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
IX. Lost at Sea
"- your final dose of Pepper-Up Potion after the feast," Madam Pomfrey was saying, bustling about the end of the Hospital Wing, "Until then, you're to continue applying Belby's Bruise Remover every half hour -"
"Madam Pomfrey, please!" Ron interrupted. His face had gone a shade of red synonymous with his hair, "You can't let us miss the feast!"
But Madam Pomfrey shook her head.
"It's just another feast. You must've been to a hundred by now."
"Just another feast?" Ron sputtered, "The delegations are arriving! It's the start of the first Triwizard Tournament in more than two hundred years!"
"Yes, well, you should've thought about that before you got ape-like with your potions ingredients, shouldn't you?"
She turned away, approaching Harry's bed in the very corner. The red of her uniform stood out amongst the white walls.
"Now you, dear, you're in much better condition," she pursed her lips, "Of course, I'd prefer you stayed -"
"I would, too," Harry admitted weakly. Madam Pomfrey's eyebrows disappeared into her nursing cap.
"Is that so?" she said, surprised, "The ministry was hoping you'd be available to greet the delegates. The Headmaster assumed you would be interested as well."
"I suppose he's wrong, then," Harry sighed, "All I want is a nice, peaceful sleep."
Madam Pomfrey nodded.
"Of course, dear," she smiled, "Here, I'll draw up your curtains for you -"
And she did, her dainty fingers pulling thin layers of satin around his bed. Madam Pomfrey, Ron, Neville, and the admittedly dull hospital wing all turned to little more than outlines.
"As for you two," Pomfrey's outline turned, leaning towards the other two boys, "You're not to leave this room."
"Do we also get curtains?" Neville asked quietly.
"No. Your condition is good, but not quite as stable. I want you both to be alert to each other in case something goes wrong."
The Mediwitch leaned back, hurrying over to the large doors.
"Post me an owl if you need anything," she said, her outline motioning toward an avian shadow near the exit, "Archimedes is trained to respond promptly. I'll be here in faster than you can say 'seeker.'"
The woman brandished her wand gently, producing a stream of silvery-blue magic. Harry heard Ron grunt with frustration.
"Yes, Weasley, I've conjured a ward," she said sharply, "Don't waste your time sneaking out. If you try, I will know. Behave yourselves, all three of you."
And with that, her outline stepped out of the hospital wing and out of sight.
"I might kill myself," Ron muttered, sinking into his pillows.
"You won't have to try too hard," Neville mumbled from between him and Harry, "I reckon all these burns will speed up the process."
"Burns," Ron scoffed, "Speak for yourself."
"What are those markings on your face then, acne?"
Ron's outline leaned forward rather irritably.
"I've got sensitive skin, I'll have you know -"
"Silence is a virtue the two of you sorely lack," Harry snapped, sitting up in his bed. He pulled the curtain forward, peering through the gap, "Either sneak out, or be quiet."
Ron blinked.
"Sneak out?" he frowned, "How?"
Harry shrugged.
"Figure it out. Just don't bother me, I want to sleep."
With that, he closed his curtain, twisting in his bed.
"Are you alright, Harry?" an uncertain voice asked. Harry paused.
"Yeah, Neville, I'm fine," he said slowly, "Just tired."
Neville's outline nodded.
"We'll - er - we'll be quieter," the boy stammered, "Just tell us off if we're being too loud."
Harry frowned, bewildered.
"Right. Thanks."
The darkened outline turned away. Harry basked in his confusion for just a moment, understanding quickly reaching him.
He thinks it's his fault I'm here.
Harry stifled a laugh.
The hospital pillows curved as he lowered his head. Harry sank comfortably into their depths, waving his wand across his chest. A magical alarm awakened in his mind, set to go off in a half hour's time.
I could use a bit of rest.
Harry closed his eyes, willingly sinking into the realm of sleep.
(-{- S S -}-)
"Fleur, dear," a heavy, disapproving voice rang through the carriage in thick French, "What have I told you about your hood?"
Fleur bristled. Thin, delicate fingers reached past her neck, pulling down the baby blue silk.
"That's better."
Madame Maxime turned away. The carriage shook as the gigantic headmistress made her way to the front.
"Unlucky," a brown-haired girl from her left muttered, "Though I suppose there wasn't really much of a chance."
"You should have asked your father to say something," Alice agreed, yawning. The girl leaned back, tucking her straight black hair behind her ear, "He would not let them throw you to the wolves."
Fleur sighed.
"They already treat me differently enough," she frowned, "I don't need to hear more complaints."
"A bunch of half-wits, they are," another girl, Adeline, muttered off-handedly, "Here, hold this for me."
She passed a large circular mirror to the brown-haired girl. Aimée blinked.
"You've less than five minutes," she snapped, "You couldn't have done your makeup earlier?"
"I forgot," Adeline lied obviously, "Now hush, Aimée, and hold it."
The brown-haired girl sulked. Fleur couldn't help but laugh.
"You think the Hogwarts students are any better than Beauxbatons?" asked Alice curiously, "I doubt the British are as stupid as we make them out to be -"
Adeline snorted.
"So long as the boys have half a brain, I don't care," she muttered, "That's half a brain more than they do back in France."
"Let's hope that's the case," Alice agreed, "Fleur and Aimée have both waited long enough."
The brown-haired girl blushed furiously. Fleur rolled her eyes.
"Don't get me involved in your rubbish," she said pointedly. Adeline and Alice laughed, "Unlike some of you, I have standards."
"One of us!" Alice corrected, "Jean was nice, you said so yourself!"
He was acceptable enough for you. Nothing more.
"Fine, you keep searching for Mr. Perfect," Adeline said, focusing in the depths of her mirror once more, "It'll keep your father happy, knowing his precious daughter isn't at risk of being deflowered -"
Fleur couldn't help but make a face.
"- Aimée, though, you can be on the lookout for your special someone."
"I - it's okay, really," Aimée stammered, nervously toying with her brown hair, "We're only here for a year, after all. I'm more interested in what we can learn."
Adeline stared at her.
"You've fully lost the plot."
"I'm being serious!" Aimée argued. Alice hid her giggling behind a delicate hand, "Hogwarts has some of the best professors in the world!"
"Beauxbatons is prettier," Alice noted, "They've got nothing like our glass owlery over at Hogwarts -"
"'Glass owlery,'" Aimée repeated. Fleur laughed at the expression of disbelief the girl wore, "Hogwarts has the best professors in the world, but they haven't got a glass owlery -"
"It does make you wonder, doesn't it?" Fleur whispered speculatively, "Hogwarts students have got the best professors in the world, but they rank terribly."
"Bad news for you, Adeline," Alice snickered, "Doesn't seem like Hogwarts boys have any brains, either."
Adeline grinned, repositioning the mirror that Aimée held.
"I've heard that, too," Aimée told Fleur, "My mother says Hogwarts is much more lax. They allow students to make something of themselves, or something like that."
Alice snorted.
"Sounds like an excuse to do a shit job at teaching."
"Maybe," Aimée frowned, "But out of the most powerful witches and wizards from the last thousand years, about sixty percent went to Hogwarts. That's too crazy of a statistic to be mere chance."
Alice shrugged.
"Resources, then," she decided, "Hogwarts has the biggest magical library in all of Europe. Shame most of it is written in English."
"Reading English is fine," Fleur said softly, "It's the talking that's the hard part."
Adeline glanced up from her mirror, waving her lipstick.
"You irritate me, you know," she muttered, "You're the best at English of us all, after Aimée -"
"I speak - er - rather formal," said Fleur slowly, "It does not sound - does not sound smooth. Does not sound fluid."
"Extra points for the hard word," Adeline commended, "Someone's been practicing."
Fleur paused for a moment.
"I have. I am getting quite good at it now."
"Better," Aimée smiled, "You were much faster that time. I'm sure you'll have it down in no time."
Fleur winced. Alice and Adeline both laughed.
"Slower, Aimée," Alice giggled, "She's working hard enough as it is -"
"We are landing!" Madame Maxime's firm voice called through the carriage, "Be seated, please!"
They watched as a few others scattered into the remaining seats in the common room. Madame Maxime strode leisurely through the large door connecting the common room to her private quarters.
"Woah," a voice murmured. Fleur turned to find Alice with her face pressed against the window, "Look."
Fleur, Adeline, and Aimée all edged closer, peering through the glass. A large stone castle loomed within view, surrounded by a vast lake and trees as far as the eye could see. A lumbering mass of students stood beneath them, growing larger with each passing second.
"Three," Alice whispered as they approached, "Two . . . . one -"
Bang!
The carriage rattled as it slammed into the earth. Fleur's fingers pressed tight into the sides of her armchair as they slowed to a stop.
"Wonderful," Madame Maxime muttered, "Alain, get the door."
A light-haired boy nodded, hurrying toward the entrance. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open before stepping out. His hand lingered in view as he held an arm out for their headmistress.
"The rest of you, follow suit. You will walk exactly as we discussed."
With that, Madame Maxime vanished through the carriage frame. The students all rose to their feet.
"You should probably be in between us," Alice told Fleur as the first row of students stepped out, "Best not to cause a scene during first impressions."
"'Cause a scene,'" Adeline rolled her eyes, "It's them who should control themselves, not her -"
Fleur took a long, steady breath, nodding slowly.
"I'm good," she said slowly, "I'll be in between you, obviously, but I think I'll be good. I - I just need to focus."
Keep that allure on a tight leash for an hour or two. No issue.
All too soon, it was their turn to step out. Fleur followed the others through the door and out into the open. A dreary scene awaited them, the cold English clouds casting a gloomy shadow over the grounds. Fleur felt hundreds of judging eyes slide across their bodies, assessing them from head to toe.
I hate this.
"You're not walking straight," Adeline hissed, grabbing her palm, "Clear your mind."
Fleur nodded. She fought to keep a straight face as several eyes flicked in her direction.
"Dumbledore," Madame Maxime's heavily accented voice boomed through the silence, "It is good to see you again."
"Ah, and you, mademoiselle!" a tall, blurry form called proudly from somewhere before them. Fleur watched as he moved to kiss Madame Maxime's hand. He barely had to stoop.
"Dumbledore," Aimée breathed, her voice heavy, "That's Albus Dumbledore."
The most famous man in the wizarding world.
Albus Dumbledore and Madame Maxime broke out into conversation before them. To her side, Alice was searching through the Hogwarts students.
"What are you doing?" Adeline snapped.
"The two most famous wizards in the world are here, what do you think I'm doing?"
Aimée squinted.
"Two?"
"Harry Potter!"
Aimée and Adeline both paused.
"Fuck," Adeline whispered, "I forgot he'd be around our age."
"Our age," Aimée scoffed, "He's a solid two years younger, idiot -"
But Adeline ignored her, joining Alice's subtle scan through the crowd.
"You don't even know what you're looking for," Fleur pointed out, watching as her friends continued to search.
"A scar. He has a scar."
"Which you'll definitely be able to see all the way from here," Fleur frowned, "Not that it matters. He's just a boy."
"I had a feeling you'd say that," Alice said indifferently, "Though I thought you'd say it differently. Something about his fame being about as superficial as your looks -"
"Not a bad comparison," Fleur nodded appreciatively. Adeline rolled her eyes.
"Aimée, you're helping. I know damn well Fleur's high horse hasn't got room for two."
Aimée opened her mouth to complain. Fleur tuned them out, allowing her eyes to roam. She didn't dare look anywhere near the students - the last thing she needed was for some idiot to get any ideas. Instead she directed her gaze off into the forest. A curious expression coated her face.
What the -
A miniscule, almost unnoticeable cloaked form stood along the edge of the forest, their wand held aloft. Fleur watched as an abnormally expensive broom soared towards them.
The one Gabrielle wanted. A firebolt.
The boy caught it deftly. He tucked it beneath his robes, hurrying off into the forest. Fleur's fingers wrapped tight around her wand, waving it subtly behind her waist.
"Oculifortis."
"What are you doing?" Aimée hissed. Fleur ignored her, watching the boy in the distance with her temporarily enhanced vision.
She caught nothing more than circular glasses and sharp, emerald eyes before he disappeared into the forest and out of sight.
(-{- S S -}-)
"Point me!"
His wand twisted in his palm. When it eventually came to rest, it was pointing right.
That's north, then. I need to go a bit more southwest.
Harry veered about forty-five degrees to the left, leaning forward. The firebolt shot forward with a burst of speed.
"Somewhere here," Harry murmured, squinting through the fog, "Should be somewhere around here . . ."
He continued to zoom above the Atlantic Ocean, several hundreds of kilometers from land. The air here felt unnaturally cold and rigid.
Dementors.
Harry came to a stop, holding out his wand again. Once again, his wand veered to the right.
I don't understand -
Frost coated the hairs on his skin. Harry spun around. Out in the distance, a single dark mass floated through the air.
"Dementor," Harry breathed sharply, "I'm close."
He fiddled with his robes, removing his father's invisibility cloak. He carefully wrapped it around his form, making an effort to ensure there was no risk of it falling.
Now to test a theory.
Harry slowly edged towards the dementor. The dark creature loomed overhead, towering over him -
Nothing happened. Harry watched as the creature floated off, seemingly unaware of his presence.
Thank Merlin.
Harry chased after it. It was harder than it sounded, keeping track of the creature as it careened through the gloomy clouds. After what felt like ten minutes, a large, stone structure appeared from the mist. Harry felt his chest heave.
Azkaban.
He circled overhead, nervously approaching the building. It perfectly matched what his blueprints had described: three large triangular prisms, one within another within another. Hundreds of dementors circled around the structure, coating the sides in an icy glow. A hollow sensation grew in Harry's chest.
Malfoy might've been right.
Shaking his head, he leaned forward. His broom lowered from the clouds into the opening of the prison, completely undetected. Cold pavement pressed against his feet as he landed. Harry slowly hopped off his broom, removing his wand.
Reducio.
The broom twisted on the spot until it was the size of an action figure. Harry hastily shoved it into the pocket of his robes.
Time to find Morfin.
Despite what Harry had first thought, Azkaban was a rather small prison. Each cell was tiny and pressed against the next, with little room for its inhabitants. Most of the space, Harry realised, was open air. Dementors soared past every few minutes, coating the floor in frost.
"Cold," someone complained from a nearby cell, "It's too cold . . ."
Harry shook his head, hurrying off.
In truth, he wasn't quite sure what he was looking for. He'd seen a photo of Morfin Gaunt, of course, but only once. It had been in the very library catalog Tom had recalled in Harry's most recent dream. A gaunt, inbred looking man, Morfin most certainly was.
Morfin Gaunt. Almost certainly Tom's uncle.
He'd lived in the same village as the Riddles, after all. That was no coincidence. Though the fourteen-year old Voldemort clearly still held doubts, Harry was under no illusions about the boy's parentage.
Merope Gaunt and the muggle boy. Tom Riddle Senior.
Harry paused, thinking carefully.
I can ask Morfin both. About the ring and about Tom.
He strode forward, peering through each and every cell. Morfin, Harry knew, would not bear much resemblance to the man he had seen in the library. Decades in prison did that to people. His hidden feet nearly glided across the frost-strewn floors, raising from one floor to the next -
"You shut the fuck up!"
A loud whimper rang from somewhere before him. Harry hurried forward, hidden beneath his cloak. His eyes widened at the scene that lay before him.
A nude woman lay along the floor of the hall, covered in blood. A large man stood above her. Though he was adorned in robes, they did little to cover his exposed body. The man panted heavily, blood and bodily fluids coating him.
"Coward!" a voice screeched, "Filthy, worthless coward -"
"I SAID SHUT UP!" the man roared, brandishing a wand in the voice's direction. A blast of silver light tore through the air, just barely missing the woman who'd shouted. Harry felt his heart nearly shut down within his chest.
Fuck.
Before him, the man lumbered toward the cell. The left sleeve of his robe slouched as he walked. With a start, Harry realised exactly who he was.
The warden.
Something hot and ugly prickled in his chest.
"You look at me," the man breathed, stroking his handlebar mustache, "You, look at me when I'm speaking, Lestrange."
Somehow, Harry's breath caught again.
"I'm looking," Bellatrix Lestrange hissed from within her cell, "I see you for exactly what you are, you filthy, cowardly mudblood -"
"SILENCE!" the man roared, plunging his arm through the bars. The woman within just barely managed to duck out of the way. Her horrid laughter filled the prison.
"Coward!" she cried, her features contorted into an ugly smile, "Filthy, miserable, disgusting coward! You wouldn't dare try that on me, would you? Scared I'll take your other arm, too?"
The man snarled.
"One day," he warned, pointing at the woman who lay upon the floor, "One day, Lestrange, that'll be you."
Bellatrix laughed. Her voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard.
"Lies," she crooned, "You're a liar. And one day - one day, Master will punish you for it."
The man grinned.
"Master?" he guffawed, "Master? You - haha - you're master's fucking dead!"
Bellatrix fell silent. The warden's laughs filled the prison hall.
"Your master's been dead for thirteen years, Lestrange," he grinned, wiping some of the blood from his phallus, "He was killed by a fucking baby. Harry Potter -"
"Don't," Bellatrix warned, her eyes glistening darkly, "Don't say that name."
The warden grinned again.
"Or what?"
Bellatrix seethed, glancing at the woman on the floor. In the blink of an eye she turned, her palm outstretched in the warden's direction.
"Crucio!"
A blast of scarlet magic rippled from her fingers, sending the warden flying. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't the torture curse.
She's not as adept at wandless magic as her master.
Harry watched as the warden slowly pushed himself from the ground. Anger built in his chest as the man used the body of the blood-covered woman to stabilize himself.
He deserves it . . .
"Crucio."
Loud, hoarse screams flooded the prison. Bellatrix jumped up in her cell, searching the apparently empty hall for the spell's source.
"Do it again!" Bellatrix said loudly into the empty air as the spell faded, "Do it again!"
Harry stirred where he stood, feeling light-headed.
I've never done that before.
It wasn't anything like the Killing Curse or the Imperius Curse. Somehow, in some way Harry didn't quite understand, this felt worse. Much, much worse.
It can't be the spell. Spells never do this to me.
His vision whirled. The bloodied form of the woman beneath him swam into view.
It's her. What he did to her.
"You raped her."
Anger and disgust rang in Harry's skull; he felt like he would be sick. Harry doubled over, his Invisibility Cloak falling down to his shoulders.
Monster. He's a fucking monster.
The warden stared at him as he stepped forward, a hand on his chest.
"You," he whispered, "You shouldn't be here."
Harry's lips thinned. A single finger pointed at the woman on the floor.
"Neither should she."
The man growled.
"She's a murderer," he spat, his palms balled into fists, "Do you have any idea what she's done to get locked up in here?"
I don't care.
"What about you?" Harry frowned, "Why aren't you locked up?"
The man seethed.
"I am," he whispered, "They won't let me quit, they haven't let me quit for the last thirteen years . . ."
"It could get worse, I imagine," Harry said coolly, "I imagine the prison's much worse when you can't leave -"
"Enough talk!" Bellatrix screeched, clawing at the bars of her cell, "Do it now, do it again!"
"Quiet," Harry whispered. Bellatrix stared at him. The warden smiled at her before turning back to Harry.
"Going to rat me out?" he grinned, "They won't care . . . they'd pat me on the back. As they should."
Harry's chest twisted into something ugly.
"Crucio!"
The man writhed, screaming as his body flew across the hall. Harry watched with numb satisfaction as the warden's jaw went slack.
Good. That's good.
The spell ended. The man, unable to return to his feet, looked up at Harry.
"Think yer changing anythin'?" he spat, several teeth now knocked out of his mouth, "Yeh think anythin' will change? They'll find another warden jus like me, an' another, another -"
"Avada Kedavra."
A bead of emerald light whirled through the air, and the warden went silent.
"You should've gone longer," Bellatrix hissed through her bars, "He deserved more than that."
"I know," Harry admitted, "But I don't have much time."
His gaze fell to the woman on the floor. He felt a faint pulse as he pressed his fingers to her neck.
"Isabella Selwyn," Bellatrix said, "I like her. She's nice to me."
Harry frowned, waving his wand over the unconscious woman's face.
"Has this happened before?"
"No."
Harry nodded, pointing the wand at the woman's face.
"Obliviate."
The last twenty-four hours faded from the woman's mind. Bellatrix watched as he worked, intrigued.
"You look young."
"I am."
"You're very gifted for your age."
"That's an understatement."
"Not very bright though. Why didn't you bother with a disguise?"
Harry grit his teeth.
"I didn't think I'd need it."
He vanished the blood from the floor, gently repairing the woman's torn robes. Several other eyes appeared from the darkness as he worked, watching him.
"I like you," Bellatrix decided eventually, nodding as Harry hoisted the woman up into the air.
"I doubt that."
Bellatrix ignored him.
"You're the proper sort, clearly," she said, her violet eyes hovering over Harry's high cheekbones, "Is your blood pure?"
"Every bit as pure as your master's."
Bellatrix nodded approvingly, either having missed or ignored the hidden meaning in his words.
"We need people like you," she said earnestly, "People willing to do whatever it takes. Judge, jury, and executioner."
Harry stared at her. His mind raced.
She's too entrenched in Voldemort's camp to be of true use. But maybe . . .
"Your master," Harry began slowly, "What's he like?"
"A harbinger of justice," Bellatrix said, her voice akin to worship, "He will change the world for the better."
She's a fanatic.
Tom's charms had clearly grown tenfold throughout his journey to becoming Voldemort. This woman was proof enough of that.
"I've met him once before, you know," Harry said thoughtfully, "When I was twelve."
Bellatrix perked at him.
"He's alive," she breathed. Her lips split into a horrible grin, "I knew, I always knew -"
"It was just a memory. The splitting image of his sixteen year old self."
Bellatrix stared, her body pressed tight against the cold bars. Her breath fogged up in his face.
"Well?" she snapped, "What did you think?"
Harry paused.
Like looking in a mirror.
"That we were similar," he admitted slowly, "He was . . . fascinating. It made me wonder how he could have possibly lost."
Magically powerful, intelligent and charming. What more could you possibly need?
"Exactly!" Bellatrix screeched, "Yes, that's it! Now you see!"
Somehow, she managed to press her face even tighter against the bars.
"That Potter half-breed was just a setback, dear, don't you worry. Soon, things will be the way they should be."
Harry nodded carefully. Bellatrix continued to stare at him with unnerving interest.
"Still in Hogwarts?"
Harry fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"Can't see the robes?"
"No, dearest. Your nifty trick robe has them hidden."
Harry blinked, looking down. Sure enough, his invisibility cloak was still wrapped around his form, hiding everything beneath his shoulders.
"Er - I am, yes. You did say I looked young."
"I did, didn't I?" Bellatrix nodded slowly, "I'll speak to the Dark Lord about you. Put in a good word. You're quite promising."
Harry grinned.
"I suppose it would be nice to finally meet him."
Can't really count his little visit thirteen years ago. I don't even remember it . . .
"Your eyes are glazing off," Bellatrix noticed, "Lost in thought?"
Harry slowly shook his head.
"Just remembering the schedule," he muttered, "Charming though I'm sure you are, I've got other prisoners to greet."
Bellatrix giggled. For a moment, Harry could see the trademark beauty of the Blacks. It had clearly not skipped her.
"Until we meet again, dear," Bellatrix grinned, blowing him an exaggerated kiss, "I'll be sure to visit you once I'm out."
If Voldemort's still trying to kill me, you probably will.
With one last wave goodbye, Harry set off again, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over his head.
Seconds turned to minutes as he strode through the prison, peering from one cell to the next. After some time, Harry felt his eyes begin to droop. A numbing sensation began to build in his chest.
Ring!
Harry nearly jumped. His wand had suddenly grown as hot as coals, a high-pitched noise emanating from its end.
Shit.
"Tempus!" Harry muttered, holding his wand aloft. Ghostly numbers floated up into the air, representing the time. It was now midnight.
Harry hunched over, shoving his wand deep into the insides of his robes. At last, his cold fingers clenched around something stiff and smooth. Harry withdrew them to reveal a singular mandrake leaf.
"It's October first," Harry shook his head, laughing, "I almost forgot . . ."
Opening his jaw, he carefully tucked it under the roof of his mouth. It stuck almost immediately. Harry pressed his tongue against the leaf, grimacing. It tasted awful.
This next month will be awful.
Harry continued onward. He strode up one cell to the next, his eyes struggling to stay open as he continued to assess the prisoners. They were getting older, unless he was mistaken, their hair greyer and their skin more wrinkled. Just as he felt his patience beginning to wear out, a familiar face sat before him. Harry felt his chest heave heavily.
Morfin.
He pulled the Invisibility Cloak down to his shoulders, staring into the cell. Morfin's wrinkled features contorted into outrage.
"You!" he barked, crawling up to the cell's edges, "You! I'll kill you, I'll fucking kill you -
Morfin pressed against the bars, his eyes falling upon Harry's face. The anger slowly left his eyes.
"Oh. You ain't him."
Harry's heart lurched.
"Who's 'him', exactly?"
Morfin stared at him.
"Tom," Morfin snarled, "The dirty muggle Merope ran off with. Tom Riddle."
Harry nodded slowly.
"Why are you here?" he asked carefully, "What did you do?"
"Murder," Morfin showed a toothy grin, "I killed Riddle, I did! His parents, too!"
Harry thought for a moment.
The muggle bartender told me as much.
Harry let his lips curve into a frown, staring at the man's fingers. He forced a puzzled expression onto his face.
"Do they not let you bring your jewelry into Azkaban?"
"What?" Morfin stared at him. Harry pointed at the man's withered fingers.
"There's a ring tan on your middle finger."
Almost instantly, Morfin's face scrunched up into an expression of agony.
"I - he took it!"
"Who?"
"Riddle!"
"The muggle?' said Harry, unimpressed, "You said you killed him."
"I - I did," Morfin said uncertainly. It sounded as though he were trying to convince himself, "I killed them all by myself -"
You're wasting time.
Harry sighed, raising his wand. He pointed it between Morfin's eyes.
"Think happy thoughts, Morfy . . . Legilimens!"
A stream of incoherent images flashed like lights in Harry's mind. His eyes scrunched together in pain, his heart pounding loudly -
Everything slowed. The face of a young Tom Marvolo Riddle came to rest in Harry's mind. Behind it, several bodies lay upon the floor.
Tom's dad. His grandparents, too.
Their lifeless bodies glistened upon the floor of the hollow manor, unmarred. The handsome boy walked back and forth amongst their bodies, unperturbed.
"Thank you, uncle," Tom smiled. Harry could easily spot the falsity of his grin, "You'll serve me well, I'm sure."
The boy nodded, spinning a gold ring around his fingers. A familiar black gem was inlaid within its center.
The Resurrection Stone.
"I'll take good care of this, I promise. As for you . . . Obliviate."
Snap.
Harry flinched. He was back where he was moments ago, standing before the cell of one Morfin Gaunt. He paid little attention as the man slumped over, unconscious.
"He killed his parents."
He has the stone.
Harry roared in frustration, jabbing his wand into the cell.
"Obliviate!"
Raw power flooded the floor, and more than fifty years of memories vanished into nothingness.