P*T*E*N Page is up and running, slightly ahead of FFN and AO3. This pace will change to significantly ahead of FFN/AO3 once we reach the next hiatus point (at the end of the Durmstrang Arc). Visit P*T*E*N / 521dream if interested. Posted stories include A Flaw in Fate and Sacred Sight (A King's Path Rewrite/Remaster).
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The next chapter will be published . . . yeah I ain't gon lie I dunno when. Enjoy!
Harry Potter: Sacred Sight
The Goblet of Fire
V. A Gaunt Recollection
A golden chalice sat on the table before him. Harry pulled it closer, gazing into his reflection on the watery surface.
I look awful.
Deep, heavy circles underlined his eyes. His jet-black hair, dark as ever, now sat in sickly contrast to his pale, pasty skin. His reflection vanished as his fingers wrapped around the goblet, pulling it closer to his lips.
"Here," Parvati murmured, passing him a plate full of food she'd piled up for him, "It'll help.
"Thanks," Harry smiled weakly. Parvati didn't seem comforted.
"You should probably visit Madam Pomfrey," Lavender suggested from across the table, "She'll know what to do."
"And miss out on our first Defense Against the Dark Arts class?" Harry frowned, "I'll be fine."
"Harry -"
But he ignored her, brandishing his wand before his face. His reflection in the goblet changed, shifting into a face far more healthy and fair. Lavender and Parvati both seemed unimpressed.
"You know, I really thought you'd ask me how I did that," Harry admitted, "I'm sure it would reduce the amount of time you two spent on makeup - if you use it, anyway -"
"We do!" Lavender piped up. Her lips curved into a pretty smile, "You really didn't know?"
Harry smiled.
It's too easy.
"That isn't important right now," Parvati frowned, nodding back at the plate, "You're not well. You should eat."
"I'm fine," Harry said seriously, "Honestly, I was more worried about not having done Snape's potions essay -"
"You haven't done it?" Lavender whispered, "Harry, he'll have you in detention for weeks."
"No he won't," Harry assured her, lowering his fork to the plate Parvati had passed him, "Hermione helped me."
Parvati blinked in surprise.
"She did?"
"Mhmm," Harry nodded, "She's a good person, you know. She offered the moment she saw me like this -"
"The day just started," Parvati frowned, "How's she seen you already?"
Harry shrugged.
"Luck, I suppose. I just happened to be in the common room when she came out to review her work. You know how early she gets up."
"And that's luck, is it?" Parvati asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Generous, glorious luck," Harry grinned, allowing Tom Riddle's smile to overtake his. Parvati rolled her eyes, the ends of her lips quirking upward.
Bark.
Harry looked up, watching as a familiar snowy owl soared through the open air of the Great Hall. He laughed as she fell lazily atop the edge of his plate.
"Good morning Hed," Harry smiled, offering her a chunk of sausage, "Feeling good?
The owl nodded knowingly.
"Good," Harry began, beckoning her closer, "Because I've got a job for you."
Hedwig fluttered into the air, landing on his wrist. He gently brought her right ear to his lips.
"Go to Little Hangleton. I'll join you tomorrow evening. We can explore it together, alright?"
Bark!
Hedwig turned, nibbling the end of his nose affectionately before flying off. Lavender sighed.
"Oh, I've always loved that owl," she whispered, "She's just so beautiful."
Harry nodded blankly, watching as Hedwig soared over the Slytherin table. His gaze lowered, falling upon a tired-looking boy with smooth, platinum hair.
At least I'm not the only one who looks like shit.
He smiled, catching his healthy reflection in his goblet's surface.
Looked like shit, anyway.
"Hiya Harry," three familiar voices chorused from behind him. Harry turned around, smiling at the three Gryffindor chasers, "Had a good summer?"
"I only spent a month with my relatives," Harry answered. Angelina rolled her eyes.
"Not what we asked, but I suppose that answers it," she grinned, "So, the tournament. What do you think?"
"Sounds like a bit of a death trap, to be honest."
I'm good at those.
"Who cares?" Katie squealed excitedly, "I mean, just imagine being chosen -"
"I assume you're entering, then?"
Katie nodded.
"All three of us are," she smiled, "What about you?"
"Still thinking about it," Harry lied.
"Don't bother wasting your time," Angelina laughed, flicking the bridge of glasses, "It'll be one of us older, more skilled students who get chosen -"
"Uh huh. Remember that article Skeeter wrote about me last year?"
"The one about you fighting an army of dementors and accidentally letting Sirius Black run free?"
"Funny," Harry deadpanned, "But I was talking about the one where she called me the 'Merlin of my generation' -"
"Yeah, Skeeter's been full of shit for a while," Alicia sighed, sending him a sorry grin, "Maybe next time you'll get praise from someone worthwhile."
"When is Dumbledore bringing out the goblet again?" Parvati asked. They all turned to her.
"September 30th," said Angelina quickly, "The same day the delegations are arriving."
Harry blinked in surprise.
"They're arriving that early?" he frowned, "But - don't the champions get selected on Halloween?"
"It'll give them time to acclimate to Hogwarts and get to know us," Angelina explained, "He said so during his speech on the first day back."
"Ah. I must've not been paying attention."
Not much of a point when he's already told you most of what he's going to say.
"I'm surprised you lot aren't pissed about Quidditch being canceled," he admitted, glancing at the three older girls, "I was completely caught off guard by that bit."
"All of us were," said Alicia darkly. Angelina nodded in agreement.
"I imagine you'll feel much better if one of you is selected champion!" Lavender piped up from across the table.
"Suppose so," Angelina sighed, "Still, it does sting a little -"
"Oi! Oi, you lot!"
Countless heads turned, watching as several Gryffindor boys ran down the table. They came to a sudden stop just before Harry, out of breath.
"We need to get a move on," Seamus panted, "We've got Moody in fifteen minutes!"
"So?" Parvati frowned, "The Defense Corridor is a three minutes walk away."
"Yes, but -" Dean started, only to duck over to catch his breath.
"It's Moody!" Ron took over, "Haven't you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"He's talking about his classes," Alicia said. Ron stared at her.
"You've had him already?"
"Yup," she nodded, popping the 'p' sound with her lips, "Us sixth years had him two days ago."
Seamus and Dean looked up.
"Well? What's he like?"
"Terrifying," Angelina mumbled, "Completely batshit crazy, but he definitely knows his stuff."
"He told us he was going to talk to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement about using the Imperius Curse on us -"
"He what?" Lavender squealed, "But - that's only for the sixth years, right?"
Angelina snorted.
"He'll be using it on the first years if he can," she muttered darkly, "To be fair, I get it. Better to learn what it's like in here than out there . . ."
"Right, that settles it," Ron said. There was an excitable shimmer in his eyes, "We'd better get front row seats right now."
He hurried off without another word, Seamus and Dean not far behind. Parvati sighed.
"We'd better get going," she said, standing up. She glanced at the three chasers, "It was nice seeing you again."
"And you," Katie smiled, "We'll chat in the common room after classes today, alright?"
"Something to look forward to," Lavender sighed, "I need that with someone like Moody on the loose."
They all laughed. Harry quickly finished what remained of his food (with help from Angelina and Alicia) before straightening up, following Parvati and Lavender out of the Great Hall and down toward Moody's classroom.
"Do you think he's actually like they say?" Lavender asked worriedly as they approached the defense corridor.
"I bet he's worse," Parvati admitted, "I've heard horror stories from my dad . . ."
Lavender gulped. Harry fought back a laugh. At long last, he stood before a slowly opening door, Parvati's chocolate fingers wrapped gently around the handle.
Two eyes peered out from beyond the door frame, one dark, the other electric blue. A trill of excitement burned in Harry's chest as the ex-auror beckoned them in, his eyes lingering upon the man's scared face.
Definitely knows his stuff.
The door slid shut behind them, and Mad-Eye Moody's face cracked into a crooked grin.
(-{- S S -}-)
"Tom!"
His head rose, emerald eyes drifting from the warm smiles of his peers. A large, portly man stood before him. Tom smiled.
"Yes, Professor?"
"I - well -" Horace Slughorn stammered, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, "If you could follow me, Tom . . ."
The man shuffled off. Tom frowned.
"Bit odd, wasn't he?" a large boy muttered from across the table, "Not the usual chipper."
"Go on, Tom," smooth hands gently helped him to his feet. Tom turned, his eyes gliding across the girl's face. Long black hair framed a pale face and abnormally colored eyes.
Violet.
"Be careful," she said pointedly, her eyes flickering from his own to Slughorn's oversized form, "They're right. Slughorn does look a bit put-out."
"No matter," Tom said confidently, "I like a challenge."
The girl smiled.
"Eh - Tom?"
"Coming, Professor," Tom nodded, awarding the girl an honest smile. He threw his book bag over his shoulder before hurrying off. Slughorn was waiting for him in the corner of the Great Hall, looking more weary than Tom could remember.
"This is yours," Slughorn said, handing him an opened envelope, "It was sent to you by those muggle mail people. Of course, the ministry intercepted it as it went through the muggle system, and handed it to me."
Tom frowned, gently taking the envelope from his head of house.
It's been opened.
"An unfortunate necessity, Tom," Horace sighed, "Especially during these times. You of all people know what those muggles are capable of. We had to be sure -"
"It's quite alright," Tom drew up a satisfied smile, "I understand."
The Potions Professor relaxed. Tom pushed just two fingers into the envelope's opening, withdrawing a hastily-scrawled letter. He held it up to read.
'Dear Tom M. Riddle,
They're killing us. The Blitz has gotten closer now. One of the strikes took out a block two streets down from us. We all watched from the highest floor as flames and smoke rose from the debris. They were retrieving corpses from the rubble long after the sun had risen.
Everyone said it wouldn't be us. I'm scared they're wrong. I don't know how much longer we'll remain lucky, Tom. I'm scared. I wish you were here, but know you're safer at your school. Though I might be next, there is comfort in knowing you will be fine.
Sending all my love,
Emily Burton'
"Just tragic, what's happening to those muggles," Horace whispered, whipping at his eyes.
Tom nodded absentmindedly, staring at the bottom of the letter.
'Sending all my love' . . .
An odd, inexplicable sensation whirled beneath his chest.
"Of course, we'll be next," Slughorn was muttering, "They're saying it's Grindelwald behind it all."
"Do you think he'll win?"
"Merlin, Tom, I hope not!" the Potions Professor said, alarmed and wide-eyed, "But we'll have to do something, do something fast . . ."
Tom ignored him, turning to glance around the Great Hall. His eyes slipped beyond his onlooking friends and onto a man with a long, auburn beard and matching hair.
He should do something. It's his friend, if what they say is true.
He stifled the heat that threatened to pour, his eyes falling upon the letter once more.
'They're killing us'
Tom felt the observant gaze of his professor. He looked up.
"They're killing us'," he repeated, holding out the letter, "The longer it takes, the more will . . . will . . ."
Die. They'll all die.
A painful sensation poked at his heart. Tom struggled to push it away, the fear all but consuming him -
No.
He schooled his expression, allowing a fraction - just a fraction, nothing more - of his fear to show.
"I'll have to go back to the orphanage in the summer," he said aloud, making a brave face. He allowed his lip to tremble, "They always do, no matter what I say. It's illegal for me to be here during the summer."
Slughorn's placating smile was marred by the sudden worry that afflicted him.
"Oh, Tom, I'm sure this will be different . . ."
"It won't," said Tom bitterly, "The Blitz started nearly a year ago."
"I . . ." Slughorn seemed at a loss for words, "The Wizengamot should have assessed the danger by now. They'll do what's best for our youth, I pray."
Tom felt his palms clench at his sides.
The Wizengamot never passes real laws. They won't start now for the sake of a few mudbloods.
He schooled his expression, allowing a hopeful smile to find its way upon his face.
"I hope so. But if they don't, would you help me?"
"Of course, Tom!" Horace assured him, "I couldn't let anything happen to my dear potions champion, could I?"
Tom laughed, a false smile covering his lips -
Snap.
Harry shot up, out of breath. He quickly reached for his journal, replaying his dream in his mind as forcefully as he could.
Friends, Slughorn, The Blitz, Grindelwald, and -
Harry froze.
Dumbledore. Dumbledore and Grindelwald.
Unease coated his features.
"Friends?"
He shook his head, his fingers wrapping tight around his dream journal. The book jumped open at his touch. Harry scribbled a jumbled array of notes across yellowing pages before slamming it shut. Pulling his wand from his night garments, he waved it gently through the air.
Revelio.
A worn box appeared above his head, stuck with magic to the tester of his four-poster bed. Harry reached forward, pulling at it with the ends of his long, pale fingers. He watched as the box fluttered open, a silvery something falling out from within. Harry smiled.
"Time for a bit of fun," he smirked, wrapping the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, "The rule-breaking kind."
Now invisible, Harry reached further into the box, removing a seemingly blank piece of parchment. He stuffed it into his back pocket.
His unseen form emerged from behind the curtains of his four-poster. A circle of beds filled the room, each containing a sleeping Gryffindor student. Ignoring them, Harry bent over, silently retrieving the map of Little Hangleton Hedwig had found for him. He slipped it gently into his back pocket.
Harry tread carefully through the room. He paused as he passed the four-poster belonging to one Neville Longbottom, pressing his ear against the curtains. Loud snoring emanated from inside.
Perfect.
Cold stone steps pressed beneath his foot. Harry silently transfigured his robes into something more warm, hurrying down the stairs and into the Gryffindor common room. A sprawling fire roared beneath the mantle, surrounded by a few of the eldest students. They all seemed far too engrossed in conversation to notice him.
Quietly and carefully, Harry tip-toed toward the portrait hole. His eyes fell upon two students in a corner. A rather pretty witch was staring at a brown haired boy with loving eyes, nodding along at whatever he said.
Sexual charm. Flirting.
It wasn't a trick he'd seen Tom pull many times before. But, judging from the way he - Tom - had looked at the violet-eyed girl in Harry's dream . . .
Something to consider.
He came to a stop just a foot away from the common room entrance. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned around, pointing his wand at a bookshelf in the direction of the dormitories.
Bombarda!
A wisp of white magic slammed into the wooden construct, sending shards flying across the room. Countless yells followed suit. Harry didn't linger to bask in the chaos, instead forcing his way through the portrait hole and out of sight.
He came to a stop at the end of the corridor, panting and out of breath. His fingers wrapped around the blank parchment stuffed into his pocket.
"Not that I really need you," he admitted aloud, tapping the parchment with his wand, "But, just in case, 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.'"
Red ink spread across the parchment, forming a detailed map of Hogwarts. Harry studied it carefully, checking the many paths that led out of school. The Astronomy Tower wouldn't work - Filch was patrolling that one. Sure enough, his worthless cat was pacing leisurely about the Southern Wing. Just about every other wing was being patrolled by Prefects and Head Students, which left -
"The Entrance Hall," Harry said, his eyes falling upon a single name that paced the room in question.
I could easily sneak past any of the students under my cloak.
Ignoring himself, Harry pocketed the map. His feet led him down a flight of steps and along a long, winded path leading to none other than the Entrance Hall. Smiling to himself, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his form. He schooled his features.
Where are you . . .
Shadows loomed within the hall. Harry ignored them, treading carefully toward the grand oak doors.
"Going somewhere, Mr. Potter?"
He fought to keep the satisfaction from showing. Harry turned around, a nervous smile masking his features as he turned to face a rather diminutive man.
"Er - good evening, Professor Flitwick."
"Morning, actually," the Charms Professor noted, tapping his watch, "A bit late for a night time stroll, don't you think?"
"I - I wasn't wandering about Hogwarts," Harry said, "I'm - I'm . . ."
He allowed a sliver of discomfort to show.
"I was going to go home."
Professor Flitwick paused.
"Home?"
"Not the Dursleys," Harry said quickly, "I meant -"
"I know exactly what you meant, Harry," said Flitwick gently, wiping at his eyes, "It was I who discovered your little portkey trips to Godric's Hollow, don't forget."
Harry nodded soberly.
"I don't need them anymore," Harry admitted, "I suppose you'll have a harder time knowing when I've left, seeing as I won't be tripping the wards with portkeys anymore."
"Perhaps," Professor Flitwick muttered, "Though, if you keep forgetting your father's Invisibility Cloak, perhaps not."
"I got a bit impatient," Harry lied, letting out what seemed to be a sigh of defeat, "I - it's been a while since I've seen them."
For a long moment, Filius Flitwick said nothing. The man seemed to be staring through him, his eyes latching firmly upon Harry's emerald green eyes.
Lily's eyes.
"It's odd, you know," the Charms Professor choked, smiling delicately as his eyes began to water, "I still remember when you first arrived. A spitting image of James, all but -"
"The eyes," Harry finished, "I've got my mother's eyes."
Flitwick nodded.
"She was my very favorite, you know," the man said, "My apprentice and all. Perhaps the most talented charms student I ever taught. What she would say to know it was her son who'd be giving her a run for her money -"
"I don't exactly get O's on all your assignments," Harry pointed out.
"You don't have to," Flitwick told him, "The similarities lie in magic's usage. Flawless, just like your mother. I suppose the lack of interest in homework comes from James."
Harry laughed.
"Whose favorite was he?"
"Minerva's," Fliwtick smiled, "Your Head of House always had a soft spot for him and Black, just as she does for you."
Harry's eyebrows rose.
"I wouldn't be so sure -"
"But I would," Fliwtick interrupted, "And, you must forgive me Harry, but I have known her for far longer than you."
Silence blanketed the room. Harry stood, unflinching, allowing Flitwick's gaze to comb over him.
"You look different now," Flitwick noted, "You resemble your father less than you did before summer break."
Harry nodded, a hollow feeling echoing in his chest.
The ritual worked, then.
"People grow up, I suppose," Harry whispered, "I had to become my own person at some point."
Flitick nodded.
"Go," he whispered, smiling kindly at Harry, "You'll be fine on your own?"
Harry grinned.
"This is hardly the first time, Professor. I'll be fine."
"I know. Wish them well for me."
And with that, the Charms Professor spun around, heading in the direction Harry had come. Harry slipped past the large oak doors and onto the Hogwarts Grounds.
"A little risk to strengthen a relationship," he yawned, tossing his Invisibility Cloak back over him, "Wouldn't Tom be proud . . ."
He set off. Harry hobbled over mounds of grass and dirt, heading in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. He toyed with his wand as he walked, passing it gently through his fingers.
I wonder if I could apparate from the Chamber of Secrets.
"An experiment for another day," Harry yawned, coming to a stop along the forest outskirts. He pulled the map of Little Hangleton out from his pocket.
Destination, determination, deliberation . . .
Harry closed his eyes, focusing carefully -
Crack.
The world twisted. Harry emerged in a place he'd seen just once. A sea of cottages and smaller buildings surrounded several cobblestone paths, each leading up to an ornate manor sat atop the opposite hill. Some fifty meters away from him, a dingy old sign sat atop a plank of wood stabbed haphazardly into the earth:
'Little Hangleton'
"Hedwig!" Harry whisper-shouted, looking up into the midnight sky, "Where are you?"
He shoved his Invisibility Cloak into his back pocket, throwing his hood over his head. From where he stood atop the hill, he could just barely see a vast array of lights glowing from beyond the manor.
Greater Hangleton, probably.
Bark!
A white, fluttering form swooped from overhead. Harry laughed as his beloved owl latched itself onto his shoulder.
"I've missed you," he said, pressing his lips against the side of Hedwig's head. The owl preened with satisfaction, "You and I can do a bit of exploring tonight."
Hedwig barked, jumping gently into the air. She matched Harry's pace as he slowly approached the village, hovering just a few feet overhead. Harry pointed his wand at her.
"Abscondere," he said with utmost care. He watched as his Owl vanished from sight, "Stay close to me."
An agreeable bark was all he received in reply.
The many cottages grew larger with each step they took. Harry's eyes slid across the few glowing lights as he squinted in the distance.
"It's late. There won't be many places open right now, 'cept for bars and clubs."
If they even have any in a place as small as this.
"Do you think I've lost it, Hed?" he asked, grinning at himself, "Coming here so late at night? All in the hope of learning just a little bit about Tom I didn't already know."
Obsession.
Hedwig, unsurprisingly, said nothing. Harry continued.
"It'll be worth it, though," he said, "Tom failed. I need to know how -"
A voice rang in his skull, echoing words Harry had heard before:
'An oversight. Sometimes, though, that's all it takes . . .'
"Maybe that's just it. Maybe he got unlucky. Maybe Tom let himself be blinded by ego."
Harry thought for a moment before shaking his head.
"No," he frowned, "No, Tom always thinks things through. He wouldn't make rash decisions."
Bark!
Hedwig's talon pressed gently into his shoulder. Somehow, Harry knew exactly what she was trying to say.
You've only seen what he was like when he was fourteen . . .
Harry sighed.
"Sixteen, too," he argued fruitlessly, "Don't forget the chamber . . ."
Sixteen years old. A short amount of time for someone born in the twenties.
Harry grit his teeth.
"That's why I'm obsessed, Hed," he murmured, "I don't know enough. I need to learn more, I need to learn faster . . ."
He trailed off, lost in thought. Barty Crouch Jr.'s expressionless face slipped through his mind. Harry tensed.
He could be here. They could be here.
"No more flying," he whispered to Hedwig, "Stay with me."
A seemingly lively building stood by the other edge of the village. Harry approached it quietly, watching as several older men loitered about outside.
A bar.
Harry waved his wand momentarily before his face, wincing as his features were roughly transfigured into a flawed face far older than his own. He grimaced upon catching his reflection in a nearby window.
I look about sixty.
"Identification?" a man asked as he approached. Harry gently removed his hood, staring at the man.
"Er - nevermind," the man stepped out of the way, patting him on the back, "You have a good night."
Harry nodded, stepping forward. The place was made mostly of mahogany, with green silk covering the surfaces. Behind the bar, jade marble covered the wall. About a dozen patrons littered the bar, each talking to one another.
"What can I get you?" the bartender, an old man, asked. Harry grinned toothily.
"A conversation would be nice."
The bartender laughed, reaching for a glass from beneath the counter.
"We got a drink we call 'Conversation,'" he grinned, passing a pink shot glass. Harry eyed it carefully, "But I love a good talk. You patrons all have got the most barmy of stories."
"Barmy's a bit of what I'm looking for," said Harry quickly, his voice a bit too smooth for an old man, "I'm writing a book about oddities. Heard this place has a history of them."
The man stared at Harry for a moment.
"You heard right," he admitted, "But that's all ages ago. Ain't nothing odd happen in a minute."
"Doesn't need to be recent," Harry smiled, "Got any stories from . . . hmm. How about the last seventy years? Anything since the twenties."
The bartender snorted.
"Not that old," he said, "I was born in the thirties."
"Here or somewhere else?"
"Here, here," the bartender paused, "I used to hear all sorts of things when I was a wee lad."
Excitement built up in Harry's chest.
"Go on."
"They used to talk about this man," the bartender said, "Real nasty sort. Inbred. Name was Gaunt."
"Gaunt?" Harry frowned. The bartender nodded.
"Morfin Gaunt, I think. Everyone in that family had odd names."
"Odd names?" Harry smiled, "Like what? Gertrude? Or . . . I dunno, Fatima or Riddle or something."
"You know 'bout the Riddles?" the bartender inquired, surprised, "I didn't think you'd been 'round Little Hangy before."
"The Riddles?" Harry repeated, hardly able to mask his excitement, "There are actually people named Riddle here?"
"There were," the man nodded, "Used to live up in the huge manor - that's their place. But they died in the forties. You'd love to hear about it, too - it was the strangest thing."
"Yeah?"
The bartender leaned closer.
"They didn't die from anything," he whispered, "Not aging, or cancer, or aids - nothing! Just dropped dead."
Harry's stomach churned in his chest. He was more than a little familiar with the effects just described.
The Killing Curse. Tom must've gotten to them.
Harry thought for a moment, allowing his fingers to wrap around his drink. He gently brought it to his lips.
"What about that Morfin bloke?" he asked slowly, "You were saying something about him."
"Right. Miserable fellow, he was. I used to see him every now and then. One time, he got into a bit of a fight with one of my dad's friends, Albert. Old Al had lost his son just the year before."
Harry frowned.
"Morfin didn't do it, did he?"
"Nah, don't think so," the bartender sighed, "The lad died overseas. But one day, something happened. Morfin and old Al were locked up in a room together. Al's wife was there too. Me and my mates were all hanging outside, ears pressed against the door. We thought one of them was gonna kill the other, you see."
"Did they?"
The bartender shook his head.
"Door bangs open, and Morfin walks out, shit-eating grin all over his face," he said, "And poor old Al was sat in his favorite chair, crying. He killed himself a few days later."
Discomfort welled up in Harry's chest as his skin paled.
"And you think Morfin caused it?"
"That's what Al's wife always says," he shrugged, "Mind you, she used to change the story every time she told it. Always boiled down to the same thing, though."
Somehow, the bartender leaned closer. Harry felt he might burst from anticipation.
"She says Morfin showed Al and her their son. Resurrected him or something."
Harry shook his head.
"That's . . . that's not possible," he frowned, "Nothing can raise the dead."
I know that best of all.
"That's what she says," the bartender said, "Says Morfin had used some mystical ring. Brought him back to life."
Harry shook his head again, now thoroughly frustrated.
At this point, I can't even tell the difference between real magic and muggle imagination.
"What was the ring like, then?" he asked blankly, "Draw it on a napkin or something."
"You don't believe me," the bartender frowned, "It was you who asked to hear about oddities, you know -"
"I know, I just need a bit of convincing," Harry sighed, "What did the ring look like?"
"Gold band, with a large black stone in the middle. Had a weird pattern on it, too."
The man ducked over, pulling a napkin and a pen from behind the bar. Harry watched as he produced a quick scribble.
"What happened to that Morfin guy, anyway?" Harry asked, watching as the man worked, "He still about?"
"Nah. Bunch of blokes in red cloaks carted him off decades ago around the same time the Riddle's died. I'd say he might've done it, but I couldn't tell you how . . ."
Harry frowned at the man's words.
Blokes in red . . . Aurors.
"Here," the bartender straightened up, holding out the napkin for Harry to see, "Just like that . . ."
But Harry wasn't listening. He stared at the drawing, wide-eyed. An inky circle sat within a triangle, the two shapes both split along the middle by a long, thin line. Thoughts of Barty, the Riddles, and even Tom himself all vacated his mind at once.
The Resurrection Stone.
Triumph burned red hot in his chest as Harry pulled the napkin from the man's grasp.