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In theory, said detectors were literally able to notice any practise of Dark Magic or Ritual Magic in a range of several dozen miles. In practise, said detectors had been rushed rapidly to their arithmantic development and their efficiency could be best described as dubious. Any competent ward-master could put protections in place to prevent the Ministry from knowing illegal activities were taking place in a certain location. Manors and homes of the Ancient or Noble Houses of the Wizengamot had had these wards for decades or centuries. As a result, there were plenty of illegal things going on in the countryside that the authorities of London had no idea of. Like the blood-soaked scene situated behind Rosier Manor at this moment.
The immaterial apparition of a sixteen-year old Tom Marvolo Riddle was watching this carnage with a grim expression. There were bodies of Muggles men, women surrounding a large stone. All of them were dead, and their faces were bearing expressions of agony. Understandable as all of them looked like they had bled to death.
"Master, has the Sang Royal worked?"
The vision of the former Slytherin Prefect turned its head on his left to send a nasty glare to the only person left standing in this gloomy scene.
"Silence, Rosier. As you are alive the ritual has evidently worked." The shadow of the teenager was torn between pleasure and discontent at this point. Truly this first-year Slytherin was useful as a servant but utterly useless when it came to use his brains. How far Slytherin House had fallen to admit such vermin into its ranks. But as the proverb said, you used what you had, not what you wished for. "Now make yourself useful and bring the body of your Mistress to me. I wish to see if her body has survived the strain of the ritual."
"Yes, Master."
William Rosier advanced at a hesitant pace among the butchery, his steps making repugnant sounds as his very expensive shoes walked over the blood-stained grass. A slow unimpressive Wingardium Leviosa levitated the young girl who had been lying naked on the stone serving as the altar. The Rosier Heir came back in Riddle's direction, the effort to maintain the Levitation Charm making him sweat profusely. In a last effort before collapsing on his knees, William Rosier descended the body slowly in front of the memory of a man who had become in the seventies the greatest murderer of Wizarding Britain.
Tom Riddle sneered at this pathetic demonstration of magic, before turning his attention to the girl lying near the diary from which he had emerged.
The eleven-year old comatose on the lands belonging to the Rosier family had brilliant red hair and a pale skin, but at the light of the sole and only torch lit by Rosier, anyone could have told something was different. A lock of hair in the middle of all this red had taken a pale blond colour. The cheekbones and the form of the jaw were different from the rest of the face, more refined and noble. The skin was paler than it had been hours ago. A small gasp and a low movement from her torso indicated the witch was still alive. The ritual had not failed.
"Good. The ritual has worked." Had Tom Riddle been alive, he would have breathed in relief. As it was, this short sentence was the only thing which escaped his lips.
"Does this mean you are soon going to be reincarnated, Master?" Riddle frowned, angry at the impertinence of the boy serving him. Once he had a body back, his first act would be to test the Cruciatus on William Rosier and hopefully teach him a valuable lesson of discipline. But until that glorious and long-awaited day came, this worthless wizard and the resources of House Rosier were all he had at his disposition. That meant he had to answer the question of his servant, whether he liked it or not.
"No, Rosier. This ritual was only a means to an end. With it, it will be easier for your Mistress to wield her true potential and accomplish faster our objectives."
"Your objectives, Master?"
"I need a new body, Rosier." The smile showed by Tom Marvolo Riddle turned magnificently feral. "But I need the body and the magic of a wizard for this, not a witch. And I've already made my choice. After all, who better to serve as my new receptacle than the boy who is the cause of my first defeat?"
"The Boy-Who-Lived..." Whispered William in awe at the audacity of the plan.
"By the end of this school year," Said the being having once belonged to the soul of Tom Riddle, moving his illusionary hand dismissively, "Dumbledore will be crippled politically and expulsed from Hogwarts, his Golden Boy will be no more and the Light will be ready to be defeated at the instant I decide so. I will gain a new servant...a spy and a recruiter. Now, Rosier?"
"Yes, Master?"
"Your Mistress can't return to Hogwarts like this. You need to cast a Blood Glamour."
The skin of the first-year Slytherin turned livid. "But Master..."
"You have enough blood available here, don't you?" Smirked Riddle, internally cackling at the discomfort of the pure-blood who was always so full of himself in public. More so when it came to strut in presence of his housemates his wealth and his inheritance. "Then start to follow my instructions and collect the blood. It would be a shame if you did not pay attention and were forced to do it over and over..."
William Rosier shivered brutally at the tone of the apparition giving orders. There was only one source of light next to his familial manor, but this was largely enough to notice the expression on the being's face. Evil. Pure Evil. Alas, it was a bit too late to retreat now. The Muggles lying dead around the stone-altar had been sacrificed because they were categorised as liabilities and as a result, expendable. William Rosier had no wish to join them anytime soon.
22 December 1992, Unknown Location
"Some... incidents at Hogwarts have been reported to me, Your Majesty."
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