A/N: Hello all! So I know this whole 'the-golden-trio-finding-stuff-out-during-the-war- that-pertains-to-Voldie' plot is starting to become slightly over done, as I can see, but I can promise you that this isn't one you've read before. Chapter one, slightly shorter than how I usually do things but it just felt right leaving it the way it was. The next chapter is Riddle-induced, so tell me what you think about this so far! Ideas, comments, questions are always welcomed!
A/N: 8/13 Rebooted!
He leaned his head against the cool glass of the living room window, the cold seemed to sooth his headache, if only slightly. He watched the waves roll and break on the rocks below the cliffs, watched the wind rustle the trees and flowers softly – speaking of flowers, the ones planted on Dobby's grave seemed to be coming in rather nicely.
He heard Fleur's quite curses – he of course had no idea what she was actually saying, all he knew was that she was grumbling quietly in French – moving around pots and pans as she cooked dinner. Ron was naturally in the kitchen, attempting to help his sister in law, while sneaking pieces of food when her back was turned. Bill jus sat by the stove, a small smile placed on his lips at the exchange as he went through the secret letters sent from other Order members.
He looked over to where Hermione was sitting on the couch, re-reading books he was sure she had read a thousand times before. She was looking for clues or hints on how to identify Horcruxes, but so far had come up empty handed each time.
He couldn't help but sigh. It was more than a little abysmal at the thought.
They had been searching, and searching for them, not really finding much. Going over the most likely places that Voldemort would keep his horcruxes, or trying to, at least. It was hard, seeing as they didn't actually know what the horcruxes were, or even know the Dark Lord well enough to even venture a guess as to what they were. They seemed to be at a dead end, a standstill, and it couldn't have come at a worse time.
They had the ring Dumbledore had destroyed; had the diary destroyed by a basilisk fang; they had the locket destroyed by, Ron – who had left them in a fit of rage and anxiety, but had come back, just like he always would. Ron had been getting antsy when they were in the woods, hated just sitting around and hiding, wearing the locket only seemed to make it worse, so he left. He had redeemed himself though by coming back at the right time and saving Harry from the lake, grabbing Godric Gryffindor's sword and destroying the locket.
It had been gallant and so un-Ron – but, if Harry really thought about it, thought back to first year, maybe it hadn't been so un-Ron after all.
He was actually the one who had thought of the idea, realized a place they hadn't thought to look.
They had been staying at Shell Cottage since they had escaped the Malfoy Manner with Luna, Ollivander, Griphook, and Dean, it was where they were now. They had gotten the information they needed from Ollivander about the Elder Wand and the Hallows, he had proved to be much of a help, just the help they had needed to figure somethings out. But Griphook, he was proving to be more of a nuisance that anything. He was greedy, selfish, he wouldn't do anything without gaining something in return. The three of them were beginning to become increasingly frustrated and fed up with the troll. But, they needed him.
One night, the five of them had been eating dinner with Bill and Fleur – Ollivander and Griphook, who were still unable to walk properly stayed in the guest room while they ate – when it had just occurred to Ron, like someone had asked a question and he instantly knew the answer.
The Riddle House.
It was an obvious place to look, so obvious that no one would look there thinking Voldemort to be too smart for that. But, that was exactly the place to hide a part of your soul, somewhere attached to you, but so obvious everyone would never think twice.
It was genius.
They had already discussed what they were going to do with Griphook, they needed him to get into Gringotts – where they thought another Horcrux lay, Hufflepuff's Cup. The only downfall was that he wanted Godric Gryffindor's sword in exchange for his services. They knew they couldn't just jump into it, they couldn't just walk into Gringotts without him, they were fugitives now and didn't have that simple privilege. But, they had other things they needed to take care of first, mainly waiting for Griphook to "recuperate" and to check out the Riddle House.
He stood from his spot on the seat next to the living room window, Hermione looked up from her book at Harry's sudden stance, and it was then she knew. It was time, he was ready, or so it seemed anyway. She put her book down on the table in front of her and looked up into his eyes through her wayward curls, Harry looked tired and slightly defeated – she was sure she looked the same. They had already been through so much and yet, it wasn't even the beginning.
It made her tired at the mere thought.
Fleur had for called dinner a few moments later, but it hadn't broken the intense look between the two. Ron had come to retrieve them, he looked between Harry and Hermione, feeling the electric, brooding, intensity crackling around them. He let out a deep sigh. "It's time, isn't it."
Harry was the first to turn and look at him, his eyes not as confident as his body language, but he nodded. Hermione stood from her spot on the couch and smiled slightly at Harry, she came to walk past Ron, running a comforting hand down his arm as she went by him into the kitchen. Harry let out the breath he had been holding, eyes downcast, his shoulders just slightly shrugged, "Let's eat dinner."
And for the first time in his life, Ron was not very excited to hear those three words. He knew that once this dinner was over they would leave Shell Cottage, their pseudo-home for the past few weeks, they would leave his brother, their friends, the comfort that the house provided. They would be coming back, they had to for Griphook. But, there was just something about this trip that had him nervous, it had been his idea yes, yet now there was just something...off about it.
They ate dinner together in that brooding silence that everyone could feel, no one would comment on it though, for they all knew what was going to happen in the next few weeks, it was just time to accept it. Luna went on with her dinner and chatted airily with Dean and Bill about many strange things – for example, how the Mongolian Kappa once mated with a Kneazle and it turned into a very messy process on where it should live.
But, not even Luna's crazed talk about magical creatures could cheer the trio up, they weren't ready to leave – that much was painstakingly obvious – they had to go though, and everyone at the table knew it.
If dinner had been strained, the goodbyes were even more so. They stood in the doorway saying goodbye, Fleur wasn't ready to see them off, even though she knew they would be back soon. She had packed them some food and hugged each of them tightly, Bill had clapped them on the back and tried to smile, Luna and Dean waved from the kitchen window. It wasn't a goodbye per se, more of a We'll see you soon, but it still shook the rest of the house.
They stood gazing over the ocean on the grassy cliff of Shell Cottage, looking into the eyes of Ron and Hermione he knew they were ready, he just wasn't sure if he was. Harry apparated them to the cemetery, the same cemetery that Voldemort was resurrected in, the same one Cedric was killed in, it was an understatement to say he knew it well. It was a place that haunted his memories, a place that he had once promised to never return back to.
The cemetery itself resided in the town of Little Hangleton – a muggle village notable as the place Voldemort's maternal and paternal ancestors resided, the place where he was restored to a bodily form. With that image burned into his minds eye, they all held together, the smell of the oceans spray and earthy sent disappeared as they apperated quickly in the night.
He felt queezy from the force of apparating, still not use to it. He realized now that he was sweating, nervous to be back there, his breathing only mildly labored.
The ground was uneven, patchy green and full of graves. A church sat on a small hill above the cemetery, to the right there was an incline and sitting proudly upon it was the crippling mansion. Once a fine looking manor, easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, with its picture windows, stone walls, iron gates and ivy vines. The Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied, some of its windows were boarded up, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face.
"We really have to walk all that way?" Ron whined, his breathing coming out in short pants from his unsteady landing. "Couldn't you have at least apparated us a little closer, Harry?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, her tone a little cross. "This was your brilliant, albeit unlikely, idea, Ronald. Now, stop complaining."
Ron mimicked her actions and rolled his eyes as well. "It's not like my idea was to walk all over this creepy cemetery, Mione. All I was saying was that it might've been helpful to have gotten us a tad closer."
Their bickering always comforted Harry, it proved that even with all this going on, there were still things that remained unchanged by war. He valued that.
They made the trek across the cemetery, attempting to avoid the broken headstones and sunken graves. It was getting dark and cold, and the eerie feeling of something being more than slightly off was becoming great. They made it to the stone walkway of the Manor, it was cracked and uneven, but it lead up to the door, decomposing flower beds on either side of the cement. The house was cold, dreary, and dirty, the wide double doors to the entrance were covered in mold and Harry felt if he pushed too hard they might collapse.
"So, where should we start?"
Harry looked to Ron – who was scurrying away from a spider – to Hermione, who looked to be in deep though but responded, "Well, we know these Horcruxes hold a piece of his soul, that he had a sentimental connection to some them."
Harry nodded, "But not all of them."
Hermione agreed, "No, not all of them. But, the ring Dumbledore gave us was from Voldemort's Mother's side. It had to have come from around here I suppose, but I'm not sure what to look for exactly."
Harry thought about it for a moment, "It's not like he was particularly close with his Father's side."
Ron looked defeated, "So, should we split up and cover more ground, or stay together so we can all decide on what could be a Horcrux?"
Hermione looked to Ron and Harry, "We should stay together, I don't trust this place."
They walked around the foyer, using a spell to remove dust from objects to get a better look at them. Nothing was particularly sticking out to any of them, just old antiques that had gone to waste.
A picture hung above the fireplace, it was family portrait of the Riddles. Harry didn't even have to assume, it was uncanny how much they resembled each other, it striked him how eerily charming they looked. Tom Riddle Sr. stood in the middle, he was...handsome and young, with dark hair and darker eyes, pallid flesh and a perfect smirk. Voldemort per-resurrection looked so uncommonly like his Father, the muggle he hated so, no wonder he had a great dislike for the man. Despite what the elder Tom Riddle had done to Voldemort and his Mother, he just looked like a pompous ass, with the smirk on his lips and the narrowing of his eyes, it vaguely reminded him of the Malfoys.
Just by glancing at that one picture Harry felt a sense of unease, he had never tried to sympathize or understand the man that Voldemort once was and was now. But, looking at that skewed family photo made him almost want to. It was easy for him to feel the anger and resentment toward the elegant young man in the middle, which meant that he was actually more in tuned with Voldemort's emotions than he had thought, it meant he cared more, and that scared him more than anything.
He quickly brought his eyes away from the photo and began to look around the space for anything that could've been sentimental to Tom Riddle, it was proving to be a rather difficult task. Everything he picked up seemed like the wrong thing, he knew there probably wasn't anything in this house that Voldemort loved, he had hated the man that was his Father, hated what that side of his family was, he wouldn't have found anything in the house where he Father grew up lovable.
He sighed, they were in for a long search.
They headed up stairs, realizing there was nothing in the downstairs living room, kitchen, or foyer. The house was grand, with a winding staircase and many vast rooms, it only made their job harder. Harry thought that if they had been in a house like this any other time, they might've appreciated it more.
They reached the third floor and split apart, it seemed safe enough now that they had checked the majority of the house and found no one lurking about. They each took a room on the floor to cover more ground. Harry walked into a room with his wand lit, it was a study of some kind, filled with books and a brandy cabinet, he picked up different objects, books, pens, trying to decide if any of these muggle items could hold a bit of Voldemort's soul. He knew that they wouldn't, he didn't feel the pull, not like he had with the other Horcruxes.
The search clearly hadn't been going well, he had though that maybe it had been a waste of a trip, that it might be time to pack it in when he heard Hermione's holler.
"Harry! Ron!"
They both ran to the open door, where the light from her wand was illuminating a part of the hallway, they expected to find a Death Eater or something equally as bad for them. Expected her to hold an obvious Horcux in her hands, making their job over and done with. But, neither of those things were what had made Hermione scream, nothing could've prepared them for what they saw.
The room was covered in blood, spatter and spray doused everything, it was all over and everywhere. That wasn't what Hermione had noticed first when she had entered the room though. She had noticed the bed, a huge canopy bed with mahogany frames and what would've been luxurious pearl white sheets. And on the bed was a girl, without a scratch on her. She looked illuminated almost, like she was softly glowing in the light coming from Hermione's wand.
When Hermione had finally gotten the door open with one of the most complex de-locking spells she knew, she had slowly walked fully into the room. She had noticed the girl and went over to where she laid on the bed, that was when she noticed the blood that coated the walls.
Dressers, bookcases, nicknacks, and mirrors lined the walls of the bedroom – because that's what it was, someones bedroom. It was painted a pale green, Hermione noticed that matched the girl's opened eyes, sending shivers down her spine. The dark hardwood floors were covered in undisturbed dust, just like the rest of the house. Clearly indicating that no one had entered the room in years – with the thick layer of dust and cob webs that were all over the room – yet, how was it possible for this girl to be laying there, looking like she had just laid down and never got back up?
She was dead, that much the three of them were certain of – no breath came in or out of her chest, no movement was shown in her doll-like eyes. But, she didn't look like she belonged in the room at all, she didn't look slaughtered or slain. She just looked like she had sat on the bed and died from a sudden heart attack, not like she had murdered so brutally like the rest of the room suggested.
Her skin was so pale, her honey colored hair lying in waves around her, also untouched by the dark, dried blood. Her eyes wide and unmoving, that same shade of pale green as the walls. She wore a thin off-white slip dress that barely covered her and that was drenched in dried blood spatter as well, a ring sat on her left ring finger – standing out so boldly against the red stained sheets she lay on, and the porcelain skin of her left hand.
Harry and Ron had joined Hermione in the room and were careful not to touch anything, they stared, wide eyed, for a few moments. Hermione still observing the scene around them, still trying to piece everything together. That was, before Ron decided that he couldn't help but state the obvious.
"It's a girl...she can't be any older than us..."
