Dumbledore, as ever, was awake. Harry was starting to wonder whether the headmaster actually ever slept at all, or whether he simply had an alarm whenever someone was entering his office so that he could keep up appearances. It was the sort of idle curiosity that was quickly pushed to one side by the eagerness in which he wanted to share their recent discovery, as if unearthing a previously unknown clue would prove that Dumbledore had been right to involve them in the search.

Their past experiences meant that there was no astounded reaction from the old man at their untimely presence, nor any scalding for their late-night wandering. Harry and Hermione took it in turns to recount what they'd come across, picking up the slack whenever one of them seemed to be forgetting a crucial detail. They displayed the books in front of the headmaster, potentially disorientating his perfectly organised desk, and directed him to the pertinent photographs whenever they cropped up in their tale.

When they were jointly running out of steam, Harry grew nervous that they were wasting Dumbledore's time. He'd barely reacted to the information they'd provided, taking in every word they said before coming to any sort of conclusion. Was he simply playing along, proverbially patting them on the head for trying their best? Or had they presented an intriguing case, one he'd overlooked up until that point? As it was, he leant back in his chair and steepled his fingers, gazing at them in frustratingly unreadable fashion over his half-moon spectacles.

"Do you know who that man is?" he asked the pair. "The one pictured in the centre of the group with Tom?"

It didn't feel like a remotely relevant question to Harry, and one he definitely hadn't envisaged fielding after divulging such intriguing information. But if he'd learnt anything from his past interactions with Dumbledore, then it was usually best to go along with the flow. More often than not, Dumbledore got to the point. He just did it in a roundabout fashion that tended to test Harry's patience.

"I can't say that I do, sir," Harry admitted.

"That is Horace Slughorn, an old acquaintance of mine and a former Potion's Master at this very school. He was the one, following the Ministry's announcement confirming Lord Voldemort's return, who provided his memories that helped me uncover Riddle's desire for the horcruxes."

"He is?"

"He provided the information that enabled a young Tom Riddle to create those objects. You can understand why he was so hesitant to share his involvement."

"Does that mean we're onto something? With the ring?"

"I think it would be prudent for us to take a closer examination of the ring. The pictures on their own, I'm afraid, do not shed enough light on the situation."

Dumbledore stood up, moving away from his desk. Harry and Hermione stood and watched, waiting for an explanation that wasn't definite to come. He fiddled with a cabinet off to one side before unlocking the door. Unassisted, it opened to reveal a large, flat black dish that floated until it was in the centre of the room. Harry eyed it with barely contained fascination, recognising the object from when he'd witnessed the trial of Peter Pettigrew at the Ministry of Magic.

"A pensieve?" Hermione whispered, as if speaking too loudly would ruin the moment.

"Quite right, Miss Granger," Dumbledore confirmed.

Instead of being enthralled by the presence of the ethereal, slightly unnerving item, the headmaster was still at the cabinet. As Harry tore his gaze away from the pensieve to figure out why, he spotted numerous glass bottles lining the container. They were miniscule, with all of them containing trace amounts of wispy fluid. Dumbledore was inspecting them closely, scanning the neat labels until he came across the one he was evidently searching for, before bringing it to the awaiting students.

"I'm sure that Mister Slughorn's testimony will provide the details we're looking for."

"Testimony?" Harry asked.

"A pensieve allows you to view memories as if you're standing right there," Hermione explained. "Although they can be corrupted or manipulated like any other memory, they're a key tool in evidence collecting. But they're also extremely rare, so to have one up close is…enthralling. Just look at all the runes that decorate it, the carvings that literally imbue it with magic. Don't you think it's beautiful, Harry?"

Harry was sure that he wasn't going to find the same level of magnificence in the object as his friend apparently was. But he could understand the fascination, finding that he wanted to learn exactly how the artefact worked and how it was at all possible to view memories like an immersive reality. And he knew above all else that he would always find Hermione's enduring curiosity for such items intimately more entertaining than the objects themselves.

"How do you use it?" he wondered.

"We'll go together," Dumbledore answered. "It's as simple as putting your head underwater. Just remember to keep breathing as normal, no matter what your body tells you."

With that imposing warning ringing in his ear, Harry joined the other two around the circumference of the pensieve, watching as Dumbledore poured the contents of the selected bottle into the murky liquid. Before the ripples settled, he was being guided towards the surface, tentatively putting his face closer to the object until he was, for all intents and purposes, being sucked in. He might have yelled. He might have even screamed. But if he made any noise, it was drowned out by the rushing of the torrent as he tumbled down, seemingly falling forever with no end in sight.

Harry eventually found himself in a completely different room, which he probably should have been expecting. Thankfully, the ground was perfectly solid, as if it was truly there. His surroundings were strangely cloudy, as if he were looking at the scene through a slightly distorted lens. He was reassured by the presence of Hermione nearby, and of Dumbledore, who was slowly walking ever deeper into the memory.

They weren't the only ones in the room. Unlike the photograph Harry had come across, Riddle wasn't accompanied by any other students. He was looking at Slughorn, with the professor appearing increasingly uneasy the longer the conversation went on. Harry tried his best to take stock of what was being said, knowing that it would likely be eye-opening. But he was simply transfixed by the sight of the younger version of his prophesied enemy. He was able to stand next to the spectral figure without being spotted, as if he was the ghost this time around.

The scene paused, taking him by surprise. The room was still, the two fabricated figures halted in their dark discussion. Dumbledore strolled around as if he'd frequented the location on numerous occasions, something which he'd probably done in order to unearth the truth about Voldemort's horcrux ambitions. For a moment, Harry witnessed a sadness in his eyes, one born out of despair and regret, as if the old man was contemplating a reality where he'd been able to intervene before Riddle had descended down his troubling path.

"Do you notice anything familiar?" the headmaster asked them, returning to his senses.

Harry followed the gesture of Dumbledore's hand. As predicted, Riddle was sporting the same ring as in the pictures. Up close, it was easier to see the ornate decoration on the piece of jewellery. Harry didn't exactly want to get too close to the other boy, as if he feared Riddle would flinch or reach out at any moment. Hermione apparently had no such qualms, investigating the ring with a keen eye, going as far as crouching before it.

"What does the insignia mean?" she wondered. "It's not one that I recognise."

Following her train of thought, Harry appraised the engraving in fascination. In truth, it was a fairly simple design, going against the ornate structure that housed the black jewel. It was a combination of shapes, with a triangle containing a circle within and a straight line running through. It was largely unremarkable, which suggested that it held a hidden meaning for Riddle. There was no reason for him to have worn it in such a dedicated fashion otherwise.

"It was said to be the Peverell coat of arms," Dumbledore explained quietly. "I must admit that I have overlooked this ring upon my previous investigations, which is a testament to the keen eye the two of you possess."

Both Harry and Hermione smiled proudly at the praise, with the former taking more of the credit seeing as he'd been the one to spot the clue in the first place. Not that it was a competition. But being around the likes of Hermione and Matthew during his time at Hogwarts had left him feeling inferior on occasion, particularly when it came to the knowledge they possessed. It was nice to be the one taking the lead, even if he was still somewhat confused by the development.

Dumbledore waved his hand and Harry experienced the same nauseating experience, only in reverse this time around, like he was being violently tugged into the air. It seemed to be a quicker process at least, his body returning to the headmaster's office as if he'd never been away. He was on hand to provide some support to Hermione, whose legs wobbled following the process. Dumbledore, to his credit, was much steadier, particularly for a man of his considerable age, though he'd apparently had a lot more experiences with the device.

"The ring itself, ignoring the emblem, was an heirloom of the House of Gaunt, who were descendants of Salazar Slytherin," he outlined once he was back behind his desk. "They were a very ancient wizarding family, noted for their 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 was left in squalor and poverty towards the end of his life, accompanied by 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. Family heirlooms such as this ring, perhaps."

Harry frowned. "Marvolo…you mean…"

"The Gaunts were relatives of Lord Voldemort, yes. Marvolo, the man I just mentioned, was his grandfather. His daughter, Merope, would end up marrying the Muggle Tom Riddle, a romantic dalliance that resulted in the birth of the young man you just came across."

"So Riddle was handed the ring as an heirloom at some point during his time at Hogwarts and chose to wear it?"

"Not exactly. He stole it from his uncle, a man by the name of Morfin, on the same night he framed him for the murder of the Riddle family."

"Forgive me for asking, sir, but how do you know so much about this?"

Hermione was the one who raised the point. Harry pictured the girl he'd first met at the train station, someone who would never have dared question someone as revered as Dumbledore. Even over their initial years at Hogwarts, she'd tended to veer on the side of caution. More recently, however, he'd seen her grow into someone a lot braver, someone a lot more unforgiving of those same authority figures. He would have applauded her if he hadn't also known that the praise would severely embarrass her.

"You're quite right to ask, Miss Granger. Never apologise for such an endeavour. I've spent a vast portion of my life tracking down people who had connections to Tom and his family, no matter how brief those interactions were. That included poor Morfin, who I sought out in Azkaban before his passing. The death of the elder Tom Riddle, along with his parents, was a deed carried out by Morfin's wand. But I'm led to believe that the Riddle we know stole that very item to cover his tracks, destroying the entirety of his family in one fell swoop. The memories I uncovered from Morfin were fragmented and disjointed, which alluded to the fact that they had been tampered with."

"Voldemort made him believe he did it?"

"An accurate deduction, and the same one I came to, Miss Granger."

Again, she smiled slightly at the praise. Even though they'd spent a considerable amount of time with the headmaster - especially compared with the rest of the student body - they were still surprised when the great man paid them a compliment. Dumbledore steepled his fingers once he was back in his chair, leaning forward as he delved into momentary silent contemplation.

"Tom Riddle's character is and was an endless series of contradictions," he explained. "He showed great hatred towards his family, especially his father, whom he partially blamed for the death of his mother. After all, Tom Riddle Senior had left her by this point after discovering her magical background."

"But he's also obsessed with connecting most of what he does to that same family," Harry reasoned.

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed as he looked at him and it was suddenly Harry's turn to feel like he was doing something right. Without saying anything, the headmaster was making it abundantly clear that he wanted the boy to finish his line of thought. It was like a test. In a sense, it was very much like what Matthew had used to do, especially in the early days of their friendship, where he would stand back and allow Harry and Hermione to show off their own skills for a change.

"At the graveyard, when he captured us, we were only there because it's where his dad is buried."

"And the potion that brought him back involved a…bone from that particular grave," Hermione added.

She'd wrinkled her nose at that, as if she were thinking back to that moment. Harry almost wished that he hadn't brought it up after seeing her reaction, knowing that he still found it difficult himself when those images were conjured up in his head. It should have been concerning that they'd moved on so easily from that traumatic event. You didn't have much of a choice when plenty more were waiting around the corner.

"So that probably explains why he was so obsessed with the ring when he stole it. He wanted to intrinsically link himself to his past, whilst simultaneously glossing over large chunks of it."

"Precisely," Dumbledore agreed. "It's a concrete insight into Tom's character, in which he manages to navigate countless paradoxes. After all, we're dealing with a man who sprouts a Pureblood ideology, whilst not personally falling into that category."

"Do you think that means the ring is a horcrux then, sir?"

"It is, indeed, a very likely possibility. It fits the bill in every criteria we've previously set out. Alas, this is sadly the easy part."

Harry didn't believe that their research had exactly been plain sailing thus far. He'd read so many books that the print was practically permanently etched into his gaze, and his revision for the upcoming OWLS exams had likely taken a hit as well. That was also ignoring the point, to get to this stage, Dumbledore had dedicated years of his life and had interviewed countless people, most of them presumably dead ends. If that was apparently easy, then he didn't want to contemplate what came next, a juvenile sense of impatience taking hold within him.

"We have to figure out where Voldemort eventually hid the ring," Hermione said. "And whether he even parted with it, seeing as he wore it so devoutly."

"This time, you are only partially correct, Miss Granger. We must do nothing. For now, I'll take it upon myself to investigate the location of Gaunt's ring."

"But…"

Having now experienced what Harry was like for several years, Dumbledore was quick to preempt his complaints. A hand was raised, silencing him before he could continue in a more heated fashion. It was times like this when Harry was reminded of the fact that he was speaking to a professor, the headmaster of the school, and not some close, personal friend who he could argue with without any consequences. Even so, it was still tempting to fight his and Hermione's corner.

"I'm already concerned that your involvement is having an adverse effect on your study," the old man reasoned. "I'd rather intervene now, before the likes of Professor McGonagall come marching to my door. She can be a considerable force at the best of times, so it is wise not to anger her, even for someone such as myself. The two of you are exceptional students, and I'd hate to see those standards slip, no matter the terrible distractions that have been placed before you."

"But sir…what's the point in studying if we're not even guaranteed to leave Hogwarts?"

For the first time that day, Dumbledore's gleaming gaze carried a heavy dose of anger. "Because you have to believe that you're going to survive the ordeal, otherwise there is no point in doing anything we've set about planning. If you carry such a pessimistic outlook, then Lord Voldemort has already triumphed. The last I checked, you were wanting to carry the fight straight to him, were you not?"

"Fighting means being involved in everything that can be used to beat him."

"Not everything. Leave the arduous, boring work to the old fools like me, Harry. When the time comes…when the right place has been found…you'll no doubt be on the front lines."

xxxxxxxxxx

As weeks rolled on by, threatening to become months, Harry grew ever more restless. As had been the case for most of his magical education, he was left wondering how exactly he was supposed to concentrate on classes when deadlier things were lurking in the shadows. Throughout every class, he imagined Dumbledore walking through the door, telling them that it was time for action. No matter whether he was learning new spells with Lupin, avoiding the worst of Snape's ire or making sure he kept up with McGonagall's high standards, his brain would often wander.

The same couldn't be said for Hermione, however. Despite how much she'd changed over the years, the looming presence of vital exams was enough to make her revert back to type. She dragged Harry to the library basically every other day, running through topics that they'd covered countless times. Throughout those sessions, it was remarkable to see just how much she was still like the young girl he'd first met, driven by her academic standards. And, with Matthew no longer there to control the worst of her tendencies, it appeared to be easy for her to fall into those familiar, almost destructive patterns.

All in all, it meant that the two of them weren't really in the best of headspaces by the time the summons eventually came. They'd been in the middle of stirring a particularly nasty and volatile potion when McGonagall entered the dungeon. Snape had looked incredibly frustrated at letting them leave early and Harry had no doubt that he would have been badmouthing them as soon as they'd vacated the room. For once, he didn't care about the greasy haired man. He was too focused on facing the next stage of their investigation at long last.

Some of that positive thinking had slipped away as soon as Dumbledore was taking them by the arms and apparating them away from the grounds of Hogwarts. Harry had grown used to making short hops in the Tardis instead and, although that mode of transport came with its fair share of bumps, it was still a lot more pleasant than the other option. Thinking back to the blue box and its now permanent residency on the streets of Diagon Alley brought him dangerously close to reminiscing about Matthew, the sort of thoughts he definitely couldn't afford to be having if things were about to get serious.

Thankfully, their arrival in a quaint and unassuming village was enough of a distraction for the time being, regardless of how much the other boy tended to play on his mind. If their new surroundings were indeed the location of a horcrux, then Harry could understand why Voldemort had chosen it. The place almost felt like it had been taken from a postcard, which meant that no one in their right mind would have thought that such a dark object could be in the vicinity.

He'd always had an inkling that Dumbledore wasn't totally in his right mind.

"I don't know whether you'll be happy to be back in Little Hangleton," the headmaster remarked once they were on firm ground.

Harry shared a confused look with Hermione. "Back?"

"This is the village in which the majority of the Riddle family lived. It is also, therefore, the location of where many of those family members are buried."

Any thought of the area being picturesque and calming was quick to disappear. An icy chill crawled down Harry's spine, regardless of the fact that spring had taken hold a while ago. The graveyard which had served as the location of Voldemort's so-called glorified return was nearby. A spot in which he'd been tortured. A spot in which he'd been a second away from losing his dear friend, before he'd eventually lost his other comrade due to his involvement in that rescue.

If Hermione was struggling with the close proximity, then she was doing a good job of hiding it. That night, and the direct consequences, were something they tended not to bring up in passing conversation. They'd made a silent decision to keep that firmly in the past, only for it to now be unavoidably in their present. Maybe it was a reminder that they couldn't avoid what had happened, as if they'd believed forgetting about it would make it nothing more than a far-fetched tale.

Harry wasn't feeling grateful for the return all the same.

Dumbledore was looking at them cautiously. "If being here has come too soon for the pair of you…"

"No!" Harry blurted out. "I'm fine. Hermione?"

She schooled her expression once more. "I'm okay. Although hopefully we won't be staying for an exceptionally long time."

"That all depends on the trouble that might be facing us," Dumbledore answered.

"Is the horcrux nearby?" Harry asked.

Instead of responding right away, the headmaster strolled along the cobbled path, heading further into the heart of the village. The more entwined they became with the site, the more Harry realised that his initial assumptions had been wrong. The quaintness wasn't necessarily down to the beauty of the surroundings, but in the unnerving quiet that consumed it. If there were other people living in the houses around them, then they weren't planning on making themselves known.

Dumbledore eventually came to a stop in front of one of those houses, which didn't look at all different to the others they'd walked past. Just like the others, it was seemingly empty and had apparently been so for quite some time. And yet could tell that there was something about the location that suggested they were on the right track. That was largely down to the way his forehead tingled uncomfortably, his scar growing itchy in protest.

"You're looking at the family home of the Gaunts."

If a dark wizarding family was going to live somewhere, then Harry would have thought that it'd be a more daunting place. Anyone could have lived there in truth without raising suspicion. Was it really the spot that had technically birthed one of the most evil men to have existed? What had he been expecting? A domineering lair? A moody castle? Perhaps a twisted shack in the far corner of an imposing forest. It was almost nice to know that his childlike imagination hadn't completely left him.

"But, as is often the case with Riddle and his history, when you look closer, the picture changes quite considerably."

Confused, Harry followed Dumbledore's gesture to move forward, with Hermione copying the action as well. The facade of the house shifted, glimmering out of view, and was replaced instead by what could only be described as a pile of rubble. The foundations of the property remained, but it looked as if the entire structure had been levelled by a potent, unforgiving force.

"A disillusionment charm," Hermione whispered.

Dumbledore nodded his head. "And a powerful one at that. For decades, it has been strong enough to deter anyone unfortunate enough to be walking along these streets. To them, it would seem like nothing is amiss. But, since I was searching exactly for this location, I was able to look through the charm, as you are now doing."

"Voldemort killed the Gaunts and then destroyed their house for good measure?" Harry wondered.

"He's an expert at holding a grudge. And who would think to look amongst a ruined, abandoned home in the hope of finding one of his horcruxes? Tom was young when he hid the ring, just as he was careless with his diary. It is a rare episode of naivety that we can hopefully take advantage of."

Walking over and through the debris was tough to navigate at times and, although they spent most of their efforts on their own to cover a larger distance, Harry and Hermione were always available to give the other a hand when the terrain became too treacherous. It was tiring work, sifting through planks of wood and the occasional relic that proved people had actually lived there at one point in the past. Harry almost regretted looking forward to being asked to come, now that his back was aching and his knees were complaining.

He looked over at Hermione at one point, who was carefully rifling through a patch of broken stones whilst on her knees. Her face was contorted with a frown, and he quickly grew worried about her condition. So he abandoned his post, feeling as if he wasn't making any progress as it was, and joined his friend. When she didn't react to the sensation of his hand on her back, he saw that as confirmation that more was eating away at her than she'd been letting on.

"What's wrong, 'Mione? You don't look like yourself in the slightest."

He might have been veering towards rudeness with such a comment. He might have forgiven her for struggling with the situation, seeing as it wasn't remotely like anything teenagers their age should have been negotiating. But the way she jumped at the sound of his voice, signalling that she still hadn't known he was there, told him that he'd been right to speak up, to intervene. It was a role he was still learning to take on after Matthew had passed on the baton.

"It's just…the same as last time, with the locket," she explained. "I can feel the dark magic. It knows we're here. It almost…wants us to find it for some reason, and I'm not looking forward to finding out why that is."

"At least it shows that your understanding of pure magic is still getting better."

She laughed, though her heart didn't seem to be in it. "It's not often that you're the one to look at the positive side of things."

"I'm not entirely sure I know what you mean by that…"

"I guess…after everything…after all this time without Matthew…I was worried that I'd lose what he taught me. I'm obviously nowhere near the level he wanted me to reach, but it's comforting to know I've still got that part of him with me. Even if my ability to sense magical auras can lead to uncomfortable situations like this."

"He'd be proud of you, you know? For persevering. Knowing you'd go through this, it would have been easy for you to ask to stay away."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

"It's more a case of knowing that he'd want to be here. He'd wanted to be tearing through this rubbish like it's some sort of weird treasure hunt. He should be here."

Harry was going to tell her that he was still hurting just as much, which would hopefully have gone a long way in sharing, and thus diluting, their grief. But their attention was drawn to Dumbledore, who was causing various pieces of debris to fly away in a controlled whirlwind, making light work of digging a particular spot on the old floorboards. It was clear to see that he at least thought he was about to come across something, which was why they hurriedly moved to join him.

By the time they did so, he was reaching past a broken floorboard, his fingers gripping an innocuous box. Reverently, he opened the container, which was lined with a green velvet inlay. And, perched in the centre, was the same ring they'd seen Riddle wearing in the photographs and memories. Harry sucked in a breath at the sight, having come close to believing that it would prove to be a dead end. Hermione was looking at the object in thinly veiled disgust, whilst Dumbledore looked to be consumed by a morbid curiosity.

When he slowly reached out to touch it, Hermione yelled out so sharply that he did well not to drop the precious artefact. Harry expected his friend to look sheepish following her outburst, but instead her expression had grown more pale and fearful. It seemed like she wanted to do nothing more than move away from the ring, appalled by whatever magic was surrounding it. And, if she was unnerved, then Harry wasn't going to be foolish enough to ignore her grievances. She hadn't led him wrong at any point beforehand.

"Whatever you do, don't touch it," she warned. "I've…I've never felt evil like this before. It's even more potent than the locket. It…it wants you to try to destroy it…because it knows that such an act will come with the ultimate price. And…it wants to see us choose who makes that sacrifice."