(I know some of these characters do not sound like they do in the book, I'll go through my copy of HBP and change the dialogue later)
Harry read the notice in the paper the next morning, but she didn't need to do more than look out her window to know the truth.
There were no survivors.
The entire house had been reduced to rubble, the large buttresses crumbled onto the cracked marble floor, the banister splintered everywhere, broken glass glittering.
The police had closed off the property, but it didn't stop the tenants and nearby villagers driving to see the spectacle as they pulled out the remains.
The bodies weren't even whole, they were dismembered from the blast, burst and broken. The skin was red and peeling, smelling of burnt flesh as their corpses were in a perpetual scream. It was almost impossible to tell which one was which.
Harry kept her head down, unable to look at the destruction she had wrought. When she saw the confirmation she needed, she made her way to her rounds.
While the Riddles were dead, work continued. Harry couldn't leave, not yet, so she maintained her cover as a Land Girl for the rest of Spring. She was going to have to plan her next move and keep an eye on the Gaunts. She could warn them of their wayward Heir, but they would be more likely to curse her than believe her. She wondered if they had seen her in town, and if she'd need to disguise herself.
Deciding she'd go for a simple disguise rather than go through the effort of obtaining Polyjuice, she charmed her dress to look similar to dress robes. Temporary fix, but looked elegant enough to the untrained eye. She decorated her hair in a braided updo similar to one she had seen some of the Slytherin girls wear at the Yule Ball. Gently, she applied a thin layer of lipstick on her finger, and tapped it over her lips and cheeks. She briefly examined herself in the mirror. Not the most presentable Pureblood, but she'd do. It's not like she'd look any worse than they did.
As she wandered into the woods, she tried to remember any familiar objects from the Pensieve memory, maybe a tree or a knoll. She wandered deep into the woods before she finally found the Gaunt Shack. It was just as decrepit as she had seen in the memory, and unfortunately smelled worse in person. Taking a deep breath, she warily knocked on the door, hoping it wasn't cursed.
"Morfin, get the door!" She heard a harsh voice from inside the hovel.
"Must be a Muggle, should be good for some fun. May I have some fun with it?"
"Yes, boy, do what you must." The other man, presumably Marvolo replied exasperatedly.
As Morfin opened the door wand in hand, Harry quickly disarmed him. "Is that how you answer to a lady? I expected better from the Heir of the Ancient House of Gaunt," Harry stated haughtily. She tried to imagine how Narcissa Malfoy would react in this situation and held her head high, back straight, nose in the air.
"And who might you be that you think you deserve to be received like a lady?" Morfin asked.
"I'm…Walburga Black," Harry lied. "It should be obvious, everyone who's in the proper sort of society knows who I am."
"I've heard of the Black name, you may enter." He motioned for her to enter. Worried about potential traps, Harry gingerly placed one foot over the threshold. Nothing happened, so she stepped inside.
The inside was also the same as in the memory, small and dirty, a cauldron stewing over a sooty stove a small table, a bed, and two chairs.
Marvolo was sitting at the table, hunched over some foul looking stew. He held the spoon up to his mouth, blowing on it as bits of broth flew onto the table.
"Who's this?" He demanded.
"This is Walburga Black," Morfin answered. "She has decided to pay a visit," he sneered.
"Why would a Black want to come all the way out here?" Marvolo asked suspiciously.
"I'm sure I don't need to remind you there is a war going on, and we old families need to work together to preserve our way of life. I'm aware the Gaunts haven't wanted to get involved in politics, but it's going to be unavoidable soon."
"We want no part in this war, we have nothing to prove. We've been established in the Book of Geneaology centuries before you upstarts." Marvolo scowled. "Now get out."
"Not so fast, Lord Gaunt," Harry addressed in the formal style, the old style. It made him look up from his stew.
"If you do not want to help us protect the legacy of the old ways, you must at least protect your own." Harry urged.
"What do you mean by that?" Marvolo asked, his curiousity piqued.
"I have reason to believe that the Dark Lord is interested in claiming magical artifacts of great historical importance. One item in particular that belonged to the Great Salazar Slytherin himself."
Both men stood still, barely breathing.
"Now, I'm sure we have nothing to worry about, I've heard its existence is just a rumor…"
"It's not." Morfin interrupted.
"I beg your pardon?" Harry asked innocently.
"It's not a rumor, we have one heirloom, but the girl stole the other." Morfin replied bitterly.
"Morfin, you cannot tell her that!." Marvolo hissed. He walked up to his son and started hitting him aggressively, causing the other man to yelp.
"You can trust me, Lord Gaunt. I respect the power of the old ways, and I respect your right to protect what is your family's. I am merely here to warn you. Hide what you have left, hide it well. The Dark Lord is coming and he will try to steal it, and worse, defile it."
"Thank you for your warning, Lady Black. We will," Marvolo gave her a small bow out of some long forgotten sense of politeness.
"Excellent," she smiled. "Well, I best be off. It's a long way back to town."
"Why don't you stay for supper?" asked Morfin. "It has been a long time since we had any proper company, especially not any ladies such as yourself."
Harry giggled, and gave him a grin, inwardly trying not to gag. "I'm terribly sorry, but I must be off. My fiancé will be waiting for me,"
Morfin's face fell, and Marvolo gave a grunt. "If you are still on the lookout for any prosepective matches, we are still on the market for a bride for my son," he added.
Harry tried to give an understanding nod, "It's so hard to find the right sort these days. I'm afraid my parents are only letting me marry within the family. Best way to retain our assests, whatever that means. Daddy's always going on about that." Harry prattled, letting their interest in her drop off.
As she left the hovel, she knew whatever protections the Gaunts were planning would be woefully inadequate, but it was going to have to do. The Stone would technicaly be safe, and that was one less problem to deal with. Now, she had to retrieve the Locket from Borgin and Burke's, make sure the Cup never ended up in Tom's hands, and possibly take the diadem from Tom after he stole it from Albania, or go to Albania herself and take it.
Harry stopped walking and almost wanted to slap herself. Did she really think that? Go into Albania in the middle of the war just to steal a tiara?
Well, she could possibly give it a try. Italy had recently pulled out, and the Germans were beginning to take control of the area. The British had some involvement with the resistance, but Harry really didn't know too much about the history of the area.
She was going to have to make inquiries on how to smuggle her way out. The most convenient way would be via Portkey, she would need to find who to bribe in Knockturn Alley, and where to get the money for that.
But she was going to have to focus on that later.
Harry wasn't sure if she wanted to attend the funeral. It was almost a week after the Riddles' deaths, their solicitor had to come from London to manage the preparations.
It was a small turnout. The Riddles were very private people, and weren't well liked by their tenants or the villagers. Harry and Watson exchanged glances, and he gave her a nod of acknowledgement.
After the service was over, a middle aged man in a neatly tailored suit approached Harry.
"Miss Evans, a moment of your time, I think we have some business to discuss," he stated, giving her his card.
It was the solicitor, a Mr. Archibald Jones.
"I'm afraid you are mistaken, sir. I had no connection to the Riddles, just paying my respects," Harry replied, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"I had spoken to the younger Mr. Riddle a few days prior to his unfortunate demise, and he had discussed his nupitals in the near future. I'm sorry for your loss," he replied sympathetically.
How much did this man know? Would he compromise her plans?
"Thank you for your concern. Will that be all, Mr. Jones?"
"Ah, yes. Well, I would have preferred to continue this discussion in my office, but I can see you're busy with the Women's Land Army, so I'll finish what I have to say." He motioned to the now empty graveyard. "I think we're in a confidential enough location anyway," he joked.
He coughed, then continued. "While you will not inherit the estate or any of Mr. Riddle's holdings, since you never married him, he had placed a small annuity in your name of one thousand pounds a year."
Harry's eyes widened. Oh that was not good.
"I'm afraid I cannot accept that," Harry replied. "It wouldn't be right, taking a dead man's money."
The less the Riddles could be traced back to her, the better.
"But it has already been signed and documented. Please, consider it. You will live comfortably."
Harry thought about it. She could use the money to travel to Albania, and she didn't want to think about what favors she'd have to provide to get an illegal Portkey with no money to her name.
"Very well then, but I think it's only fair you contact Mr. Riddle's son, he should also be entitled to his share."
Mr. Jones's eyes widened in astonishment. "I wasn't aware he had a son."
"He was the product of a rather unwise marriage, but I think it was still legal. He has the same name as his father, and is currently abroad at school. He has a permanent address at Wool's Orphanage in London. But I would prefer you didn't mention my knowledge of him. Tom was very private about his son, and I'd like to respect his wishes." Harry answered.
"Of course, Miss Evans. I will provide discretion. I'll see what can be done about contacting young Master Riddle."
Harry made her goodbyes, and went back to work.
Meanwhile, in Nurmengard Castle
Grindelwald was examining the view from his massive window overlooking the Alps. His mind was full of dark thoughts as the war had hurtled in a direction he hadn't been particularly fond of. While it had been useful to use the Muggle War as a front for his own purposes, the Muggle leaders weren't as obedient or compliant as he'd expected.
Worst of all, they were focusing more on their own goals. It almost disgusted him, the wholesale slaughter they were willing to casually inflict on each other over land or identity. Didn't they all see they were all inferior to the Magicals?
And he was no closer to his true goal, conquering the Hallows and becoming Master of Death.
"My Lord, I have an urgent message for you," one of his chief advisors, Vinda Rosier, stated carrying a telegram.
Grindelwald silently lifted his arm and she handed the message to him.
"It was from our Muggle forces, they were flying through England on a routine raid when they noticed our sigil painted on the roof of a building they were scheduled to attack."
"Did they cancel the attack and search the building?" Grindelwald asked.
"Well, no. They followed through on their orders. It might have been a false lead, it turns out the building was just a house with a family inside. Some unimportant Muggles." Rosier dismissed.
Grindelwald examined the telegram and thought about the reasoning behind the attack. An unimportant village called Little Hangleton. The decoys the British usually provided never involved the Magical front. It was almost as if the two weren't even involved with the other. The Ministry cared too much about the Statute to work with the Muggles, and they had far too much pride. This was the work of someone outside the system. Someone who know the importance of the sigil.
Could it be a trap set out by Albus? Or could it be a genuine sign?
"Perhaps it was for the best the evidence was destroyed. I think we should cancel any meetings we have with the Chancellor in the next few days. I think we will be paying a visit to the little Island."
"But sir, do you really want to go to England? The risk will be far too great." Vinda protested.
"I will be careful, Vinda. And Aurelius will be in charge while I'm gone. Something tells me this trip will be worth the risk."