Chapter 17 – The Gaunt House
The evening arrived and Lizzie headed up to Dumbledore's office more apprehensive than she expected to be.
"Lizzie, been looking forward to seeing you, my dear," he said sweetly.
"Term off to a good start? I hear Horace got you situated with a potion that should help. Your team is in order. Classes kicked off well..." he asked thoughtfully.
"Yes, off to a good start, thanks," she said weakly.
"I trust you're wondering what these lessons will entail..." he said, looking at her intently. She nodded.
"Well, occlumemcy, legilimency, insight on your affliction, and..." he waved his wand and summoned the pensive, "...a walk down memory lane with Tom Riddle," he said.
"Professor, your hand..." Lizzie had noticed his hand which appeared to be decaying.
"I will explain that soon, worse than it looks, I'm afraid," he said grimly.
"First I want to ask you what you've come to learn about the situation on your own, I was hoping the travels would offer some insight," Dumbledore asked.
Lizzie explained what she recalled from Menes's conversation about ophidians.
"Yes, it was extremely foolish of him to give it to a fellow parseltounge. I am hopeful, that like the obscurial, it will confuse the two of you. Which will make keeping your emotions in check equally important," Dumbledore added.
"Professor, the Scamanders explained something interesting about the obscurials. They said you would know more about some of the more complicated cases," she said.
"Yes, the case Jacob referred to was in New York. The boy was roughly your age when he learned how to control his, it was an exceptional amount of power. I've come to believe that the more power that gets suppressed, the longer the host lives, because it gives the parasitic force more to live on for longer," Dumbledore explained.
"But that's it though, it can't feed off of something dead, can it? The part it lived on was being animated by something. That's what Jacob insisted. Like an inferious?" Lizzie asked.
"I have long thought that the curse you took as a small child turned a portion of you into a variation of an inferious...at least since it manifested that way as your boggart. He is right it needed power to survive for as long as it did," Dumbledore explained.
"His power though, right? It has to be. That's why I have his more unique powers, why it's sinister, why we share wand cores, right?"
Dumbledore looked grim that she had brought this up. "It's possible, yes. I think we will know more through these lessons," he said. There was something dismissive about his tone and instead of launching into what Krum had offered, she stayed quiet.
"Let's see a memory first, then let's go over some methods for occlumency I think will tailor best to your situation," he said. Lizzie nodded.
"I'm going to take you back to Riddle's roots, this was a difficult memory to come by," Dumbledore added, tipping the vile into the pensive and gesturing her to dip her face in.
They were viewing from the perspective of a ministry aid that visited a rundown house outside of a small muggle town. Upon entering, Lizzie noticed three people dwelling there. The first was an older, hefty man, the second a younger hunchback man, and the third a terrified looking young woman. The ministry aid was questioning them about magic being used on muggles and had a warrant for their arrest.
Lizzie froze when she noticed a hiss to the voice of home dwellers and Dumbledore noticed her demeanor shift.
"Yes, they're all parseltounges, you should understand them I presume?" He asked and Lizzie nodded. Her eyes were starting well at the way the older man was talking to the young woman. The way she looked at him said everything it needed to say for Lizzie. He was like Vernon.
"Well, I only used it to shut the damn muggle up," the hunchback named Morphin said, and then became distracted by his sister across the room. "Merope! You aren't watching out for the muggle Riddle boy again, are you?" He shouted, and their father, Marvolo, whipped his head around and stalked toward her. She backed herself into a corner and he back handed her hard across the face. Lizzie whimpered on her behalf, tears escaping her eyes at how pathetic the girl looked.
"Look, are you arresting us or not?" Marvolo turned to say to the ministry official. "We are a pureblooded family, last of the Slytherin line, there is no tolerance in this house for muggles and as far as we're concerned, we will see to them as we see fit!" He spat harshly.
"See this?!" He asked, yanking on a chain of a locket around Merope's neck. "Belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself, it is priceless," he sneered.
"This?" He asked, holding up his hand, "belonged to our Peverell ancestors," he said scathingly, flashing a black stone ring on his overlarge finger.
There was a great deal more quarreling and eventually the ministry arrested Marvolo and Morphin, leaving Merope in peace. Merope looked shocked and shaken and made her way to a section of the room where she loosened a floorboard and pulled out a baby girl's dress. It looked roughly hand-made, and she looked uncommonly sad. She stared reproachfully out the window at her father before he was apparated away by the ministry official. Dumbledore pulled Lizzie from the pensive and she sat down to collect herself for a moment.
"Marvolo," she whispered. "That was his family, wasn't it? Merope was his mother?" Lizzie asked. Dumbledore nodded.
"Yes. His grandfather and his uncle, Marvolo and Morphin respectively. Merope came into herself with them two gone, as I'm sure you could relate..." he said looking at her intently. Lizzie nodded slightly.
"She, though believed a sqib, brewed a love potion that allowed the muggle boy, Tom Riddle, at the house up in the town nearest them, you'll remember as Little Hangleton, so that he would fall in love with her. She ran off and had a child with him. But when the potion was no longer given, he realized he did not love her and left. She had Tom Riddle Jr. and died shortly thereafter of a broken heart, leaving him at an orphanage in London where he grew up," he continued.
"It's important to understand that a child born under the influence of a love potion will never know love. That is a deep root in Voldemort's motive and intentions," he added.
"So why exactly is this important now?" Lizzie asked.
"I think you will start to make some connections to your own life through these memories and there will be more clarity as to why he chose you. Understanding his roots are important considering the lengths he went to mask them," Dumbledore explained.
"When he was a student here, he searched for his family. At sixteen, once realizing his father was a muggle, he visited Little Hangleton and murdered the Riddles. He then framed his uncle for it," Dumbledore added.
Lizzie rubbed her face. "We want into his mind and his intentions, but we need him, for your sake, out of yours," Dumbledore announced to change course.
"I know occlumency with Snape did not go well, but I am hoping that we can bridge some of that here," Dumbledore said.
"First, I want to give you some things to think about... you survived your upbringing by separating yourself so far mentally from your mind that it has kept you from being able to control it. The obscurial played an aggravating role in that because your body was pushing further away to keep the obscurial from surfacing. You still live detached from it, and I think we can bridge it this time without making you your own worst threat," he explained. Lizzie followed mostly.
"This first lesson you are going to leave rather distraught, and I am extremely apologetic about that, Lizzie, but it will help set you on the right track for mastering this," he warned.
"I need you to show me everything, I need you not to block me out, not to try to hide anything specific. If there is nothing left to hide, your mind won't preoccupy itself with hiding specifics, and it can focus on staying clear of everything. Do you understand this logic?" He asked. Lizzie nodded but was pale as a ghost.
"You don't need to worry about any repercussions or judgment from me about anything, I am as apprehensive as you are," he said reassuringly. "Are you ready to give it a go?" He asked. Lizzie trembled a little and stared at something across the room blankly for a moment but nodded and gripped her knees.
"Legilimens," she heard him say and her body felt like it shot backwards with an impossible force.
It started with Sirius, the good the bad, the old memories that had resurfaced from when she was little, when he passed through the veil, and when she spiraled in rage with Bellatrix. Then she was running after him, he became a dog, and the train platform flew by as she ran through the wall and away from something else entirely. She was younger and disheveled, scared and devoid of even the slightest bit of will. Confessional made her scratch the skin on her hands raw. The words out of the priest's mouth like a stake through the stomach. The way they looked at her trying not to throw up the poisoned sacrament, satisfaction in their eyes. Our fathers muffled into Hail Marys, quiet muttering of prayer resounded like an echo in the dark. The scratching on one tally, then two, then three, then four as days passed in the dark, face buried defeated in her knees. No room to stand up or sleep without being curled in a tight fetal position. She looked up at white eyes just inches from her face. The scratching continued as it carved words into the back of her hand during a detention with Umbridge. Laughing and criticism, being called a liar about the worst night of her life in that graveyard.
Like a bullet in reverse those eyes followed, back in the lake, in the maze, in the forest, across the railroad tracks, by the kitchen window. They belonged to a girl Lizzie would find rotting in the cupboard, or dug up outside, face down in the bath water, behind her in every mirror, hiding under the bed, watching every assault. Then, face down in a pool of blood in Bulgaria.
Dumbledore stopped. Lizzie was shaking violently, suddenly cold, her skin like ice.
Dumbledore didn't have words, he mouthed them but couldn't say anything. He sat watching Lizzie stare down at her knees, her hair hanging limply round her downcast face.
After a moment she muttered, "just - just keep going, if it'll get this over with..."
He hesitated but started again.
She was playing tennis, the steady motion of the ball hitting the racket resounded like a metronome and became the sound of leather on bare skin. The soft grunt she'd made whenever she narrowly hit the ball after darting across the court became the hoarse grunt of a man with a barely conscious little girl. What she remembered of most every assault, before her eyes weighed too heavy to keep them open, surfaced like a pipe had exploded in her mind. Just the memory of fighting the sedatives was enough to make her lose consciousness entirely.
Lizzie woke up on the sofa in Dumbledore's office. She was coddling a blanket and jolted up unsure of how long she'd been out.
Dumbledore looked up from something he had been writing. His eyes appeared swollen behind the half-moon spectacles.
"You collapsed," he said softly. "I don't have the heart to continue for tonight. I think we should try to continue next time. It is bridging the divide which is crucial. Lizzie, I'm so sorry," he explained weakly.
Lizzie nodded and rubbed feeling back into her face and arms. She struggled to stand. Dumbledore made his way over to help noticing a disconcerting silence, her heart raced, and her breathing quickened. Dumbledore held her tight in place with hands locked just below each of her shoulders. She wouldn't catch his eyes and blinked through a wave of tears.
"Lizzie, you are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for," he said in a commanding tone.
She shook her head. "So much weaker than anyone cares to acknowledge," she whispered with a broken voice.
"You are not weak," he insisted. "Not even a little bit," he whispered back. Lizzie shook her head still and reached for her things.
"I am going to have Tonks walk you back if that's alright?" He asked. Lizzie nodded absently. "She'll be here in a moment," he assured.
Lizzie walked back quietly with Tonks who appeared rather grim as well. "He alright?" Lizzie asked.
"Hm?" Tonks responded, obviously deep in thought.
"...Remus..." Lizzie said slowly, "he back?" She asked, but making words was suddenly difficult.
"No... no he's not. I don't... I haven't heard from him," she admitted reluctantly, watching worry spark across Lizzie's face.
"You alright, Liz?" Tonks asked.
"Yeah, I'm..." Lizzie couldn't finish her words. Tonks nodded, watching her face intently with sad eyes.
"Yeah," she said, "Night, Lizzie," Tonks squeezed her arm and headed off down the corridor.
Lizzie walked past Ron, Seamus, Neville, and Dean who each made an effort to get her attention. Ron grabbed her arm before she made it to the stairs to the dormitories and gestured for her to sit down.
"How was the thing?" He asked but noticed her absent-minded demeanor. "Didn't lobotomize you did he?" Ron chuckled.
"Something like that..." she said, but her mouth moved like it was numb.
"Lizzie?" He asked. The others looked between one another. "You good?"
Her eyelids were heavy again and the atmosphere of the memories still hovered in her brain. Lizzie closed her eyes around them. "Hey... sorry I bugged, head upstairs and turn in early, yeah?" Ron said, holding her shoulder and watching her eyes fade, but she keeled over so quickly Ron checked for a pulse, moving her into a more comfortable position.
"I guess everyone has an off switch?" Dean said.
"Not her... Lizzie never sleeps on her own will. Must have taken something I reckon. I'll tell Hermione to help her up..." he said nervously.
"Parvati, can you go find Hermione?" Ron asked when they were all turning in for the night. She nodded and went up to the dorm.
"What's going on?" Hermione said, coming down into the common room. Ron pointed to Lizzie.
"What's wrong with her?" She asked anxiously.
"She got back from Dumbledore's and is completely out of it, what the devil are the lessons anyway?" Ron asked.
"Occlumency I think... mainly...but it's probably a lot worse than last year after what happened..." she explained. "Liz..." she said softly, nudging her arm.
Lizzie was walking down the stairs at Privet Drive, her hand running the length of the banister, but she was getting smaller with each step down until she could only grip the spindles along the railing. She opened the door to the tiny little cupboard under the stairs and winced at the harsh clicking noise when it closed. She pushed on it but it wouldn't open. The light chain didn't work no matter how aggressively she pulled it. Time moved in slow motion.
Her hands started to get cold and clammy, then old and gray, and the skin flaked off like mold underneath infested drywall. She pulled out a mirror expecting to see Sirius staring back and saw her decaying face staring back with lifeless eyes. It smiled back at her and she touched the place her mouth should be on her face but there was nothing there.
Lizzie heard voices like a distant echo.
"What's wrong with her?...Occlumency... Dumbledore...Liz..." it all sounded muffled by marbles rolling around on hardwood floor. "Liz? Lizzie?" She heard more clearly. The cupboard opened and so did her eyes. Hermione was staring back, at first holding a hand out to grab and out of the dark room, but then she felt her arm on her shoulder rubbing her head carefully not to startle her.
Lizzie looked at her hands with weary eyes and registered she was in the common room.
"Are you alright? Was it occlumency?" Hermione asked. Lizzie sat up slightly on her elbow but didn't say anything.
Lizzie nodded, as she rubbed life and green back into her eyes. "I'm fine just give me a minute," she whispered.
"Did he give you something for sleep?" Hermione asked hopefully.
"No," she sniffed, trying to get up.
"You drink too much or something?" Ron asked.
"No, he um. I just..." she buried her hands in her hair and sat for several moments staring at the floor in silence.
"When was the first time you felt happy, do you remember?" She asked randomly.
"Um... no..." Ron said, confused. "Do you?"
"Yeah," she laughed breathlessly, ironing her face. "First cup of coffee...it was like waking up for the first time," she said dreamily.
"You like it so much because you don't sleep?" Ron asked, confused.
"No... I spent most of my life dead asleep. It was the only thing that kept me awake," she said, her voice a little broken with a lingering disconcerting absentness that made the others nervous.