministry.

"Just think though ...he's probably sitting upstairs right now ...plotting how to kill old Dumbledore," said Dolohov, his voice dripping with awe. "I wonder if he'll want any help ..."

"I suppose he could always ask you, Riddle ...you could carry his bags for him!" roared Tiberius, unable to contain his drunken laughter. Riddle put his drink down carefully and fixed Tiberius with a cold stare.

"I've told you time and time again to call me by my preferred name, Rookwood."

"Oh, I am sorry your lordship," tittered Tiberius sarcastically. "Shall I lick your boots or will a simple kiss on the arse suffice?"

"How apt," stated Riddle. "Were Vergeltung to ask for your help, those are exactly the only services you could possibly offer." Tiberius stopped laughing abruptly. A scowl appeared on his face just as quickly. He was well known for dishing it out by the bucketful, but, like many others, he couldn't take it himself.

"At least I don't think myself a fucking Lord! You're a stuck up, pompous pillock, Riddle!"

"Is that all?"

"No," growled Tiberius, his voice dangerously low. "You're also a fucking Mudblood!" All eyes fell on Riddle, who put his drink down slowly, rose from his seat and bore into Tiberius' eyes with his own.

"What did you call me?" he snarled.

"You heard me. You won't say who your parents were. You were raised in a Muggle orphanage ...you know what that says to me? Mudblood. Fucking Mudblood!"

What happened next had been coming for a long time. Hands dived into robes and wands were drawn. Riddle was naturally the faster draw. Nevertheless, after being sent flying across the room by the force of Riddle's hex, Tiberius still had his wand in hand and was prepared to fight back. Titus, Rosier and the others remained seated for their own safety. Gratus disappeared behind the bar. Clambering up from the wreckage of the table he had crashed into, Tiberius fired a Stinging Hex at his opponent, who deflected it effortlessly.

"Crucio!" screamed Riddle. He'd used this curse plenty of times before, but never had he meant to cause pain more than at that very moment. Tiberius let out a howl as he fell to the floor, writhing in agony. Riddle strode closer to his victim, intensifying the curse. A spark of red flickered in his eyes.

"Gentlemen ...d-d-don't you think I've g-got enough trouble around here with him upstairs? How about b-breaking it up?" stuttered Gratus nervously. Riddle glanced over at the cringing barman and decided that he'd made his point. With a mere flick of his wand he lifted the curse. The others were still sitting at the table, uncertain of what to do. Riddle quickly knelt down beside Tiberius, his face just close enough to whisper.

"My parentage is none of your business, Rookwood. Now, take a little nap. Stupefy!" Tiberius slumped down to the floor, lifeless yet surprisingly alive. Riddle rose from his kneeling position. He moved to rejoin the others when he noticed that the wizard sitting a few tables away from them had disappeared. He must have left during the fight with Tiberius, short lived as it was. For a trace of a moment Riddle began to worry. He was supposed to be keeping a low profile, but he had allowed his temper to get the better of him. True, he hadn't killed Tiberius yet, but being forced to leave London now would ruin his search. He was about to ask the others if they'd seen where the stranger went, when he heard a distinctive cough come from his right. Standing on the foot of the steps that led to the inn's guest rooms, was the stranger himself. Now that Riddle could see him up close, he seemed to look younger than Riddle had first assumed. He had light blonde hair and even lighter blue eyes. He was dressed in simple travelling robes. He beckoned to Riddle with his hand.

"Vergeltung wishes to see you," he said in a soft German accent. Riddle's initial reaction would have been to challenge this invitation. However, something about the stranger intrigued him. This happened so very seldom with Riddle that he offered no resistance and followed him up the steps.

Riddle had never had a reason to visit the other floors of the Banshee's Hand. It goes without saying that they were as dark and filth encrusted as the bar on the ground floor. There were two extra floors, each with six rooms. Riddle followed the young wizard up to the top floor and down to the end of a long, poorly lit corridor. Standing outside the door to room ten was a large, brusque looking wizard in travelling robes not all that different to the young wizard who had led Riddle here. He glanced down the corridor towards the stairs, then nodded at the pair of them and opened the door, which creaked loudly as it swung open.

The young wizard gestured Riddle inside politely. The room itself was not quite as disgusting as the corridor outside, but it wasn't far off. Heavy black curtains had been drawn over the window at the far end of the room, blocking out the fading glow of sunset. Two chairs had been set out at a small, dirt coated table. Two small travelling cases sat at the foot of a musty old bed. The odd candle or two dotted around the room were the only sources of light. In an odd way, it reminded Riddle of his room at the orphanage.

A heavy, gruff cough coming from a dark corner of the room caught Riddle's attention. A large figure emerged from the shadows, bringing himself into the dim light of a nearby candle. This man, for want of a better word, was the most terrifying individual Riddle had ever seen. The scars on his savagely disfigured face were disgustingly emphasised in the harsh light. One eye was swollen and dark red with blood. In the other there was nothing but emptiness. His lips were small, dry and wrinkled. His hair was thin, wispy and white. There was no doubt in Riddle's mind as to who this man was. None at all.

"Raus," stated the young wizard from the doorway. "Bewacht die Tür." The hideous figure bowed to the young wizard and limped out of the room, closing the door behind him. The young wizard turned to look Riddle directly in the eye. He offered him his hand and spoke in his gentle accent,

"It is very good to meet you. I am Vergeltung."