Occlumency lessons were more than a bit strained after that. Snape kept his word to Dumbledore and continued to teach the trio all he knew about the art, but that didn't mean he wasn't extremely tense every time he trained his wand on one of them, especially Draco. For his part, Draco never again mentioned the incident after that first night, but only a well-placed Obliviate could make him forget what he'd seen, and it was a weighty secret to keep.
That wasn't to say that the lessons weren't effective, however – Draco, of course, had demonstrated his ability to resist Legilimency in the first session, and Hermione was showing signs of improvement as well. Harry still had quite a bit of trouble once Snape actually cast the spell, but he was at least now able to clear his mind effectively, and that was a start.
One morning in late October, Harry, Hermione, and Draco received another summons, this one from Dumbledore. The headmaster requested that the trio meet him in his office that evening at eight, and they passed the day in anxious anticipation – maybe Dumbledore was finally ready to discuss the rings. After a quick dinner and a sparring session in the Room of Requirement to calm their nerves, the teenagers made their way to Dumbledore's office.
"Fizzing Whizbees," Harry said, giving the password suggested by the letter. The gargoyle obediently sprang to the side to allow them access to the moving spiral staircase, and Harry couldn't help fidgeting a little as they rode to the top. Not wanting to wait another minute, he reached out and knocked on the door.
"Come in." They obeyed and stepped into the office, waiting for further cues.
"Ah, yes, of course. Good evening, Mr. Potter. Mr. Black, Miss Granger." Fawkes the phoenix, who sat on his perch next to Dumbledore's desk, gave a little chirrup in greeting.
"Good evening, Professor," Harry replied. "You wanted to see us?"
"I did," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. "Do have a seat. Sherbet lemon?" He gestured to a small bowl on the edge of his desk. When the teenagers politely declined, he merely shrugged before choosing one of the candies for himself.
"Now I suppose you're wondering why I called you three here tonight," Dumbledore began.
"Does it have to do with the rings, sir?" Hermione asked eagerly. Her expression changed to one of disappointment as Dumbledore shook his head.
"Not tonight, my dear. Until we can determine the ring wearers' identities, I cannot see another reason to discuss them – they are all here and safe, and that is an important first step. No, I called you here to discuss something else – Tom Riddle's past."
"His past?" Harry repeated, looking confused. "What do you mean, Professor?"
"Know your enemy, Harry – I'm sure you're familiar with the idea? Yes? Good. Then because there is so little we know about the one who calls himself Lord Voldemort, I'm sure you'll agree that every detail we do know could be extremely important?"
"What do you know, sir?" Draco asked. "And why are you suggesting sharing that knowledge with us, specifically? Wouldn't it be better to share it with the Order?"
"Ah, but there you are mistaken, Mr. Black," Dumbledore said. "While it is good for the Order to know some things, I believe that these particular details are more beneficial in your hands. The Sorting Hat's prophecy mentions 'the Chosen One', just as Professor Trelawney's prediction speaks of the one person with the power to bring Voldemort down."
"Could you remind us of that one, Professor?" Hermione asked. "We've been so focused on the Sorting Hat's words as of late, and I was still Petrified when you told the boys about the other prophecy."
"Certainly, Miss Granger." Dumbledore then removed an elaborate stone Pensieve from the cabinet behind his desk, along with a small vial containing a silvery substance they recognized as a memory. He deposited the strand into the bowl, and a misty figure emerged. Though Harry no longer took Divination and Draco and Hermione had never taken it in the first place, they all recognized Professor Trelawney's oversized spectacles and many gauzy shawls. The figure blinked up at them for a moment, then spoke:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord has arrived in Wizarding Britain. In the darkest hour just before dawn, he will join forces with legends of old, and when the smoke clears, the final score shall be known."
"And there you are," Dumbledore said as memory-Trelawney vanished. "Given that both prophecies mention legends and a single chosen individual, I think it is safe to guess that the two are linked. Though the prophecy doesn't name names, it's also safe to say that Harry is 'the Chosen One' – we've discussed this before, I believe; Voldemort has heard the second prophecy thanks to a spy who was present the night Professor Trelawney first spoke it, and though he could have gone after any number of candidates, he selected Harry as the biggest threat. Why he chose Harry is anyone's guess, but there's no going back now – Harry is the sole answer to that particular riddle. This means that while the Order can certainly help, you are the ones who need this information most."
"Because I'm the one who will ultimately have to face off against him," Harry concluded, trying to suppress a shudder. Technically, he already had faced off against Voldemort, in the Chamber of Secrets – he and Ginny had barely made it out alive, and that Voldemort had only been a memory…
"In so many words, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "Though of course there is no reason you need do so alone – you will have the rings' power to help you, for one, and of course the Order and any others dedicated to the cause. For now, however, we must prepare, and I think now is the time to take a little trip down Memory Lane – if we learn all we can about Tom Riddle's past, it might help us understand his motives for the present and future." He returned the memory of Trelawney's prophecy to its proper vial, then uncorked a second one and poured it into the basin.
"This is the memory of one Bob Ogden, who used to work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. On the date in question, he was paying a visit to a Mr. Marvolo Gaunt. Are you ready?" The trio nodded, and Dumbledore transported them into the Pensieve.
Once they'd adjusted to the unexpected sunlight, they found themselves in the company of a man who could only be a wizard – he'd attempted to dress in Muggle clothing, but the extremely odd ensemble he'd chosen suggested that he had little to no experience in the Muggle world. He was standing in the middle of a wide road, intently studying a signpost.
"Mr. Bob Ogden," Dumbledore said by way of explanation. Nodding at the signpost, Odgen began walking down a side path they hadn't noticed before, the vegetation growing steadily wilder as his hidden visitors followed. Finally, they reached a house – if it could even be called a house. 'Shack', or even 'hovel', would have been a much more appropriate word – the place was decrepit and in danger of collapsing, the gnarled old tree shrouding it in shadow looked very much dead, and the yard looked like it hadn't been maintained in years, if ever. Most disturbing of all was the large snake secured to the front door by a rusty nail.
"Ministry of Magic!" Bob Ogden called, clearly trying to mask the unease in his voice. "Open up!"
The two men that lived in the house were even more disturbing than the house itself – their clothes were threadbare and dirty, their hair shaggy and unkempt, and their dark eyes shone with distrust and even hatred towards the official on their front stoop. They both held wands, and the taller of the two also had a short, bloodstained knife.
"You're not welcome here," the shorter man said. He looked much older than his companion – Harry guessed at a father-son relationship, although the two men were so filthy it was hard to tell if there was any sort of familial resemblance at all.
"I'm here on official Ministry business," Ogden replied curtly. "Surely you received our owl informing you of the visit?"
"I don't open letters," the man said with a disinterested shrug.
"Well, that explains some things, Mr.…Gaunt, was it? Mr. Gaunt, I am here about a serious breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"
"Suit yourself," Mr. Gaunt said, shrugging again. He stepped aside to allow Ogden to pass through the front door – Ogden executed a rather odd maneuver in order to do so, desperate as he was to stay as far away as possible from the younger man's wicked looking blade. Harry and the others followed with ease, Hermione eying the dead snake on the door with much trepidation.
"Alright, what did you want?" Gaunt said gruffly.
"Mr. Gaunt, the Ministry received word that your son Morfin used magic in front of a Muggle in the early hours of this morning," Ogden said sternly. "This is a serious breach of-"
Whatever he intended to say was cut off as a loud clatter echoed through the house. Harry could see into the kitchen from where he stood, and he saw that the noise had been made by a large pot falling to the floor. Standing beside it, looking more afraid than anyone he'd ever seen before, was a girl, in her late teens if Harry had to hazard a guess. Her dark hair hung lank and dull around her shoulders, she was almost dangerously thin, and she looked like she wanted nothing more than to melt right into the floor and never be seen again.
"My daughter," Gaunt said. He then turned on the girl and shouted, "What are you waiting for, you stupid girl?" The girl bent low to pick up the fallen pot, causing her father to flush angrily.
"Acting like a filthy Muggle again – what's the matter with your wand?" When the girl tried to rectify her mistake, however, the pot sailed across the room and shattered.
"Useless, pathetic little whelp!" her father roared as his son began cackling with mad laughter.
"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden began, but it seemed like the Gaunts were no longer focused on their unexpected guest, but rather on the girl's unfortunate shortcomings.
"Descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself!" the elder Gaunt was saying, advancing on his daughter and yanking on a gold chain previously hidden by her long hair. "Generations of pureblood wizards, and it all ends with nothing but a dirty Squib!"
"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said again. "Your son-"
"My son gave that blasted Muggle exactly what he deserved," Gaunt snapped, releasing his grasp on the chain. His daughter fell to the floor, gasping for air, and they could all see the shiny golden locket hanging heavy against her breast. "That Riddle thinks he's so high and mighty, parading around like he owns the whole damn town – I don't care if he owns all of England; he's still a disgusting Muggle, and you're clearly no better, defending him, you scum-"
"Mr. Gaunt, that's enough-"
"Get out of my house, you pathetic excuse for a wizard! Do you know who I am? We're the last remaining descendants of Salazar Slytherin!" Ogden decided that pointing out he'd already heard Gaunt say so when the older man had been shouting at his daughter was a bit pointless – Gaunt was spitting mad.
"That locket – it's his! And this!" He shoved his fist into Ogden's face, showcasing the rather ugly ring he wore. "Been in the family for centuries, and with the Peverell coat of arms! I don't give a rat's arse about that damn Muggle, and since you clearly do, you will get out of my house!" Gaunt's voice continued to rise in volume as he spoke, and Ogden backed towards the door, clearly frightened.
"But he must attend a hearing-"
Ogden was interrupted once more, this time by the sound of horses' hooves on the path outside.
"Ugh! Darling, is that a snake nailed to that door?"
"I told you last night that the Gaunts are bad news, Cecilia my love. And you know, unfortunately, that we can't do anything about their being here…"
"I don't like it here, Tom, not at all – must we linger?"
"No, dearest, I quite agree. Let's hurry on, then, shall we?"
As the riders' conversation concluded, Morfin turned to his sister and hissed, his eyes glinting maliciously.
"Er…Professor?" Harry asked, very confused.
"I'll explain in a minute, Harry," Dumbledore replied. Whatever was going on, it didn't look good – the elder Gaunt now looked nearly apoplectic with rage, and he lunged towards his daughter.
"No!" Ogden shouted, but the scene quickly dissolved into chaos, and the Ministry official was forced to flee when Morfin turned on him, murder in his eyes. Odgen raced from the house without another word, nearly barreling right into the horses still stationed on the path. The two people sitting on those horses laughed heartily at the unfortunate man's strange attire, but they urged their horses into a brisk trot as soon as Morfin's face appeared at the door. The scene ended just as the Gaunt girl screamed, and the teenagers tumbled to the floor back in Dumbledore's office.
"My apologies," Dumbledore said as they scrambled to their feet and collapsed into their chairs once more.
"That girl," Hermione managed, still gasping for breath. "What happened to that poor girl?"
"She survived, if that's what you're asking, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said. "Ogden returned with reinforcements from the Ministry, and they managed to overpower her father and brother, both of whom were sentenced to time in Azkaban."
"Ok, so these Gaunts are related to Slytherin, and the Peverells," Harry said.
"You've heard of the Peverells?" Dumbledore asked, just as Draco said, "Who are the Peverells?"
"That old grave I told you about from Godric's Hollow," Harry reminded his brother. "Sirius and I saw a performance of 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' while we were there, and Patrick O'Malley explained that some people think the brothers of the tale are the Peverells, the youngest of whom is buried in the village cemetery."
"Good, very good," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling again. "The Peverells may indeed play an important role in this tale when all is said and done, but that is a discussion for another day. Did you, perhaps, catch the name of the Muggle Morfin cursed?" The teenagers paused for a moment, thinking hard, before Hermione gasped.
"Riddle," she said. "He called him Riddle. You don't mean…"
"One and the same," Dumbledore said. "The Riddles' mansion is located just outside of Little Hangleton, and the young man you saw on the horse was, in fact, Tom Riddle Senior."
"Voldemort's father," Harry breathed. "I thought he looked sort of familiar…" He recalled the young man's face, then thought of the diary-Voldemort he'd seen in his second year. The resemblance was almost uncanny.
"So the girl on the other horse – was that his mother?" Draco asked.
"No," Hermione said immediately. "It couldn't be – he's a half-blood, remember? One of his parents had Wizarding blood."
"But then, who -"
"Wait a minute…didn't Mr. Ogden say the elder Gaunt's name was Marvolo?"
"But then that would mean…no…" The teenagers stared at each other in disbelief, then looked to their headmaster for an explanation.
"Your conjectures are not incorrect," he said quietly. "Marvolo Gaunt was indeed Voldemort's grandfather, and his daughter, Merope – the girl in the kitchen – was his mother." They were silent for a long moment.
"But…how?" Harry finally asked. "Maybe I misheard, but I thought Riddle made it pretty clear to his lady friend there what he thought of the Gaunts…"
"It is true he thought none too kindly of them, yes," Dumbledore agreed, steepling his long fingers and resting his chin on them. "Both father and son were ruthless, cruel, and caused more than their fair share of trouble, both in the village and out. Most people didn't even know Merope existed – as you could see, Marvolo didn't take kindly to having such a magically weak daughter, and she kept her head down out of self preservation, I think."
"What was going on at the end there?" Hermione questioned. "It sounded like they were hissing at each other."
"That's exactly what you would hear, Miss Granger – you, and anyone else who cannot speak Parseltongue. It was a trait Salazar Slytherin himself possessed, and all three of the Gaunts were gifted with it as well. I myself did not understand either, and so I tracked down a special translation spell – I shan't bore you with the entire conversation, but in essence, Merope secretly longed for her handsome Muggle neighbor, and her brother caught her watching him ride by on several occasions. Morfin hexed Riddle to get back at his sister, and the conversation you witnessed was Morfin revealing his sister's affections to their father – who, as I'm sure you surmised, was furious. Believe me when I say that his language is not worth repeating."
"I still don't understand how they – Riddle and Merope, that is – ended up together," Harry said. "Obviously they had to at some point, or Voldemort wouldn't exist at all."
"And wouldn't that be a shame," Draco muttered sarcastically. Dumbledore chuckled.
"Don't we all wish that, Mr. Black. As both people in question died long ago, we are looking more into the realm of speculation than fact, but the Muggle villagers insisted that young Riddle had to be under some sort of spell when they found out he'd run off with Merope Gaunt, of all people – and though they obviously wouldn't have known any better, it's highly possible that that was the case. The most probable candidates are the Imperius Curse or a love potion, and my guess would be the latter – we saw from the memories that Merope's skills with a wand left much to be desired, poor girl, and she probably would have felt the love potion route to be much more romantic anyway. However she did it, it was mere months after the incident we just witnessed that both she and Riddle were gone, and she fell pregnant not long after that."
"What happened then?" Draco asked. "I have a feeling this story didn't have a happy ending, especially since we know Voldemort deeply resents his father."
"Well, he could always harbor that resentment simply because of his father's heritage," Dumbledore said. "You are right, however – this story's ending is far from happy. Young Riddle returned to the village a few months later, alone, and Merope was never seen again. As I told you, most of this is merely conjecture, but I believe that Merope loved her husband deeply and could no longer bear the thought of forcing him to love her in return. So she stopped administering the potion – or whichever method she'd chosen – and told him the truth, and he abandoned her for it. Merope was very ill indeed when she stumbled into the orphanage where Voldemort was born, and she only lived long enough to name the child – Tom for his father, Marvolo for his grandfather. Voldemort, of course, learned all of this much later, and it wasn't long after that that all three Riddles – Tom Riddle Senior, plus his parents – turned up dead under mysterious circumstances."
"Such a terrible story," Hermione murmured. Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"Indeed it is, Miss Granger. If I recall, Professor Slughorn showed you a number of potions on your first day, including Amortentia – what he may or may not have told you is that it was probably the most dangerous of all the potions in his classroom that day. Too many people underestimate love, and too many people pay a steep sacrifice because of it – Voldemort was conceived in a loveless marriage, the manufactured love of the potion unable to come even close to the real thing, and whether this a byproduct of that or not, he neither desires nor understands true affection. Oh, he has plenty of followers, yes, but he doesn't truly care about anyone – he doesn't know how."
"That's really quite sad," Harry said softly. "I almost feel sorry for him." Dumbledore looked up.
"Almost?" he asked.
"Well…he is trying to kill me, Professor."
"Very true – sympathy does tend to limit itself in such cases. However, you now at least understand where he is coming from, and that, I think, will be a very important asset in the future."
"Can we tell anyone about what we know, sir?" Draco asked.
"The fewer people who know, the better, I think," Dumbledore said. "I have more to share with you at a later date, and the information is of a very sensitive nature. However, I suspect you strongly wish to share tonight's events with Miss Weasley, and that would be acceptable – she has proven herself trustworthy many times over, and I suspect none of you would be able to keep this from her anyway."
"Probably not," Harry admitted sheepishly. "She's awfully perceptive. She'd be the only other person I'd want to tell though." Hermione and Draco nodded in agreement.
"That's settled, then. You may share what you've learned with Miss Weasley – and if she happens to be available during our future meetings, she is more than welcome to join us. I understand that the four of you are very busy, but I will get the information to you as soon as I can. Now, as it is getting quite close to curfew, I must insist that you three be heading to bed – off you go!"
Early the following week, Harry and Draco were heading downstairs for lunch, exchanging good-natured trash talk in anticipation of the upcoming Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match, which was just around the corner. The rest of their Charms class was close behind, chatting happily about the lesson they'd just finished – even though N.E.W.T. classes were a lot of work, Charms still almost always put everyone in a good mood.
"Better make sure your goal scoring's on track, Draco!" Terry Boot said as he hurried to catch up. "Can't have Gryffindor winning by too much!"
"Hey!" Draco protested. "Who said Gryffindor's going to win?" Terry grinned.
"They've got Harry bloody Potter as their Seeker," he said, elbowing Harry in the ribs to emphasize his point. "Sorry, mate, but Harper's not even close. You better run up the score, though – point differential, you know. Help keep us Claws in the running, won't you?"
"Arse," Draco muttered, though it wasn't malicious.
"Yeah, whatever," Terry said dismissively, grin still firmly in place. "Listen, when's the next D.A. meeting? I reckon I'd like some extra practice with-"
"Look out!" a girl's voice shouted behind them. The three boys turned to see Lisa Turpin staring at something above their heads in horror. They looked up and barely had time to dive out of the way before something huge crashed to the floor exactly where they'd just been standing.
"What the hell!" Draco spluttered, untangling himself from Terry's books, which had scattered all over the corridor, and jumping to his feet. The wreckage of what looked like an oversized wardrobe was mere feet away, smoking slightly. Over by the window, Harry stood with his wand drawn, his expression furious.
"Peeves!" he shouted. "What the blazes did you do that for?" Peeves, who was floating some fifteen feet above the ground, crossed his arms and pouted.
"Nobody appreciates any fun anymore, they don't," he said petulantly.
"You think dropping furniture on our heads is fun?" Harry asked incredulously. "You could've killed us!"
"So worried about the details," Peeves muttered.
"What's going on here?" They looked up to see a whole entourage of people coming their way, Filch and McGonagall in the lead. They'd no doubt been attracted by the crash, which had shaken the entire corridor.
"Peeves dropped this in the middle of the floor," Harry explained quickly. "We only just got out of the way in time. Thanks for the warning, by the way, Lisa," he added, turning to the girl in question, whose face was white as a sheet.
"Anytime," she managed.
"Peeves!" Filch shouted. "I'll have you expelled for this, I will – that Vanishing Cabinet was extremely valuable!" Peeves merely cackled and threw half a dozen Dungbombs into the air, blowing raspberries and zooming away down the corridor as everyone in the vicinity ducked and covered their heads. Once the smoke had finally cleared, they saw that Filch had disappeared, no doubt to the headmaster's office to rant about Peeves' latest stunt. Professor McGonagall, who'd remained behind to survey the damage, turned to Harry.
"You say Miss Turpin warned you, Mr. Potter?"
"She did," Harry confirmed. "Draco, Terry, and I were walking to lunch and didn't see Peeves – she shouted for us to get out of the way."
"Ten points to Ravenclaw for your quick thinking, Miss Turpin," Professor McGonagall said. "Are any of you hurt?"
"No, Professor."
"Then I suggest you head down to the Great Hall, as was your original intention. I'll take care of this." Sensing that it was actually more of a command than a suggestion, the students obeyed without question, but the conversation erupted as soon as McGonagall was out of earshot.
"A Vanishing Cabinet?" Draco asked as they descended the last flight of steps.
"It sounds familiar, but I can't place it," Harry replied. "What are they?"
"They're transportation devices," Draco explained. "I came across them while doing research for a paper last year, can't remember which one. They usually come in pairs, and if they work properly, they make a kind of passageway between the two."
"But…what on Earth did we have a Vanishing Cabinet sitting in the middle of the corridor for?" Harry blurted. "What if its mate is functional? The thing could lead anywhere!"
"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Draco muttered. Though they'd reached the Great Hall, it was safe to say he didn't have much of an appetite anymore – the mystery of the Vanishing Cabinet was far too troubling.
A/N: Don't worry, I won't be rehashing all of the memories from HBP - this one was kind of important though. & how about that Vanishing Cabinet...
Wishing everyone a very happy Memorial Day tomorrow, & sending a huge thank you to all it honors.
Thank you all for the follows/faves/reviews, & for reading! Hope you're enjoying so far. G/S ring secret unveiled in just a few more chapters - so excited!
JKR owns all things Potter, I just play. Please R&R, & enjoy! :)