Chapter Thirty One: Little Hangleton

They stayed hidden under their protection enchantments for one further day, while Remus slept off the after effects of his transformation. It hadn't been too bad, for a change. Sirius had managed to keep him calm for most of the night, the dog and the wolf had curled up on their respective mattresses and rested. Of course a transformed werewolf cannot be quiet all night - and there had been times where he had howled at the moon and thrown himself against the bars in an attempt to escape. His ribs were a little bruised and tender the following morning. But all in all it had been better than expected - had been easier than either of them had hoped for.

'And this is how it will be always from now on,' Sirius told him, as he cleaned up the deepest of Remus' scrapes and cuts. 'I'll always be with you to keep you calm. Every moon for the rest of our lives. It'll be like it was at school.' He gave him a kiss. 'You'll be OK.'

'I know.'

The following afternoon, when Remus felt much stronger, they cleared away any signs of their ever having camped out in the woods, took down their protection charms, held onto each other and - with Sirius steering - apparated to Little Hangleton.

...

The village of Little Hangleton was nestled among rolling hills and was - according to the sign post - six miles away from Great Hangleton. Perhaps Great Hangleton had more going on, because - aside from a few quaint, little cottages, a pub called "The Hanged Man", a tiny church and a crumbling graveyard - there was nothing of any note to the village at all.

The only thing that stood out was the one large house, standing on the top of a hill and looking down on the rest of the hamlet. Clearly it had once been very fine, but it's grandeur was fast fading. It was un-cared for, unloved and un-lived in. The tiles were falling from the roof; the chimney had a crack in it; the paintwork was peeling - and there was just something about the way the blank windows stared out like baleful, malevolent eyes that made Remus shudder.

He turned away and looked at the churchyard, at the broken down fence and the bumps of the headstones just visible beyond it.

'So … you reckon he's somewhere in there?' Sirius asked, nodding towards the graves, 'Voldemort's dad?'

'Must be.'

'What should we do?'

'Let's head to the pub, see if they've got a room for us to stay in - ask around, see if anyone has noticed anything funny going on. But I don't think Wormtail and Voldemort can be here yet. It takes a long time to hike across Europe.'

'We should know.'

They wandered over to The Hanged Man and went inside. It was gloomy and small, with little round tables, exposed beams in the ceiling and - despite the heat of the day - roaring log fires lit in the fireplaces. There was a small, dim entrance porch which held a plastic stand packed with tourist leaflets. Remus picked one up and frowned.

'What's wrong?' Sirius asked him.

'We're in the Peak District,' Remus said, holding up the leaflet to show him that it did indeed read: Welcome to the Peak District.

'That would explain all the hills.'

'According to this, Sheffield is only fifteen minutes away on the train.'

'So?' He looked nonplussed.

'So? So? Sirius, Sheffield is in Yorkshire! My house is in Yorkshire! Do you have any idea how close to my house we are right now? All this … all this . .. and we could have stayed home and Voldemort would have come straight to us! It's all been for nothing!'

'We're not that close to your house.'

'About fifty miles! Even the muggles could get there in well under two hours.'

'Oh, uh…' He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight uncomfortably. 'I mean … depending on the traffic … maybe not?'

'You getting splinched! Me killing a man! All those nights sleeping on a forest floor. Getting hunted by the Ministry. Being accused of the murder of Bertha Jorkins - being accused of - of - cannibalising her - they're talking about giving the dementor's kiss to me too now! And we could have stayed home and had a cup of tea, instead.'

'But - look - think of it this way, we wouldn't have known to come to Little Hangleton if we hadn't bumped into the singing murder bint. So we did need to go through all this.'

Remus only snorted. 'We could have gone for a romantic weekend getaway in the Diemerstien forest and been no worse off.'

'The sword might come in useful.' He had put a concealment enchantment on it while they travelled through the last leg of their journey, so the muggles wouldn't spot it and panic, but it was strapped to his waist still.

'I can't even use the sword! I can't pick it up without burning and blistering my hands. You might be a worthy Gryffindor, Sirius, but apparently I am not.'

'That's not true,' his voice had become stern. 'I'm sure If Godric Gryffindor had any idea that one day a man like you would belong to his house, he would have made his sword out of any other metal. This belongs to both of us - even if I'm the only one who can wield it… Come on, you're always a bit tetchy after the moon, you'll feel better after a cup of tea. Let's go and see if they've got a room.'

Still glowering, Remus put the leaflet back in the stand and followed Sirius into the taproom. They went up to the bar, where a large, meaty looking man - with no hair but more than a few folds of skin in the back of his neck - was polishing a pint glass with a rag. 'Afternoon,' he nodded. ''What can I get you gents today?'

'Actually - we need somewhere to stay - you don't have any rooms available, do you?' Sirius asked.

'Only got one free, I'm afraid.'

'That's fine - we only need one.'

The man put the pint glass down, 'couple of poofters, is it?'

The boys looked at each other in surprise.

The bar man held his hands up, 'look, I'm not judging. It's nearly a brand new millennium and we have to move with the times. What two men want to get up to behind a closed door is none of mine.'

'Er - thanks - we'll bear that in mind. So … about the room?'

'I'll get the key,' he wandered off and returned a moment later bearing a brass key on a green key ring. 'Last orders at the bar are at eleven,' he told them. 'I lock the front door of the pub at midnight. If you're out, you need to be back by then. I'm not getting up to let you in. Room 4, up the stairs, first on your left.'

'Thanks.'

'So … what brings you to Little Hangleton, anyway? Romantic break is it?'

Remus snorted again, and looked put out. Sirius gave him a dark look. 'No - we're - er - we're waiting for someone actually. Someone who used to have family around these parts.'

'Families have lived around these parts for hundreds of years - who is it? Maybe I know him?'

The boys exchanged another glance - this one a little hopeful. 'Well, he didn't grow up here,' Remus said, '- but his family name was …' He searched his memory for what the singing murder bint had said: 'Riddle. His dad was Tom Riddle.'

The bar man began to choke. 'Riddle? Riddle?'

'You know him?'

'Blimey? Do I know him?' He clutched at his heart as if it were racing a mile a minute. 'Only thing that ever happened in Little Hangleton. Right after the war - the Riddle murders. Well - we all know Frank did it, but he was never charged.'

'Frank?'

'Bryce. Still lives here, bold as brass, as if we don't all know he's a murderer. You should speak to old Ally Stimpson - his dad was in here the night it all went down. He knows the story best out of everyone left.'

'Right - where can we find Mr. Stimpson?'

'He usually comes in here around eight. If you're in the bar, I'll send him over to talk to you.'

'Thanks.'

...

They headed up to their room. The stairs were narrow and winding. The roof was low and they had to duck their heads - but the room itself was clean and comfortable, with a large double bed covered in a cheerful eiderdown and a chintzy armchair in the corner. Best of all - was a kettle and some teabags on the side, next to the moving picture screen.

They stashed away the sword, and the clothes Sirius had bought them - and made a cup of tea. 'Are you still tetchy?' Sirius asked.

'Yes.'

'The tea isn't making it better?'

'No.'

He leaned in for a swift kiss. 'Cheer up, Moony. If we hadn't gone on our ad -'

'Don't say it! '

' -venture. Then we might never have …' He kissed him again. 'I might not be able to do that. We might still be pretending that we're just friends.'

'Pretending to be friends has got us through twenty years,' Remus said sniffily.

'But not pretending is better. Please don't be cross.' His eyes were all big and sad and soulful as he stared at Remus.

Remus narrowed his eyes - and then his lips twitched into a smile that he couldn't fight down. 'Alright. I'll work on getting over it.'

'You're a hero,' he gave him another kiss.

'I know.'

Once they had finished the tea, they went back outside and went for a walk in the hills. Sirius had been chafing at the walls - but once they were outdoors again he seemed to relax. And once they were miles from anywhere, hidden in some woodland, he transformed into Padfoot and ran back and forth along the path barking and snapping at pigeons. He plunged headlong into a small stream and emerged on the other side - shaking himself and flicking the water from his fur, while Remus followed more slowly across the bridge - laughing at him.

He disappeared into some underbrush, and Remus stood on the path waiting patiently - listening to the rustling as Sirius rooted through the bushes.

There came a loud squawk - and a yelp of surprise from Padfoot - and a brace of pheasants flew out from the trees, and Sirius came bounding out - chasing them.

'Padfoot! Come on - now.'

He abandoned barking at the pheasants and gambolled his way back along to where Remus was waiting for him. As he reached him, he jumped up, his tail wagging - woofing excitedly. He managed in knocking Remus off his feet and they both fell over, in a tangle of limbs and tail and fur, and then Sirius started licking him, slobbering all over his face while Remus batted him away and laughed.

'That's disgusting! Stop it. Come on - I want my boyfriend back.'

And a moment later, his arms were no longer full of dog, but full of man, and Sirius rolled him over and exchanged the enthusiastic licking for enthusiastic kissing.

'You're in a good mood,' Remus observed drily, as they struggled back to their feet.

'Well - we're home, we're as safe as we can be and I'm outdoors and free to move around after days sitting still.' He squeezed Remus' hand, 'and I am with you. What more could I ask for?'

'For this to be over and your name to be cleared?'

'Well … I'll enjoy what I've got for now.'

'It won't go wrong. We won't fail.'

'Maybe.' He leaned in for a kiss, 'but I'm still making the most of these last moments.'

'They're not "last moments".'

'Maybe.'

They meandered their way back into the village and climbed over the broken down fence into the churchyard - going to explore among the headstones.

The grass was long, reaching to knee height and almost completely obscuring most of the graves. They waded through it, peering at the weather-beaten stones and trying to make head or tails of the crumbing letters.

And then, in the far corner, they happened across a tall and grand looking monument; a large block of marble, almost as tall as they were, with a cross on the top and the words lettered in gold leaf.

Tom Riddle

'So this is him,' Sirius said, he shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled. 'Voldemort Senior.'

'He was a muggle - I think. This is a muggle town.'

'Grindelwald said Voldemort was muggleborn.'

Remus shook his head, 'he can't be - there's hypocrisy and then there's … that . His mother must have been a witch. He's like the opposite of me.'

Sirius gave him a look, 'in every conceivable way… Still.' He whistled again, 'weird to think I'm from better wizarding pedigree than the Dark Lord himself. If that sort of nonsense matters to you. I don't understand why my mad cousin, Bella, and that idiot, Malfoy, would follow a half blood.'

'They liked the evil things he had to say and so … hypocrisy.'

Sirius scuffed at the ground with his shoe. 'The earth is undisturbed,' he said. 'Whatever Voldemort's planning to do with his dad's bones, he hasn't done it yet. How long do you think before he gets here?'

'Hopefully not long - I want for all this to be over. I want to go home.'

'Well, this will have to be close enough for now.' He took his hand from his pocket and reached out to take Remus'. 'Come on - let's head back.'

...

The pub had started serving food by the time they arrived back - and so they ordered fish and chips, and some of the brown, fizzy muggle drink at the bar. (Sirius had asked for Pepsi, the barman told him they only had Coca Cola. 'Is there a difference?' Sirius had asked. The barman had shrugged, 'none that I've ever been able to tell,' and Sirius had smiled in triumph, 'I knew it!')

'This,' Sirius prodded his battered haddock with his fork, 'is better than pasta.' He spoke through a mouthful of chips and garden peas.

'Philistine,' Remus smiled. Sirius picked up the bottle of brown sauce and squirted it all over his plate. Remus shook his head, 'double Philistine,' he said, applying salt and vinegar to his own.

A shadow suddenly loomed over them - and they looked up. A man of about sixty, with a ruddy face, wearing a flat cap and carrying a pint of bitter, was staring down at them. 'You the couple of poofters that were asking about Tom Riddle?' he asked them.

'Er -' Remus froze with his fork half way to his mouth. 'We were asking about Tom Riddle. I don't know that we're - er -' he glanced towards the bar and saw the barman watching them. He looked away and went back to polishing a glass when he caught Remus looking.

'Look, I'm not making judgements - a man's affairs are his own, even if they're … well, anyway - I'm Ally Stimpson - Bert said you wanted to talk to me.'

'Oh - yes.'

'Mind if I sit down?'

Remus nodded and gestured to the spare seat. Mr. Stimpson sat down and peered at them both. 'I've never seen your sort before. It's just a small place, Little Hangleton - though I hear all sorts goes on in Manchester. You have a whole district to yourselves - bars and clubs and the like. I don't know why you turned out queer - you're both quite good looking. Surely you could have found girls who would have you?'

The boys both looked at each other in surprise. 'That's not really the point,' Sirius said.

'Sirius doesn't like the textures of kissing girls,' Remus said. 'I wouldn't know - I've never tried.' He was mildly amused by the look of surprise on Mr. Stimpson's face.

But to his credit, the old man pulled himself together and just gave an awkward cough and a 'yes - well… like I said, I'm not judging.'

Remus got the impression the names they were being called were not exactly flattering, they certainly did not sound flattering, but the grudging tolerance was at least better than the waiter screaming and yelling at them back in Albania. And he began to wonder if maybe he and Sirius really could live openly together here in England… Though he wasn't sure what they would tell Harry.

'So,' Stimpson took a sip of his bitter, smacked his lips together and then rubbed his hands, 'the Riddle murders. Of course, I was just a boy at the time. I'm not that old, mind you! But my dad was here in this very pub the night after the bodies had been found.'

'Bodies?' Sirius said, 'plural?'

'Aye, aye. Tom Riddle was a rude and unpleasant sort of man. About 40, he was - around there, but he lived in the big house on the hill with his mum and dad. Well, there had been a huge scandal about fifteen years before he died. He'd been engaged to some posh, little thing from Buxton, when suddenly he ran away with the Gaunt girl. The Gaunts were a family of weirdos - savage tramps that lived in a hovel a little way from the village. Everyone knew to avoid them, nasty things happened around them - especially the boy. A right nutter he was. Anyway - up-himself-Tom sacks off his bride-to-be and runs off with the tramp's daughter. And she was no looker mind you, cross eyes and dumpy…'

Sirius and Remus looked at each other, this must surely be Voldemort's mother - and by the sound of the "nasty things" that happened around them, the Gaunts had used magic to keep the neighbouring muggles at bay.

'No one could work it out - at any rate - though we all quite enjoyed it, mind you. None of us cared for him. Anyway, he comes home about a year later - saying he'd been "hoodwinked" and taken for a ride and all sorts. Well - the talk at the time - and this is second hand, mind you, I'm not yet born at this point, was that she must have told him she was expecting a baby - and he'd done the honourable thing (though the surprise was he had any honour in him) only to find out later that there was no baby.'

'But - she did have a baby,' Sirius said. 'God knows - the world would be a better place if she hadn't, but she did.' Remus kicked him under the table.

'How's that then?' Stimpson didn't understand, but he didn't seem troubled by it. 'At any rate - the village never saw any sign of her again, and certainly no sign of no baby. Time moved on, things settled down. The war came - and then it ended. Tom stayed with his parents. And then one day - out of the blue - the maid that used to do for them comes running down the hill and into the village, screeching her head off. She'd found them all dead, in the dining room - in their evening wear.'

'How had they been killed?' Remus asked, furrowing his brow.

'Well that's the rum do - there wasn't a mark on them. Nothing wrong with them at all that the coroner could tell. In perfect health. Except seeing as how they were dead and all.'

Remus looked across at Sirius - and raised his eyebrows. That sounded very much like the killing curse had been used on this poor, defenceless family. Only the muggles had no way of recognising that.

'But the barman said you all knew who did it?' Sirius said. He was watching Stimpson keenly - his grey eyes were dark, as he listened to the tale.

'Course we know! It was old Frank, the gardener. Young Frank, as he was back then. Well, he's come back from the war a bit strange - happened to the best of them. You know how wars can be.'

They nodded. Yes. They knew exactly how wars could be.

'But if nothing had been done to the bodies - there was no weapon … how can you know Frank did it?'

'Because there was no sign of a break in! They were locked inside that house. And who was the only other person who had a key?'

'The maid?' Sirius suggested.

Stimpson looked put out - as if this was something he had never thought of before, and it was ruining his story. 'Frank, the gardener!' he corrected.

'So how did the maid get in? If the house was locked up? Did Frank let her in knowing she was going to find his murder victims?'

'Well I …' he mumbled to a stop and took a sip of his pint. 'I suppose she might have had a key too … but she's the one that found them.'

'So she says.'

'Sirius!' Remus bit back an amused smile. 'I don't think the poor maid killed those people.'

'Well I don't think Frank did it either.' His voice had gone growly. 'It's no small thing to falsely accuse someone of murder.'

The smile died on Remus' lips - and he slid his hand onto Sirius' leg and squeezed it comfortingly. 'But Frank was never charged, was he?' he asked Stimpson - who was staring down at Remus' hand on Sirius' thigh - as if he was seeing a ghost for the very first time.

'Er - no,' he managed to tear his eyes away. 'No - well, what with them not being able to find a cause of death, they couldn't prove they'd been murdered, see? So Frank came back to the village - and stayed on as gardener. And he's still there - after all these years. Shameless.'

'Unless he's innocent,' Sirius pointed out.

'We know he's guilty.'

'Why would he kill them - what's his motive?'

'Motive? Hark at you - who do you think you are, Inspector Morse?'

'Who?'

'Look - he went round the twist in the war. Probably had an episode. Took 'em for German spies or something. Maybe he did it in a kind of fit - maybe he doesn't remember. But he did it. There's no one else who could have done. He's no alibi and plenty of opportunity. And there's no one else in the village that that's true of.'

'Sometimes things aren't always what they seem,' Sirius said, rather coldly. Remus squeezed his leg again.

'And you'd know something about that, would you?'

'Yes. I would.'

'Sirius!' Remus gave him a look - silently telling him to be quiet - and then smiled at Stimpson. 'Thanks for speaking with us, Mr. Stimpson - you've been really helpful.'

'Yeah - well,' he cast another slightly bemused glance at Remus' hand on Sirius' leg, 'glad to be of service - good luck to the pair of you,' and he picked up his pint and walked away. He headed back to the bar, and put his head together with the barman. Coupled with the looks they kept shooting in their direction, Remus got the impression that they - and their … queerness … were very much the topic of conversation.

'We should go and talk to Frank,' Sirius said.

'Yes we should.'