Chapter 60: The House of Gaunt
September 7, 2003
Just after dinner Buffy was watching as Dawn and Ginny sparred. She could hear the younger girl panting as Ginny's feet moved a bit as she pressed her heels into the ground to keep her balance.
"Getting tired, Ginny?" Dawn asked with amusement as she took her stance and bent her knees, holding her fists up in front of her to defend herself.
"You wish," Ginny smiled faintly before she gave her girlfriend a mocking wink. "Come get me, Dawn."
It happened in a matter of seconds. Dawn ran at Ginny and began swiping her fists at her girlfriend, hitting into Ginny's arm as Ginny moved her arms, blocking Dawn.
Ginny dipped down and swung her leg across Dawn's ankles, making Dawn fall back before she was hopping back onto her feet. Ginny wiped her brow and dodged Dawn once more before taking her arm and swinging Dawn over her head, hitting her back on the mat that Buffy had conjured.
Ginny looked down at Dawn and grinned. "I won that one."
"You always will," said Dawn as she pushed up at Ginny with a fiery swing.
Ginny jumped back easily and landed on her feet, grinning.
"Okay guys," said Buffy. "That's enough for tonight. Ginny that was good for your first sparring match."
"It helps having older brothers teasing you for half your life," said Ginny as she helped Dawn to her feet. "Learned how to move to avoid them."
"I was right about partnering you two," said Buffy. "In the field I can tell you both would be able to coordinate easily." She then looked to her sister. "Dawn, we should be getting Harry and Willow. We have a half an hour till Albus' lesson."
"Do you think Professor Dumbledore would let me come with you?" asked Ginny.
"I'll ask," said Buffy. "I can't promise anything though, Ginny. It depends exactly what his lessons entail."
"But since I am a Slayer and I intend to stand next to Dawn…" said Ginny.
"And that's why I'll ask," said Buffy.
0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0
At eight pm, Dawn, Buffy, Willow and Harry reached the spot in the seventh-floor corridor where the gargoyle stood against the wall.
"Acid Pops," said Buffy, and the gargoyle leapt aside; the wall behind it slid apart, and a moving spiral stone staircase was revealed, onto which they stepped, so that they were carried in smooth circles up to the door with the brass knocker that led to Dumbledore's office.
Buffy knocked.
"Come in," said Dumbledore's voice.
"Evening, Albus," Buffy and Willow said as they walked into the headmaster's office.
"Good evening, Professor," added Dawn and Harry.
"Ah, good evening, Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Harry. Sit down," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I hope you all had an enjoyable first week back?"
"Yes," they all said.
"Now Dawn," said Dumbledore. "Buffy informed me that you have a detention with Professor Snape. I have arranged for it to take place next Saturday instead."
"Thanks, Professor," said Dawn.
"Albus," said Buffy, "before we get started. Ginny would like to be included. She was called as a Slayer during Willow and Dawn's spell and because of her relationship with Dawn, she is adamant about standing beside Dawn in everything. I told her I would ask."
"Hmm," said Dumbledore. "While these lessons deal mainly with your family. Let me ask you, Dawn, where do you see your relationship with Ms. Weasley going?"
"If we're still dating by the time I graduate, I intend to propose," admitted Dawn.
"As I thought," said Dumbledore as he smiled at Dawn. He looked back at Buffy. "Since Ms. Weasley is a Slayer, and since Dawn is important to her and she to Dawn. I will give my consent for her to attend future lessons." He then took on a businesslike voice. "I'm sure you all have been wondering, I am sure, what I have planned for you all during these lessons?"
"Yes, Albus," Buffy said.
"Well, I have decided that it is time, for you all to be given certain information. From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in I may be as woefully wrong as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."
"But you think you're right?" said Harry.
"Naturally I do, but as I have already proven, I make mistakes like the next man. In fact, being—forgive me—rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."
"Sir," said Harry tentatively, "does what you're going to tell us, will it help me… survive?"
"It will deal with the prophecy," said Dumbledore, "and I certainly hope that it will help you to survive."
Dumbledore got to his feet and walked around the desk, past Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Harry, who turned to watch Dumbledore bending over the cabinet beside the door. When Dumbledore straightened up, he was holding a stone basin etched with odd markings around its rim. He placed the Pensieve on the desk in front of them.
"I am aware three of you have never entered a Pensieve," said Dumbledore looking at Buffy, Dawn and Harry. "No worries you will enter with me and Harry."
"What is it we will be seeing?" Willow asked. She and Harry were the only ones of the group who had entered a Pensieve. For her it had been during the summer after Tara had died. Dumbledore had showed her his memories of his sister so that she would know that she was not alone in regards to losing someone that was loved.
"For a trip down Bob Ogden's memory lane," said Dumbledore, pulling from his pocket a crystal bottle containing a swirling silvery-white substance.
"Who was Bob Ogden?" Willow asked.
"He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Dumbledore. "He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. If you all will stand…"
Dumbledore was having difficulty pulling out the stopper of the crystal bottle: His injured hand seemed stiff and painful.
Buffy held out her hand and he smiled at her grateful of the offer. "No matter, Buffy—" he said as he pointed his wand at the bottle and the cork flew out.
"Sir—how did you injure your hand?" Harry asked, looking at the blackened fingers with a mixture of revulsion and pity.
"Now is not the moment for that story. Not yet. We have an appointment with Bob Ogden." Dumbledore said as he tipped the silvery contents of the bottle into the Pensieve, where they swirled and shimmered, neither liquid nor gas.
"After you four," said Dumbledore, gesturing toward the bowl.
Willow bent forward, took a deep breath, and plunged her face into the silvery substance. She felt her feet leave the office floor; she was falling, falling through whirling darkness and then, quite suddenly, she was blinking in dazzling sunlight. Before her eyes had adjusted, Dumbledore, Harry, Dawn and Buffy landed beside her.
They were standing in a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a summer sky as bright and blue as a forget-me-not. Some ten feet in front of them stood a short, plump man reading a wooden signpost,
Ogden set off at a brisk walk down the lane. Buffy and Dawn led the away after him.
They passed a wooden sign that read: GREAT HANGLETON, 5 MILES. The arm pointing after Ogden said LITTLE HANGLETON, 1 MILE.
They walked a short way with nothing to see but the hedgerows, the wide blue sky overhead and the Ogden. The lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside, so that they had a sudden, unexpected view of a whole valley laid out in front of them and the village, Little Hangleton, nestled between two steep hills,
The lane curved to the right and when they rounded the corner, it was to see the very edge of Ogden's coat vanishing through a gap in the hedge.
They followed him onto a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. The track soon opened up at a copse, and they came to a halt behind Ogden, who had stopped and drawn his wand.
Buffy and Dawn were the first to see the building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks thanks to their Slayer improved eyesight. One of the windows was thrown open with a clatter, and a thin trickle of steam or smoke issued from it, as though somebody was cooking.
Ogden moved forward quietly. As the dark shadows of the trees slid over him, he stopped again, staring at the front door, to which somebody had nailed a dead snake.
Then there was a rustle and a crack, and a man in rags dropped from the nearest tree, landing on his feet right in front of Ogden, who leapt backward so fast he stood on the tails of his frock coat and stumbled.
"You're not welcome."
"Er—good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic—" said Ogden.
"You're not welcome."
"Er—I'm sorry—I don't understand you," said Ogden nervously.
"You understand him, I'm sure, Harry?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"Yes, of course," said Harry, slightly nonplussed. "He's speaking Parseltongue?"
"Very good," said Dumbledore, nodding and smiling.
"I can understand him," said Dawn as they all looked at her shocked.
"What?" Buffy said as she looked at Dumbledore.
"I believe I understand," said Dumbledore. "You told me that beings of serpent construction can perceive the Key."
"That's right," Harry said with realization. "That's why Dawn can understand him. It's part of the powers she gets from the Key."
"I believe you are correct, Harry," said Dumbledore.
"Then I think Willow and I would like it if you two would translate," Buffy said.
The man in rags was now advancing on Ogden, knife in one hand, wand in the other.
"Now, look—" Ogden began, but too late: There was a bang, and Ogden was on the ground, clutching his nose, while a nasty yellowish goo squirted from between his fingers.
"Morfin!" said a loud voice.
An elderly man had come hurrying out of the cottage, banging the door behind him so that the dead snake swung pathetically. He came to a halt beside the man with the knife, who was now cackling with laughter at the sight of Ogden on the ground.
"Ministry, is it?" said the older man, looking down at Ogden.
"Correct!" said Ogden angrily, dabbing his face. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?"
"S'right," said Gaunt. "Got you in the face, did he?"
"Yes, he did!" snapped Ogden.
"Should've made your presence known, shouldn't you?" said Gaunt aggressively. "This is private property. Can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."
"Defend himself against what, man?" said Ogden, clambering back to his feet.
"Busybodies. Intruders. Muggles and filth."
Ogden pointed his wand at his own nose, which was still issuing large amounts of what looked like yellow pus, and the flow stopped at once.
Mr. Gaunt spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Morfin. "Get in the house. Don't argue."
Morfin seemed to be on the point of disagreeing, but when his father cast him a threatening look he changed his mind, lumbering away to the cottage with an odd rolling gait and slamming the front door behind him, so that the snake swung sadly again.
"It's your son I'm here to see, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, as he mopped the last of the pus from the front of his coat. "That was Morfin, wasn't it?"
"Ar, that was Morfin," said the old man indifferently. "Are you pureblood?" he asked, suddenly aggressive.
"That's neither here nor there," said Ogden coldly.
Apparently Gaunt felt rather differently. He squinted into Ogden's face and muttered, in what was clearly supposed to be an offensive tone, "Now I come to think about it, I've seen noses like yours down in the village."
"I don't doubt it, if your son's been let loose on them," said Ogden.
"Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"
"Inside?"
"Yes, Mr. Gaunt. I've already told you. I'm here about Morfin. We sent an owl—"
"I've no use for owls," said Gaunt. "I don't open letters."
"Then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors," said Ogden tartly. "I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law, which occurred here in the early hours of this morning—"
"All right, all right, all right!" bellowed Gaunt. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!"
The house seemed to contain three tiny rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as kitchen and living room combined. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue.
There was a scuffling noise in the corner beside the open window, Buffy and Dawn saw a girl in a ragged gray. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove.
"If this weren't a memory," Buffy said.
"You would want to get her out of here," said Willow as she smiled at her wife. "She's much like Harry was when you found him."
"Exactly," said Buffy.
"M'daughter, Merope," said Gaunt grudgingly, as Ogden looked inquiringly toward her.
"Good morning," said Ogden.
She did not answer, but with a frightened glance at her father turned her back to what she had been doing.
"Well, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, "to get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night."
There was a deafening clang. Merope had dropped a pot.
"Pick it up!" Gaunt bellowed at her. "That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle, what's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"
"Mr. Gaunt, please!" said Ogden in a shocked voice, as Merope, who had already picked up the pot, flushed blotchily scarlet, lost her grip on the pot again, drew her wand shakily from her pocket, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her, hit the opposite wall, and crack in two.
Morfin let out a mad cackle of laughter. Gaunt screamed, "Mend it, you pointless lump, mend it!"
Merope stumbled across the room, but before she had time to raise her wand, Ogden had lifted his own and said firmly, "Reparo." The pot mended itself instantly.
Gaunt looked for a moment as though he was going to shout at Ogden, but seemed to think better of it: Instead, he jeered at his daughter, "Lucky the nice man from the Ministry's here, isn't it? Perhaps he'll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn't mind dirty Squibs…"
Merope picked up the pot and returned it, hands trembling, to its shelf. She then stood quite still, her back against the wall between the filthy window and the stove, as though she wished for nothing more than to sink into the stone and vanish.
"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden began again, "as I've said: the reason for my visit—"
"I heard you the first time!" snapped Gaunt. "And so, what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him—what about it, then?"
"Morfin has broken Wizarding law," said Ogden sternly.
"'Morfin has broken Wizarding law.'" Gaunt imitated Ogden's voice, making it pompous and singsong. Morfin cackled again. "He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson, that's illegal now, is it?"
"Yes," said Ogden. "I'm afraid it is." He pulled from an inside pocket a small scroll of parchment and unrolled it.
"What's that, then, his sentence?" said Gaunt, his voice rising angrily.
"It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing—"
"Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?"
"I'm Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," said Ogden.
"And you think we're scum, do you?" screamed Gaunt, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. "Scum who'll come running when the Ministry tells 'em to? Do you know who you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?
"I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, looking wary, but standing his ground.
"That's right!" roared Gaunt as he showed Ogden the ugly, black-stoned ring he was wearing on his middle finger, waving it before Ogden's eyes. "See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"
"Peverell?" Buffy said. "Are you telling me this man is related to us?"
"Distantly," said Dumbledore. "Yours is a more direct claim. But he too had a claim."
"I've really no idea," said Ogden, blinking as the ring sailed within an inch of his nose, "and it's quite beside the point, Mr. Gaunt. Your son has committed—"
With a howl of rage, Gaunt ran toward his daughter. He dragged her toward Ogden by a gold chain around her neck.
"See this?" he bellowed at Ogden, shaking a heavy gold locket at him, while Merope spluttered and gasped for breath.
"I see it, I see it!" said Ogden hastily.
"Slytherin's!" yelled Gaunt. "Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?"
"Mr. Gaunt, your daughter!" said Ogden in alarm, but Gaunt had already released Merope; she staggered away from him, back to her corner, massaging her neck and gulping for air.
"So!" said Gaunt triumphantly, as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all possible dispute. "Don't you go talking to us as if we're dirt on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all—more than you can say, I don't doubt!"
And he spat on the floor at Ogden's feet. Morfin cackled again. Merope, huddled beside the window, her head bowed and her face hidden by her lank hair, said nothing.
"Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden doggedly, "I am afraid that neither your ancestors nor mine have anything to do with the matter in hand. I am here because of Morfin, Morfin and the Muggle he accosted late last night. Our information" —he glanced down at his scroll of parchment— "is that Morfin performed a jinx or hex on said Muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives."
Morfin giggled.
"Be quiet, boy," snarled Gaunt in Parseltongue, and Morfin fell silent again.
"And so, what if he did, then?" Gaunt said defiantly to Ogden. "I expect you've wiped the Muggle's filthy face clean for him, and his memory to boot—"
"That's hardly the point, is it, Mr. Gaunt?" said Ogden. "This was an unprovoked attack on a defenseless—"
"Ar, I had you marked out as a Muggle-lover the moment I saw you," sneered Gaunt, and he spat on the floor again.
"This discussion is getting us nowhere," said Ogden firmly. "It is clear from your son's attitude that he feels no remorse for his actions." He glanced down at his scroll of parchment again. "Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a Muggle and causing harm and distress to that same Mugg—"
Ogden broke off. The jingling, clopping sounds of horses and loud, laughing voices were drifting in through the open window.
"My God, what an eyesore!" rang out a girl's voice, as clearly audible through the open window as if she had stood in the room beside them. "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"
"It's not ours," said a young man's voice. "Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt, and his children. The son's quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village—"
The girl laughed. The jingling, clopping noises were growing louder and louder. Morfin made to get out of his armchair.
"Keep your seat," said his father warningly, in Parseltongue.
"Tom," said the girl's voice again, now so close they were clearly right beside the house, "I might be wrong—but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?"
"Good lord, you're right!" said the man's voice. "That'll be the son, I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling."
The jingling and clopping sounds were now growing fainter again.
"'Darling,'" whispered Morfin in Parseltongue, looking at his sister. "'Darling,' he called her. So, he wouldn't have you anyway."
"What's that?" said Gaunt sharply, also in Parseltongue, looking from his son to his daughter. "What did you say, Morfin?"
"She likes looking at that Muggle," said Morfin, a vicious expression on his face as he stared at his sister, who now looked terrified. "Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him, isn't she? And last night—"
Merope shook her head jerkily, imploringly, but Morfin went on ruthlessly, "Hanging out of the window waiting for him to ride home, wasn't she?"
"Hanging out of the window to look at a Muggle?" said Gaunt quietly.
All three of the Gaunts seemed to have forgotten Ogden, who was looking both bewildered and irritated at this renewed outbreak of incomprehensible hissing and rasping.
"Is it true?" said Gaunt in a deadly voice, advancing a step or two toward the terrified girl. "My daughter —pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin—hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined Muggle?"
Merope shook her head frantically, pressing herself into the wall, apparently unable to speak.
"But I got him, Father!" cackled Morfin. "I got him as he went by and he didn't look so pretty with hives all over him, did he, Merope?"
"You disgusting little Squib, you filthy little blood traitor!" roared Gaunt, losing control, and his hands closed around his daughter's throat.
"No!" Ogden yelled as he raised his wand and cried, "Relashio!"
Gaunt was thrown backward, away from his daughter; he tripped over a chair and fell flat on his back. With a roar of rage, Morfin leapt out of his chair and ran at Ogden, brandishing his bloody knife and firing hexes indiscriminately from his wand.
Ogden ran for his life. Dumbledore indicated that they ought to follow.
Ogden hurtled up the path and erupted onto the main lane, his arms over his head, where he collided with the glossy chestnut horse ridden by a very handsome, dark-haired young man. Both he and the pretty girl riding beside him on a gray horse roared with laughter at the sight of Ogden, who bounced off the horse's flank and set off again, his frock coat flying, covered from head to foot in dust, running pell-mell up the lane.
"I think that will do," said Dumbledore. He took Harry and motioned to Willow who took Buffy and Dawn by the elbow. Dumbledore and Willow tugged and the next moment, they were soaring weightlessly through darkness, until they landed squarely on their feet, back in Dumbledore's now twilit office.
"What happened to the girl in the cottage?" said Buffy at once, as Dumbledore lit extra lamps with a flick of his wand.
"Oh, she survived," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk and indicating that Harry, Dawn, Buffy and Willow should sit down too. "Ogden Apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within fifteen minutes. Morfin and his father attempted to fight, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage, and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo, who had injured several Ministry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months."
"Marvolo?" Harry repeated as he looked at Buffy and Dawn.
"His middle name," Buffy said.
"That's right," said Dumbledore, smiling in approval.
"That means that the old man was …" Buffy said.
"Voldemort's grandfather, yes," said Dumbledore. "Marvolo, his son, Morfin, and his daughter, Merope, were the last of the Gaunts, a very ancient Wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations due to their habit of marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense coupled with a great liking for grandeur meant that the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty temper, a fantastic amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter."
"So, Merope," said Harry, "so Merope was… Sir, does that mean she was… Voldemort's mother?"
"It does," said Dumbledore. "And it so happens that we also had a glimpse of Voldemort's father. I wonder whether you noticed?"
"The man the girl called Tom," Dawn said. "The one that Morfin attacked."
"Yes, that was Tom Riddle senior, the handsome Muggle who used to go riding past the Gaunt cottage and for whom Merope Gaunt cherished a secret, burning passion."
"And they ended up married?" Harry said in disbelief.
"She used a love potion didn't she," said Dawn. "She used it so he would forget the girl."
"Very good, Dawn," said Dumbledore. "I am sure it would have seemed more romantic to her, and I do not think it would have been very difficult, some hot day, when Riddle was riding alone, to persuade him to take a drink of water. In any case, within a few months of the scene we have just witnessed, the village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a tremendous scandal."
"You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire's son ran off with the tramp's daughter, Merope. But the villagers' shock was nothing to Marvolo's. He returned from Azkaban, expecting to find his daughter dutifully awaiting his return with a hot meal ready on his table. Instead, he found a clear inch of dust and her note of farewell, explaining what she had done."
"From all that I have been able to discover, he never mentioned her name or existence from that time forth. The shock of her desertion may have contributed to his early death—or perhaps he had simply never learned to feed himself. Azkaban had greatly weakened Marvolo, and he did not live to see Morfin return to the cottage."
"And Merope?" Willow asked. "She died. Harry said Voldemort had been brought up in an orphanage?"
"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore. "We must do a certain amount of guessing here, although I do not think it is difficult to deduce what happened. You see, within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor house in Little Hangleton without his wife. The rumor flew around the neighborhood that he was talking of being 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in.' What he meant, I am sure, is that he had been under an enchantment that had now lifted, though I daresay he did not dare use those precise words for fear of being thought insane. When they heard what he was saying, however, the villagers guessed that Merope had lied to Tom Riddle, pretending that she was going to have his baby, and that he had married her for this reason."
"But she did have his baby," said Harry.
"But not until a year after they were married. Tom Riddle left her while she was still pregnant."
"What went wrong?" asked Harry. "Why did the love potion stop working?"
"Again, this is guesswork," said Dumbledore, "but I believe that Merope, who was deeply in love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. I believe that she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby's sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son."
The sky outside was inky black and the lamps in Dumbledore's office seemed to glow more brightly than before.
"I think that will do for tonight," said Dumbledore after a moment or two.
Harry, Dawn and Willow got up. They noticed that Buffy had not joined them.
"Albus, the ring," said Buffy. "I recognized it. You were wearing it the day we visited Slughorn."
"So I was," Dumbledore agreed.
"That ring belongs to my family," said Buffy. "As much as to his."
"There is more to discuss on that topic, Buffy," said Dumbledore.
"Sir," Dawn said, "the ring caused what happened to your hand didn't it?"
"Very astute, Dawn," observed Dumbledore. "It did." He looked at Buffy. "And that is why I said there is more to discuss later on that topic."
