A/N) Thank you to everyone who reviewed. First, I'd like to mention about whether Sirius will live or die: I simply don't know. I haven't decided what will happen, however I do have ideas of what could happen and where to take this fic in the end. There are several scenarios I could choose from. However, it might be some comfort to you all that Sirius is my favourite character, however it doesn't mean I won't kill him off; but at the moment his fate in the grand scheme of this fic has yet to be decided, whereas with other characters prominent in this fic I have decided what will happen to them. Sirius' fate still hangs in limbo at the moment.
Secondly, I realise that there might be a lot of anticipation regarding this chapter, to see how I make it differ from Half-blood Prince, however, due to how my planning worked out, it was impossible to make much of a difference, however I feel that these memories need to be shown. The Secret Riddle - Chapter 56 in this fic - does differ because of who accompanies Harry in his lessons with Dumbledore from then onwards, which allowed me to strike up conversations throughout the memory itself, but with The House of Gaunt the lack of that character prevented me from doing much with it, however I have tried my best to explain, rather then show this memory to hopefully make it less painful to read.
In compensation for lack of originality in this chapter, I have provided a preview of the next chapter at the end of this one.
Disclaimer: This chapter borrows dialogue and situations from Chapter Ten: The House of Gaunt from Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince. I do not own these passages.
Chapter Fifty-One: The House of Gaunt
Sunday 4th October 1995
Both Harry and Ron avoided the majority of the school body the next day, declining to speak to anyone save for Neville, Dean or Seamus. They didn't even go to meals, asking for their dorm mates to get them something to eat, even though they didn't feel like eating. They understood they had to, especially since Fred and George had entered their dormitory and ordered them to eat and to not neglect themselves as neither Sirius nor Hermione would want them to do that to themselves on their account.
They had already been told that Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school once more. Sirius' and Hermione's capture had quickly spread and he had openly boasted that 'Potter could not show his face now that his godfather and the Mudblood were dead'. When he had heard this, Harry had had to fight the urge to throw on his invisibility cloak and infiltrate the Slytherin Common Rooms and hexing Malfoy for what he had said. Malfoy clearly thought that Sirius was getting his just dessert for capturing his father in the first place.
"Harry?"
"Remus?" Harry sat up, rubbing the back of his head. Ron had briefly left the dormitory on the insistence of Fred and George Weasley; Harry now suspected that Remus had asked them to distract their brother. It was easier for Remus to go to Harry, rather than Harry leave the dormitory, especially since he didn't want to face the school at this time. He would have to tomorrow, but until then he would avoid that for as long as he possibly could. He figured that the Weasley brothers had gone to the seventh year dormitories: it would be the most sensible thing to do considering Ron was distraught over Hermione. Harry was too, but he felt guilty over worrying more about Sirius then his best friend. Sirius was the only family he had left – he didn't want to lose him. He fixed his green eyes upon Remus Lupin, who had sat down opposite Harry on Ron's bed. "What are you doing here?"
A small smile crossed his ex-Defence Professor's face. "I figured you might need someone to talk to. I'd be out helping with the search if I hadn't hit my head rather hard. I need to take it easy for a few days." He grimaced. "Harry, the Order and the Aurors are doing everything they can to locate Sirius and Hermione, you know that, don't you?"
Harry nodded, tears beginning to prickle at the corner of his eyes. I will not cry. I just can't! "I can't lose him," he eventually said, "or Hermione."
"You won't," urged Remus, grabbing Harry's hand. "If anyone can survive in Voldemort's hands and protect another prisoner, Sirius can. He's an Auror and has been trained to fight back all the time. I know you want to help –"
"But I know I can't," interrupted Harry, raising a hand to stop Remus from replying. "If I show myself it will give Voldemort an incentive to attack and kill me. If I stay put and try to carry on with my life, the worst he can do is kill Sirius and Hermione."
Remus hesitated and Harry wondered what he was debating whether he should say something or not.
"Whatever you are thinking, tell me," said Harry. "I think I deserve to know."
Sighing, Remus flipped a hand through his greying hair. "We are certain that Sirius was Voldemort's target during the Hogsmeade attack, regardless of whether you were there or not. He knew in advance that Sirius was going to be there, and planned it that way. None of the Death Eaters actually attacked students –"
"Save for Hermione," stated Harry, crossing his arms and glaring at Remus.
"I was just getting to that," he admitted, feeling a little awkward. "We've always known that Bellatrix Lestrange has had a fascination with Muggle-borns; if one came into her sight and she knew they were one, she would attack. Hermione was unfortunate. Professor Dumbledore believes that Mr Weasley may be right in Hermione's fate... If she's just sport for Bellatrix, then Sirius will do everything in his power to protect her, regardless of what happens to him. We do not believe that the Dark Lord has any use for Hermione, but with Sirius he does. He was the target; Hermione wasn't, but got caught because of some sick woman's desires to hurt anyone who isn't of a pure blood descent." His intelligent blue eyes bore into Harry's green ones. "I know it is not what you want to hear but..." he hesitated, blinking slowly, as if he was trying to come to a difficult conclusion, "I think its best that you are prepared for the worst."
Harry nodded, dropping his chin to his chest. He didn't want to lose either of them, but if he was to lose one, Hermione would be the most likely. Voldemort needed Sirius alive, Hermione he did not. He shivered as coldness sprung up his body. Don't think about it, Harry. They'll be fine. They'll both survive. I just have to believe it.
"Good evening, Harry," smiled Professor Dumbledore, serenely. His hands were clasped in front of him. The circular office looked just as it had always done: delicate instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, puffing smoke and whirring. Portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozed in their frames, and Fawkes the phoenix, stood on his perch behind the door, watching Harry with bright interest.
"Hello, sir," said Harry, sitting down on the offered chair. He didn't feel like he could do this tonight; he had been asked to attend – he understood that the lessons were important, but wasn't finding Sirius and Hermione more so then what he had to learn?
"I know what you are thinking, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore quietly, "you feel that we shouldn't be here, that I should be concentrating on finding your godfather and friend. I have people working on that, Harry. What you need to learn will help you. These lessons are required so that I can give you certain information, now that you know what prompted Lord Voldemort to try and kill you fourteen years ago. 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 wrong."
"But you think you are right?" said Harry, still feeling awkward, sitting in the office. He really did feel like he should be doing something else.
"Naturally, I do," inclined the headmaster.
"Sir, does what you're going to tell me have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help me survive? Sirius didn't elaborate when I last spoke to him..." A spark of pain tugged in his chest. He mentally pushed it down, knowing that he couldn't afford to become distracted. Sirius would want you to concentrate and to learn...
"It has a very great deal to do with the prophecy, and I certainly hope that it will enable you to survive," said Dumbledore casually. He got to his feet and walked around his desk towards a cabinet that sat beside his office door. Harry tried to peer around the wizard's form, but could not discern what he was seeing. As Dumbledore turned back, Harry saw that he was holding a shallow, stone basin that was etched with odd markings around its rim. He recognised it from when the headmaster had told him about the prophecy. He had used it to show him Professor Trelawney making the prophecy that was now dictating his life.
"This, Harry, is a Pensieve," as he hauled it onto the desk in front of Harry. "It allows me to store all my innermost thoughts and memories, where I can then view them at any time I desire. We will be entering the Pensieve together."
Harry swallowed, his throat was suddenly dry. "Where are we going, sir?"
Dumbledore pulled a crystal bottle, containing a swirling silvery-white substance, from his robe pockets. "For a trip down Bob Ogden's memory lane. He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 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 could please stand..." Pointing his wand at the bottle, the cork flew out, and Dumbledore tipped the substance into the Pensieve, where it swirled and shimmered, becoming neither liquid nor gas. "After you." Gesturing toward the bowl, Dumbledore motioned for Harry to go first.
"What do I do, sir?" asked Harry, feeling nervous. What was he supposed to do?
"Lean forward, touch the substance. It will take you as soon as you make contact, do not be scared."
Harry nodded, bending forward, taking a deep breath and plunged his face into the silvery substance. He felt his feet leave the floor; he was falling through whirling darkness and then he was blinking in dazzling sunlight. Before his eyes had even adjusted, Dumbledore landed beside him.
They were standing in a country lane bordered by high hedgerows beneath a summer sky. Ten feet in front of them stood a short, plump man wearing enormous, thick glasses that reduced his eyes to tiny specks within the frames. It was clear by his clothing that he was attempting to look like a Muggle, but failing miserably by the odd assortment of clothes he had jumbled together. The man had to be Bob Ogden.
Ogden had set off at a brisk walk down the lane; the spectres of Dumbledore and Harry following behind. A wooden sign was embedded on the side of the road; Ogden heading towards Little Hangleton. The lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside, so that they had a view of a whole valley that lay out in front of them. Harry hurried to catch up as Ogden put on a trot, following Dumbledore's lengthening strides. The lane curved again to the right, and when they rounded the corner, they saw the tail end of the frock coat Ogden wore, vanishing through a gap in the hedge.
Headmaster and student followed the narrow dirt track that was bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows. The path sloped and was crooked, rocky and there were holes in the road; it seemed to head for a patch of dark trees. Eventually Ogden came to a halt, drew his wand, and amongst the trees, Harry could see a house amongst the dark trees, hidden from view by the odd tangle of trunks that wound their way up the side of the house. It looked dilapidated, as if no one lived there, but as soon as Harry considered that thought, one of the dirty windows was thrown open and a thin trickle of steam or smoke issued out from it. It was inhabited. A dead snake had been nailed to the front door.
As Harry stepped forward to follow Ogden's progress along the path to the front door, there was a loud crack from above, and a man in rags dropped from the nearest tree, landing in front of Ogden.
"You are not welcome!"
Harry watched, confused as Ogden said that he couldn't understand him. The man brandished a wand in one hand and a short and bloody knife in the other. His thick hair was matted with dirt; his eyes were small and dark, staring in opposite directions.
"You understand him, I'm sure, Harry?" said Dumbledore quietly.
"Of course, sir," replied Harry. "Why can't Ogden -?" And then his eyes fell on the dead snake nailed to the door and realisation kicked in. "He's speaking Parseltongue!"
"Very good," nodded Dumbledore, returning his attention to the unfolding scene in front of them.
Harry swallowed and focused his gaze once more. What followed was something he would never contemplate doing to a Ministry official. The man in rags attacked Ogden, causing nasty yellowish goo to cascade out of his nostrils. It was then that an elderly man came running out of the cottage. He was shorter than the first; his shoulders were broad and his arms overlong. He had bright brown eyes, short scrubby hair and a wrinkled face. He didn't seem to care that his son had attacked Ogden – he seemed to have expected his son to defend himself. No help was forthcoming from the elder man about the goo running down Ogden's face, so he pointed his wand at his nose and the flow stopped at once. The older man spoke in Parseltongue, instructing the younger man to get into the house. Intrigued, Harry listened as he learnt that Morfin Gaunt, the son, was the one Ogden had come to see, but the older man seemed more interested in discovering whether Ogden was a pure-blood.
After much deliberation between the two, Mr Gaunt finally allowed Ogden into his house. Following them, Harry found himself in one of the smallest houses he had ever seen. Three rooms, that was it: a main living area which served as a kitchen as well, and two other rooms branched off, to which Harry assumed must be a bedroom and a bathroom. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside a fire, playing with a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue. In the corner of the small room was a young girl, wearing a ragged gray dress that corresponded directly with the colour of the stone wall she leant against. She stood beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, and was fiddling around with the shelf above it. Her hair was lank and her face was plain and pale. She looked defeated.
Harry returned his attention towards the conversation now passing between Ogden and the Gaunt men. It seemed that Morfin had performed magic in front of a Muggle the night before (here, the woman in the corner – Merope – dropped one of the pots she had been trying to reach on the shelf above the stove, and her father verbally abused her because of it, even more so when she couldn't mend the shattered pot); the words Harry heard made his blood boil with anger. How could people treat their own flesh and blood the way Mr Gaunt was treating his daughter? Harry had, had his fair share of verbal abuse from the Dursleys, but never to the extent he was seeing now in Bob Ogden's memory. Was this how Sirius was treated for being a blood-traitor, for not following the code of the Blacks?
Nor Mr Gaunt or Morfin seemed interested in what Ogden was there to say; they showed no remorse for the Muggle that Morfin had quite clearly assaulted. They scoffed at the summons that Ogden had bought with him, summoning Morfin to a hearing at the Ministry. Harry could not contain his shock when Gaunt yelled at Ogden calling him a 'filthy little Mudblood', and he was mightily impressed when Ogden stood his ground against such racists. It was only when Ogden dared to reply that he had been under the impression of speaking to Mr Gaunt that Gaunt shoved his hand before Ogden's eyes, showing him a black-stoned ring he was wearing on his middle finger.
And the situation only got worse.
Incensed that Ogden didn't seem to understand who the Gaunt's really were, the elder Gaunt rushed towards his daughter, grasping her by the throat, dragging her forwards to show a gold chain around her neck. As Merope spluttered and gasped for breath, Mr Gaunt puffed out his chest in pride and proclaimed:
"Slytherin's! Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?"
He spat at Ogden's feet, and yet he still stood his ground. He carried on with his job, not caring that he was in a potentially dangerous situation. And still Mr Gaunt continued to throw insults about the Muggle attack, ignoring the fact that Ogden was issuing Morfin with a notice for a hearing that was due to take place on the 14th September to answer the charges that had been made against him.
And then the atmosphere changed, and Harry took a sharp breath, as the sounds of horses and loud, laughing voices drifted through the open window. Everything went silent, and Harry could not help but notice that Merope had gone starkly white, her upper body shaking. The voices outside were talking about the Gaunt's. It was clear that Morfin took this as an insult, as he made to get up, but his father warned him to stay down.
"Listen carefully, Harry," said Dumbledore, patting him on the shoulder.
Poor Merope must have known what was coming, for Morfin began to taunt her. He knew who had been passing. The Muggle that had been passing, Merope liked to watch whenever he passed. Morfin's expression turned vicious as his sister's got steadily more terrified. Harry did not like where this was going. It was clear by the tinge of hissing to their speech that Ogden did not understand a word the Gaunt's were saying. Morfin seemed delighted that he had hexed this Muggle. And that was when Mr Gaunt lost control and flung himself at his daughter once more, hands outstretched and closing around her throat, even as he screamed in her face for being a 'disgusting little Squib, and a filthy little blood traitor'.
"NO!" yelled Harry, at the same as Ogden, who had whipped out his wand and cried: "Relashio!"
Gaunt went flying away from his daughter; incensed with rage at his attack on his father, Morfin leapt for Ogden brandishing the bloody knife he had been holding earlier. Ogden ran for his life.
Dumbledore pulled at Harry's arm, motioning for them to follow the retreating form of Ogden. Harry obeyed, Merope's screams echoing in his ears.
They followed hastily, catching up to Ogden just as he hurtled out onto the main lane and collided with a glossy chestnut horse ridden by a very handsome, dark-haired young man. Both rider and the girl sitting beside him roared with laughter as Ogden scrambled to his feet and fled from sight.
"I think that will do, Harry," said Dumbledore, grasping his student's elbow and tugging gently. Within a few seconds they were both standing once more in the headmaster's office.
Their feet had barely touched the ground before Harry was asking questions. "What happened to the girl in the cottage? Merope?"
"She survived," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk. "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 convinced by the Wizenfamot. Morfin, who already had a record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkabn. Marvolo, who had injured several Minsitry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months."
"Marvolo? I've heard that name before..." repeated Harry wonderingly. "Hold on... Tom Marvolo Riddle! That old man was Voldemort's grandfather!"
Dumbledore smiled in approval. "That's right, I am glad to see you are keeping up. 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."
Harry leaned forward in his chair. "So, Merope was Voldemort's mother?"
"It does, and it so happens that we also had a glimpse of Voldemort's father. I wonder whether you noticed?"
Harry nodded. "The Muggle Morfin attacked? The man on the horse?" It was all clicking into place.
"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 for."
"And they ended up married?" asked Harry, disbelief evident in his voice. How could they have ended up married?
"You are forgetting that Merope was a witch," said Dumbledore. "I do not believe that her magical powers appeared to their best advantage when she was being terrorised by her father. Once Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban, once she was alone and free for the first time in her life, then I am sure she was able to give full rein to her abilities and to plot her escape from her desperate life she had led for eighteen years. Can you think of a measure that Merope could have taken to make Tom Riddle forget his Muggle companion, and fall in love with her instead?"
Harry mused, running through solutions in his head. "A love potion?"
"I, too, am inclined to think she used a love potion. It would not have been difficult, some hot day when Riddle was riding alone, to persuade him to take a drink of water. Within a few months of the scene we 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. The villagers' shock was nothing compared 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 note of farewell, explaining what she had done."
"What happened to Marvolo, sir?" asked Harry.
"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? She… she died, didn't she? Wasn't Voldemort brought up in an orphanage?" remembered Harry. He had learnt this back in his second year, when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and he had been dragged into a memory of the young Lord Voldemort.
"Yes, he was brought up in an orphanage," said Dumbledore, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. "From here we must guess. Within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor house in Little Hangleton without his wife. The rumour flew around the neighbourhood 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. When they heard what he was saying, 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," pointed out 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?"
"I believe that Merope could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means, who loved him very much. I think 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," said Dumbledore sadly. "Perhaps if he had done, the Lord Voldemort we know of today, could have been saved from the dark route he has tread upon for so many years."
Harry was silent, unsure of what he could say.
"I think that will do for tonight, Harry," said Dumbledore after a moment or two.
"Yes, sir," said Harry as he got to his feet.
"Harry, I must ask you to not share what you have learnt with anybody. I would have suggested Mr Weasley and Miss Granger but considering the circumstances, I do not think that it would be wise at the present time."
Harry nodded, trying to ignore the pain that had suddenly gripped his heart at the mention of Hermione. She'll be fine, she has Sirius with her. As he reached door, his eyes flickered over one of the little tables that supported so many of Dumbledore's strange silver instruments, to find a gold ring set with a large, cracked, black stone, embedded within it. "Sir, that ring, on this table, isn't it the same ring Marvolo Gaunt showed Ogden?"
Dumbledore bowed his head. "The very same."
Now he was thoroughly confused. "But how come you have it, sir?"
"I acquired it very recently," explained Dumbledore, "shortly after your birthday, in fact."
"Sir, does the ring have anything to do with the condition of your hand?" It was a question that Harry fully expected to be rebuffed, and he was not wrong.
Dumbledore hid his hand behind his back, smiling at his young charge. "Not tonight, Harry. Goodnight!"
To be continued...
Please let me know what you think!
Next chapter: Broken - in which Sirius and Hermione's situation gets worse; Harry has a brainwave and Voldemort is vindictive. Will be posted on Thursday.
Until next time,
the-writer1988
Preview of Chapter 52: Broken (Can you guess who is saying what to who or who the sentences are referring to?)
"Hey, Potter! I bet your blood-traitor of a godfather is dead by now, Potter! I'm surprised you didn't run off to save him! I thought you loved him! I guess you feel Black isn't worth your bother! Not a very good substitute for a parent was he, especially since he missed the first twelve years of your life? And what about that filthy little Mudblood too -"
"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING ATTACKING MR MALFOY LIKE THAT?"
And that was when the screaming began.
Of all the places to put the thing, why did I put it in my back pocket?
"You know what type of Wizards my family were and what they thought of Muggle-borns. Some of them would take their hatred to the extreme."
"You are here for one reason only. Do you know why that is?"
"That's what I was told. The Dark Lord is now very happy."
That's it folks. Not much of a preview, but the next chapter is rather difficult to pick and choose a specific scene to post a preview of, so I decided to pick and choose sentences from various scenes instead. I hope its worth while. Remember, next update will be Thursday. :)