Rewind - May, 1993

Emerging from the English's Knight Bus -a mode of transportation only slightly worse than muggle vehicles in Italy- Marcello stood before the gates of a large country estate. Analyzing the structure, he quickly noted that the lock held runes of protection and intent, as well as a small, worn circle in the centre. He placed his own wand tip on the circle and spoke.

"I am Marcello Salvatore, arriving at the invitation of Arcturus Black."

The gate unlocked with a pop, opening at the approved invitation. Walking down the path, he took note of the surroundings. Well-kept topiary gardens, along with small patches of dark and thorny flowers -of which several near the windows appear to be poisonous. His prosthetic arm offered a slight hum, acknowledging a magic in the air - wards, no doubt.

The door opened at his approach. A wizened house elf welcomed him to the Sidera Estate and directed him to a sitting room; wherein he was greeted by the host himself. "Mister Salvatore, welcome to my home."

He offered a short bow. "Thank you for the invitation, Lord Black."

The man gave a small, dismissive wave. "The Lord title is only for Wizengamot sessions and for matters of the British noble houses."

"My apologies," he sat into the opposing chair. "I was under the impression that your invitation was in regards to a Wizengamot session." The last three words were said in a slight emphasis. Slight, yet the host caught it all the same, his eyes betraying a hint of understanding.

"Yes, I can understand why you would believe so, seeing as you vouched for the girl."

"And seeing as she was sentenced by the Wizengamot," By you, went unsaid.

"Indeed," Black smirked. "A miraculously light sentence for the use of such dark magic, if I do say so, but what's done is done. Tea?"

Marcello accepted the offer, all the while he focused on the man's words. A miraculously light sentence. No hint of malice. No, it was amusement in his tone. His meaning came clear as day. Accepting a teacup, he discretely tested the contents. Finding it without obvious poisons, he took a tentative sip. In that moment of silence he observed the table's contents. The tea tray and set, elegant and complete in its trappings. An opened letter bearing a wax seal of a large M - the contents beyond his sight aside from a partial signature of -ssa. Another letter, unopened, tied an intricate knot of dark brown ribbon. Curious.

Marcello collected his thoughts towards casually useful conversation. "Have you and your grandson spoken in recent months?"

"Heh, hardly. A man does what he can, but Sirius has always been a rebellious child. You seem close to him."

Marcello offered a nod. "He was a client for a year after my professorship."

"True." A spark glinted in his eye. "Though certainly there's more to it than that."

"How do you mean?"

"You are responsible for his freedom, are you not? At least, that's what the world was led to believe until earlier this week."

Ah, of course. This topic has dangerous possible outcomes. He offered the elder Black an amused smile. "That fact still holds true. Though, yes, I admit that I was given a theory and possible evidence of an animagus disguised as a student's pet."

Arcturus raised a questioning brow. "And what evidence were you provided?"

"A map of the school which tracks the movements of all persons on the property. An invention of your grandson's and his friends when they were boys." The added fact caught the man off guard. After a question and answer of incredulity, Marcello continued. "I was shown Pettigrew's name on the map, along with a description of the rat and Mister Pettigrew's missing finger. I will admit, I was skeptical of that connection, but where would we be if I had dismissed the theory?"

"Where indeed," the wizard murmured. He took a sip of tea, allowing a comfortable silence to fall between them. Placing the cup back onto its saucer, Arcturus moved on to new conversation. "Will you be training Harry again this summer?"

"Not this year. I've promised Messrs Weasley to help them in their studies. That, and I only plan to spend a month or two away from home."

"I see. Until then, do you have any plans before leaving Britain?"

"Somewhat." He offered an amused smile. "My wife suggested that I go on an adventure of some sort while I'm here."

"Sounds invigorating." A slight twitch of a frown suggested disagreement. "I'm sure you can find entertainment along those lines. Perhaps a hunt for rare and dark trinkets?"

The odd phrasing put his mind on edge. "Perhaps. …Do you know of any items in mind that fit that description."

"Myself, no. Though others of that nature have been found in recent years. A journal, a locket-"

Marcello took a short inhale. "Mister Black, what, exactly, is the purpose of this conversation?"

Their eyes locked into a staring contest. Both gauging, unflinching, towards the other. "The Dark Lord has returned. Broken and weak, but returned from the grave all the same. Even without physical power, his existence is a symbol that sycophants will flock to. I've done what I can to destroy the symbol, but now I see there is more to his physical power than meets the eye. If he gains hold of the horcrux-"

"He can't. I've given it to Dumbledore until we can destroy it."

"Even then, it's not his only source of power. You know this."

He had to concede to that. "I do."

Arcturus' face went tight in anger, or frustration. "Lucius Malfoy had the journal in his possession. My grandson, God rest his soul, was used to guard the locket. Other families in his inner circle must have been given other items to watch over. If they go to him now, he'll be all the stronger!"

Marcello nodded at the various speculations. All of them are concerning possibilities. That, and Black appears genuinely eager to prevent them from taking place. Trusting his instincts, Marcello answered him. "Yes and no. I am aware of one other person he entrusted an item to."

"Name them."

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

Eyes shot open, Arcturus took in a breath, then pinched them closed. A war within his mind. "...I should be grateful, I suppose, that her… loyalty was strong enough to choose Azkaban." Eyes distant, the war continued in his mind. "I can pay a visit to her in-laws. See what I can find."

"It won't help," Marcello said. "She's put it inside of the Lestrange vault at Gringotts. There's a gemino curse placed on the vault to prevent theft."

"...You know all of this, how?"

"Due to a vision involving a daring and stupid break-in to retrieve the item."

Arcturus scoffed. "Any attempt to break into Gringotts is stupid."

"True. However this one results in an escape on dragonback."

For a moment nothing was said. Mouth slightly agape, Arcturus took time to absorb the information given. At last, he scoffed at the entire idea. "Yes, well, it's a good thing you are discussing this with me and not my foolish grandson. …Dragonback, of all the ridiculous ideas!"

Marcello didn't bother to correct the man. Too many details is a risk, after all. "There is one other thing. If I- we- are to destroy these horcruxes there is someone else we need."

"Who?"

"You think I have one of Voldemort's horcruxes?"

Marcello and Arcturus offered passive gestures. "Not yet." Marcello answered. "It's a cursed ring. Once you get possession of it, something compels you to put it on. From what Bennett saw, it will slowly kill you."

"I see." Dumbledore looked away from the two men, and up towards his dear phoenix, who crooned to him sadly. "Alas, death is an inevitability."

Arcturus rolled his eyes. "Only the weak allow death to claim them before they're ready. I'd have thought a man of your calibre would be less defeatist in this scenario."

"I can assure you, Arcturus, death is not something I wish to walk into willingly. However, if it is fate, I will accept it."

"If it were fate, we wouldn't be here discussing our options."

Wishing to avoid a debate, Marcello re-entered the conversation. "Yes, let us discuss our options. Albus, as the person who will eventually find this ring, do you have any guesses as to where it is right now?"

"Hmm…" His finger tapped in thought. "If I am the person to retrieve it, it is likely that it is not in the hands of one of his followers. You say one of the items was in a seaside cave?" Hearing the affirmative from Arcturus, he continued. "Was it in Kent, by any chance?"

"The elf doesn't know," Arcturus answered.

"Why there?" Marcello asked.

"I've been looking into his past," Dumbledore admitted. "Trying to find connections beyond the diary as to what items he used as possible horcruxes. A… significant childhood event happened on a seaside trip to the Seven Sisters Caves in Kent."

"If so, then that's one horcrux location revealed and destroyed. We can verify things with the house elf, first," Marcello noted. "Are there other places that the man is tied to? Perhaps the orphanage?"

"The orphanage is long gone. Lost to a fire, I'm afraid. …However, there is the Gaunt family home and his father's home. I can try there."

"We can try," Marcello corrected. "Going on your own increases the chance of that vision to come true. It's best if I come with you."

Dumbledore answered through a small frown. "I can concede to that." His eyes turned to Arcturus. "Will you be joining us?"

"No. I will retrieve the last one." He gave a nod of acknowledgement to Marcello. "Salvatore has given me all of the information he can. The rest will take time."

"Very well." The conversation moved on, the planning and preparation stage going truly underway. It won't be easy, but what adventure ever is?

Late June

Home is too nice of a word for where the last of the Gaunts lived. Marcello has been studying the dilapidated shack for weeks. Testing its defences, searching out ward stones, as much as he was willing to risk without a team present. Though the month was not filled with just a single study. Time was spent searching out the graveyard and Riddle Manor (that it was devoid of Voldemort and the snake was both a good and dreaded thought.) His search was careful, ensuring no trace of evidence to reveal his presence.

He also took a trip to Kent. That expedition was… disturbing. It is one thing to imagine a lake full of inferi. To witness it with your own eyes… at least they remained below the surface. That aside, the basin left on the island proved to be a fascinating study. The magic required for such an item to work is a marvel in its own right. Disturbing, of course, but a marvel all the same. The basin and potion both are repellent to transfigurations, charms, and transports of all sorts. Further, unique attempts to remove the potion proved fruitless. Samples vanished back to the basin. Even spelled phials, or ones with traces of saliva vanished once a certain distance took place. It can only be consumed. A fact that Marcello has no intention of testing.

When the weeks passed, Marcello apparated back to Little Hangleton at the designated time. His trek to the shack was done quickly, allowing him time to check the perimeter before Dumbledore's arrival. With the trees growing thick, Marcello heard the approach rather than saw him. Though the approaching sound was… more than expected. Wand at the ready, he watched carefully as Dumbledore's bright orange robes came into view, then kept his guard as another figure emerged.

"Ah, good, you're here," Dumbledore spoke jovially.

Marcello only paid a small acknowledgement as the third wizard stiffened and drew his wand. Seeing body language on the offensive, Marcello shifted himself in a defensive stance. A twitching, magical eye moved in various directions - an offensive tool or only a visual aid? Scars, hardened features and tense muscles prove that this man is not to be trifled with. A clawed peg leg, an obvious weakness - no - that clashes with everything else about him. It must have a hidden benefit of some sort-

"Alastor," Dumbledore spoke softly, "may I introduce you to our former Defence Professor, Signore Marcello Salvatore. Marcello, may I introduce Alastor Moody, Senior Auror for the Ministry, and a dear friend of mine."

Neither man responded to the introduction. Their eyes re-calibrated each other's forms as they took in the given information, and Marcello worked the information into his memories. Alastor Moody is a name he recognized in a mild sense. It was certainly brought up at some point, that conversation from one year ago. Ah! A future defence professor, himself. Only… no, that's not what happens. He gets kidnapped and impersonated by a Death Eater. (A dead Death Eater, according to what records he could find on Crouch. Sadly he's yet to find out how a long-dead man from a newly-dead family can achieve feats two years into the future. Or already-)

"Interesting arm you have," said Moody, his eyes alternating between Marcello's wand and face.

"Interesting eye." Keeping his eyes on Moody, he spoke to Dumbledore. "Albus, For the Valentine's Day display, what word connects both the song and gifts we received?"

Dumbledore pondered the question, then answered in an amused tone. "It was that charming tune by Frank Sinatra, wasn't it? Then Fly is the most appropriate answer." Despite his answer, neither of the wanded men moved. Seeing this, Dumbledore shook his head slightly and turned to Moody. "Alastor, what object did you give me for my one hundredth birthday?"

"I didn't get you anything," Moody huffed. "I said it then and I'll say it again, throwing parties is a frivolous waste of time. Especially during war."

"And yet you did send me a charming device later that Christmas."

"War was over," Moody stated, "and curse detectors are dead useful."

"That they are."

The answer and commentary came at a casually quick pace. That, coupled with Dumbledore's disposition proved the man to be trustworthy. Holstering his wand, and observing Moody do the same, Marcello kept his arms to the side and offered a slight bow of the head. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Alastor Moody."

"The pleasure's mine." He offered a sharp grin. "Good to see a man with a good head on his shoulders."

"Likewise."

Dumbledore gave a light chuckle at the exchange. "Now, Marcello, you say you've studied the building's defences?"

"I have."

With a wave of his arm, he summoned a magical layout of the area. Coloured points dotted the terrain, showcasing the shack, wardstones, and [identified] traps, along with outlines of each identified ward and repellant charm cast through the area. He described each item to the two wizards, both nodding along and making strategic commentary on them. As they discussed, Marcello found himself studying the swivelling eye- its gaze moving to the real life points while Moody's true eye looked over the magical map. Moody's comments on the defences reflected his observations in real time - the eye seeing all and beyond Marcello's own diagnostics. An incredibly useful tool. He'll have to recommend the manufacturer to his old colleagues of Los Caballeros de la Espada y la Cadena when he has the chance.

"Our chances are promising, though it will take time, for certain," Dumbledore surmised.

"Well let's not waste time, then," said Moody. Wand out, he growled as he marched to the building. "Time to obliterate the blasted scourge!"

It took four hours to dismantle the exterior traps and wards, then half as long to get into the building itself. In their defence, a parseltongue-based barrier was a factor beyond their expertise. They'd have spent extra hours (or days) on the endeavour had Dumbledore not "recovered" Slytherin's grimoire from Harry. Once inside the shack, the various poisons and traps had to be dealt with almost a literal step at a time. Though, thanks to Moody's eye, their search through the building did not require them to travel far.

"It's in a box under that floorboard." Moody flicked his wand at the floor with a muttered spell. The floorboard launched into the air, causing an eruption of dust and splinters round the new hole. The three wizards approached the hole with caution. Peering inside, they found a golden box sitting within.

Dumbledore flicked his wand at the box. "Wingardium leviosa. Hmm… Accio box. Accio ring." A few more charms were attempted, but none succeeded. "Hmm… what do you make of it, gentleman?"

"It's not a sticking charm of any kind," Moody commented.

"No, it's far worse." Marcello knelt close to the ground. "I recognize the rune matrix on this. The other horcrux hideout had something similar." He looked around the box to be doubly sure. "It requires physical contact to be moved. Whether it requires flesh or simply physical manoeuvring remains to be seen."

Dumbledore leaned closer to study the matrix. "Can you find a compulsion curse on it?"

"None. Moody, is there anything on the underside of the box?"

"No, just the anchor. Wait- There's more on the inside." The group waited as Moody searched the interior. "Heh, there's a compulsion in there alright... Egh! There's an anchor on the ring!"

"The same kind as the box, Alastor?"

The wizard nodded. "The compulsion will activate the second you open it. Won't be able to toss a vial of basilisk venom in there without risking a diving hand getting caught in the middle."

"Hmm, that is a conundrum."

They tested the limits of their theories, shy of bodily contact. Each attempt, however, proved to be a failure. As they contemplated their options, Marcello found his mind drifting to uncomfortable territory. "There is one idea we can try, but it's… problematic."

"What is it?" Asked Dumbledore.

In lieu of a straight answer, Marcello raised his right arm, curling its metallic fingers. "This has my magical signature and is more-or-less fused to me. …How capable is your severing charm?"

Alastor Moody shook his head. "The compulsion is more likely to work against your other arm."

"Then fuse my fingers together and make the arm immobile!" Marcello countered. "I don't like the idea, but we are out of options. Slowly or quickly, that ring will kill whomever wears it unless their hand is amputated; but, if this works, at least we can all leave this place alive."

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Marcello. You and I both know that I'm the one who-"

"He's right, Albus. It's the best chance we've got." Moody gave Dumbledore a small glare. "Keep your martyrism to the last possible option. I'm not going to your funeral just yet."

Caught between both men's expectant stares, Dumbledore slumped his shoulders, acknowledging defeat. "Very well. I will prevent your other arm from touching the ring. Alastor-"

"I'm on it." His wand pointed against the metallic arm.

They set themselves into position. Kneeling close to the box, immobilizing charms were cast on him, placing the majority of his body in a frozen prison. Steeling his resolve, he nodded to the others. "I'm ready."

"On three, then. One- two- THREE!"

The box opened, to his relief and dread. Its compulsion snared him at once. His hand, so close, too close, took only the slightest of motions to claim the ring as his own.

It joined his finger in bliss!

It joined his finger in pain!

It shouldn't have hurt. His arm does not feel. Not for years. Never again. Yet it burns! It burns and burns and never has he known pain like this!

*SHWINK!*

Pain. Pain and Smoke. Pain receding. Lungs panting. Breathing and receding and smoke. The need to collapse, body warring against immobilizing spells. The war was lost, but there's still breathing, still receding, still pain. Shoulder and bicep moving, but not his fist. Not the fingers.

Blinking through the blinding pain, he looked for his fist. His eyes met smoky air instead. He followed the smoke, down to a cracked and twitching branch of metal. An arm, his arm. A finger half-melted and merging into a band of gold -similarly half-melted.

"-cello? Marcello?!"

His head shook, what little movement his body could manage. Awareness reached him slowly, with each breath, and each wave of pain subsiding.

"Marcello, are you alright?"

"I feel…" He spoke slowly, "more than I'm supposed to."

A snort came from his right side. "That's an understatement."

"I'm sorry, good fellow. I should have been the one to take the ring."

"For fuck's sake, Albus, it hurt that much on a metal arm. On you, no. He made the right call."

"He's right," Marcello spoke through a wheeze. Lifting his arm high, he watched the seared robe fall to his shoulder. It exposed a stump of metal and flesh. Severed- but uncontaminated. "If it were you, you would have kept your hand- have allowed the corruption to spread."

He met the older man's eyes. Its bright blues full of sorrow and shame. Dumbledore broke the contact with a nod of truth. "Yes. You are right, I would have."

Marcello mirrored the gesture. "I made the right decision." He looked down at the messy remains of his prosthetic. The melted band of gold mingled with it. The stone, however, remained intact. "The horcrux is dead? It reacted to the venom?"

"It did," Moody answered. "Damn thing screamed louder than you."

A small, deep laugh burst out of him. "Good. As it should."

Feeling the release of immobilizing charms on his person, he stretched out his flesh arm, allowing it to crack and pop with newfound freedom. Then, reaching down, he popped the stone out of the broken band in an effortless motion. Holding it between fingers, he inspected the dark octahedron. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows etched within it, confirming its origin, and its awe-inspiring power.

"Taking a souvenir?" Moody asked.

"Why not? It took from me, after all."

"Ha! You have a point. Though you ought to have it checked for more curses, now that your wand-arm's gone."

"I suppose." He popped it into his robe pocket, then pulled out his wand with a twirl. "Fortunately for me, my left is just as good as my right."

Moody nodded in approval. "A useful skill. I've tried to get the trainees to work on their off-hands. Falls on deaf ears, though."

"Ah, naturally. The formidable egos of youth!" The comment got a laugh out of both men. Gentling ribbing at the expense of underlings filled the air as they left the shack. Relief taking place of adrenaline, Marcello offered to end the day with a round of drinks. An offer which Dumbledore declined. Moody, however, accepted it with a comment about wanting to learn about the CEC and his (now former) prosthetic. "Certainly, I was hoping to ask the same of you."

"Of course. Everyone always has questions about my eye."

"Actually, I've been wondering more about your leg."

"Ha! I like you, Salvatore. You know how to spot the real tricks!"

Author's Note: So, you all might be asking yourselves "Why didn't Melissa tell Marcello about the Gaunt Shack?" Well, the reason is quite simple! I made a rule that she can only remember what I remember ...and I forgot about it. LOL! Back when I wrote the chapter 'Ode to the Cockroach King' I showed it to my friend, and she asked "oh, and does she sneak into the shack after visiting Riddle Senior's grave?" Y'all I swore out loud when I realized that I completely forgot where the ring was hidden! But hey, that mistake led to this chapter, so I'd say it's worth it.