I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. Do you understand? NOTHING.
XXXXX
"He'll kill me," the man mumbled. "He'll kill me for losing his ring."
"That's all he ever says, sir," a voice outside the man's little world said. "He's been saying nothing but that ever since we brought him here."
"I see," a calm male voice replied. It sounded old, but then, who was the man to call someone old? "Thank you, I will take care of things from here."
"Are you sure, sir?" the first voice asked. "He's dangerous, a multiple-murderer."
Yes, he was a murderer by their definition, but in the man's eyes, it was no murder, but mere pest control. He had hated that filthy creature, had wanted to kill him for years for fouling up the world with his presence. Oh, the look of terror on that bastard's face before the man had snuffed him out would have brought him joy had those damned creatures not sucked any joy out of him.
"I am quite sure, thank you," the old man said. A creaking sound entered the man's ears, followed by steady footsteps until the man realized that the owner of the voice was standing before him.
"Good morning, Mr. Gaunt."
The man, Gaunt, coughed and looked up, his eyes, covered by a thick mat of dirty hair that could have been any color, hairs from his thick beard tickling his face as though a spider was crawling around it. Knowing him, there may very well have been an actual spider living in that jungle of hair, though as his vision slowly adjusted, he saw that the man also had a large beard, albeit cleaner than Gaunt's own. The man must have said his name, but the man ignored it.
"What you want?" Gaunt said dumbly, not bothering to get up. As if he could.
"I wish to discuss your nephew, Mr. Gaunt."
"Nephew?" Gaunt coughed again, then gave a light bark. "Don't got one."
"Ah, but you do, Mr. Gaunt. A nephew whom I am gathering information on. And I think you may have an answer."
"Told ya," the man hissed, "I ain't got a damned nephew."
The man was silent, and then his expression became resolute. "I believe," he said carefully, "that your memory has been tampered with, Mr. Gaunt. With your permission, I would like to examine your memories. We may both find an answer in this."
The man coughed again until he felt phlegm fill his mouth, then spat it onto the dirty floor.
"Fine," he snapped.
The old man drew a fancy-looking wand. "Thank you, Mr. Gaunt. And you might be able to learn what happened to your father's ring." He pointed the wand at Gaunt and said, "Legilimens."
XXXXX
"That... was my nephew?" Gaunt said, his wrinkled hands shaking. He had managed to get to his feet, but even then, the old man towered over him.
"Yes," the old man said, pocketing a vial containing a silver liquid. "That was Tom Marvolo Riddle, the child your sister had with the man you hexed."
"What... what'd he do to me?!" Gaunt snarled. "Did he take m' father's ring?!"
"Yes," the old man said. "He Stunned you, took your wand, committed the murders, altered your memory, and pocketed the ring as some sort of trophy."
"What'd he do with it?!" Gaunt demanded, coughing again. "Where is it?! And where's the locket?!" He looked ready to charge the old man, but his body was so weak, even though his will was burning hot within him now.
"I can only guess in regards to the ring," the old man said. "I have concluded that your nephew returned to your home and placed it there. He always did have a flair for the dramatic. As for the locket, I do not know. From what I have gathered, it was sold by your sister-"
"That slut isn't my sister!" Gaunt snarled. The old man continued as though Gaunt had said nothing offensive.
"-To Borgin and Burke's for ten galleons. It was later purchased by a wealthy old witch, whom your nephew murdered and took it from."
His house. The ring was there. Right there.
"Well," Gaunt said, "what now?"
The old man smiled. "First and foremost, I intend to secure your release. With the memory I have extracted, I am sure that you will be free before long."
Free. Free to reclaim the ring. Maybe to even find the locket?
"You," Gaunt croaked, "You really gonna get me outta here?" There was a light in his eyes, one that had never been there before.
"I cannot stand to see an innocent man rot away in this place," the old man said. "It disgusts me just as much as the guards."
It sounded too good to be true.
XXXXX
"I am sorry, Albus, but Morfin Gaunt is dead."
Dumbledore's eyes widened. "How?" he asked.
"He died in his sleep last night, sir. The Dementors must have sensed a happy memory and decided to feed on it."
Dumbledore's fists clenched. "I promised I would get him out, Amelia. Morfin Gaunt was an innocent man."
Amelia Bones closed her eyes and adjusted her monocle. "Perhaps that gave him something happy to think about, and the Dementors weakened him by feeding off it until he was simply too weak. They said he looked peaceful."
"He died without his name being cleared, Amelia. That's hardly peaceful."
She blew out her breath. "I saw the memory, and it looked legitimate, but the others dithered. Maybe they felt Morfin Gaunt deserved to die anyway. When you really get down to it, Albus, his hexing of that Muggle led to Voldemort's birth. I'm sure others in the Wizengamot felt the same."
Dumbledore gave her a reproachful look. Amelia did not flinch. "I am sorry to tell you this, Albus, but, regardless of his innocence in this case, Morfin Gaunt was still a bad man."
"A bad, yet innocent man, who died alone in a horrid prison cell," Dumbledore replied.
Amelia shrugged. "Again, Albus, I am sorry."
"Those words will not bring him back, Amelia."
"No, they won't," she said. "No they won't."
XXXXX
The idea of writing a scene for Dumbledore extracting Morfin's true memories had been bouncing around in my head for a while, and even now, I feel I could have added more. Obviously, I could have depicted the process, but I am not an expert on HP lore and figured it was irrelevant anyway. I could have padded things out more, but I wanted to get to the point. To be clear, I don't like Morfin. He was a scumbag who, as pointed out in-story, was partially responsible for his nephew's birth (though, obviously, Marvolo's horrible parenting, his being so thoroughly inbred, and Merope's own conscious choices played a part, too), so in essence, his second stint in Azkaban was the culmination of the punishment he received for his petty misdeeds, or at least some might see it that way. But he was still framed for a triple murder and robbed of the only heirloom he had, which drove him even further downhill. Whether or not that's enough to make him even slightly sympathetic is entirely up to you. As for me, I must confess even I don't know whether or not to feel bad for Morfin. Maybe I'll find an answer someday.
Anyway, whatever your feelings on this, I hope you will express them through a review, positive or negative. I won't judge people for having an opinion on something, even if I disagree with that opinion. You're entitled to it, and let no one on this site or anywhere else tell you differently. Also, before you point it out, I am aware that Morfin probably died before Dumbledore knew the ring's location, but I added it anyway to give the guy a little bit of hope... which ultimately did him in when the Dementors sensed it. This was not meant to be an uplifting story, if it even deserves to be called a story.
Ta.