Chapter 8

The Nightmare in the Cellar

A loud crack and Tim appeared on a deserted street with Harry Potter next to him. Harry's wand was already out and his eyes quickly scanned the street. Tim wasn't sure what he was looking for but after about thirty seconds he spoke. "Which way to the house?"

"This way. Abraxas put a security spell around the place to prevent magical transportation onto the premises. It's about a two-mile walk."

"Then let's start walking. Lead on." Tim started walking up the street with Harry close behind. It was dark and there was just enough mist to limit visibility. It was a mildly chilly night, but Tim was covered in goosebumps and his hair stood on end. Why was he walking back towards that horrible house with the nightmare in the cellar? He should've just stayed at the Ministry after he delivered his message. Was Harry as scared as he was?

Tim made an effort to keep his voice calm and asked, "Why didn't your security team come with us?"

Harry responded without looking at Tim. "They are required to remain at the Ministry if I am called away on cases that are extremely time sensitive or classified above top secret. This case is both."

Tim glanced at Harry, who was clearly on high alert. He held his wand at the ready and his eyes never stopped moving. Yet while he was clearly on the lookout for threats, he didn't seem scared at all. On the contrary, he moved like a predator. No, like an Auror. Tim clenched his jaw, forced his fear back and mimicked Harry, wand poised and ready to strike. Whatever might be out there should be afraid of them, not the other way around.

They didn't see a single person on their walk to the house. Tim wasn't sure if that was good or bad, but Harry said nothing. Nearly half an hour later they arrived at the house. It was the last place on earth Tim wanted to be, but he led Harry in anyway. The front door led into a brightly lit kitchen with a small man sitting at the square table in the center of the room. The man stood up so fast he knocked his chair over and spilled the tea he'd been drinking.

"No, you can't be here, it's-" He trailed off as his eyes found Harry. "Harry Potter! You're here, oh thank goodness!" He made to collapse into his chair but, given that he'd just knocked it over, he ended up on the ground. Tim rushed over and helped the man up as Harry waved his wand, which righted the chair and cleaned up the spilled tea.

Harry walked over to the man and extended a hand. "I am Harry Potter. And you are?" The small man swept the purple hat off his balding head and grasped Harry's hand.

"Barliman Bottelsen, it truly is a pleasure to meet you, sir. Your colleagues are both downstairs at the…the scene."

"Please, call me Harry", he responded as he took a seat across from the man. "If it's alright with you, Barliman, I was hoping to ask you a few questions?"

"Of course, of course! Whatever you need, I have nothing to hide! I want to do whatever I can to resolve this dreadful business."

"Wonderful. Tim, would you mind putting on another kettle? I'm afraid we caused our host to spill his last cup." Tim moved toward the stove, impressed Harry could shift into having a cordial conversation so quickly after that tense walk. "Barliman, I understand that you own this house, but you don't live here. Is that right?"

"Yes, yes, exactly right! I live out in the country! This property is an investment, I bought it almost twenty years ago when every witch and wizard was moving to Hogsmeade or Ottery St. Catchpole or whatever village that was almost all wizards. My thinking was that these things are cyclical. Sure, living in areas with a dense magical population was all the rage then, but sooner or later folks will want something more quiet again, hidden amidst the muggles like this. So I got this place cheap. I'm just waiting for the value to go up and I've been renting it out to folks in the meantime."

"I see", Harry said as he jotted down notes. "How long do you usually rent to one person?"

"Well it all depends on the tenant. I prefer longer term leases so I know I'll have steady payments, but I'll rent short term if the price is right. Always aim for something at least a year long though. Actually, the lease with the current tenant is-", Barliman cut off and stared to his right. Tim put the kettle on the stove and then followed his gaze to the cellar door.

Harry coughed and Barliman's head snapped back to him. "Barliman, is your current tenant the victim?"

Barliman shook his head vigorously. "No, no, no. The victim down there's a bloke. I rented this place to a woman. Longest lease I ever signed, is what I was going to say, five years! Must've moved in here about three years ago. For the first two and half years she was my favorite tenant! Always paid on time, no damage to the place, never any complaints from the neighbors or visits from authorities such as yourselves", he said nodding to Harry.

"What happened six months ago that made her stop being your favorite tenant?"

"She stopped paying rent!" Barliman practically shouted. "And I don't mean she was paying late, she wasn't paying at all! I thought there had to be some mistake. She's been wonderful! Like I said, always paid on time and she was such a pleasant woman. I left messages but she never responded. Dropped by the house but she wouldn't answer. I was just thinking about starting the eviction process when I was contacted by someone else who wanted to rent the place. So I thought, the hell with it, I own the damn place, she's not paying rent, I'll go in there and kick her out myself! So this morning I came to the house. I let myself in and no one was here. I checked the bedrooms first but there was nothing there, she must've taken all her belongings and left." His voice dropped close to a whisper. "I checked the cellar last. And then I sent for you boys straightaway." He shuddered, "It's horrible down there."

Harry glanced up from his notes and looked Barliman right in the eye. "Thank you for your help with this. I know how difficult this is, I know what it's like to see horrific things – things that weren't your fault – yet you're stuck picking up the pieces. You've handled yourself well tonight." Barliman smiled from ear to ear and Harry picked his quill back up. "I have just one more question, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to go see the cellar for myself. Your tenant, what's her name?"

"Merope. Merope Gaunt."

Harry's quill never touched the parchment. He looked back up at Barliman, his face white as a ghost. "What did you say?"

At that moment the kettle whistled and Harry nearly jumped out of his chair. Tim took the kettle off the heat and magicked three cups from the cupboard to the counter. Harry was breathing quickly and it took him a moment to gain his composure.

"I'm sorry – her name. Say it again."

"Merope Gaunt was her name. Very strange name too. I had the same puzzled reaction the first time she said it to me", Barliman said with a chuckle. "I've never met anyone else named 'Merope' and I've never heard the surname 'Gaunt' either. Makes you wonder about parents these days, coming up with these ridiculous names", said Barliman Bottelsen. "And it's the poor kids that have to live with them."

Harry sat motionless for nearly a full minute. Tim brought Harry a cup of tea but got no reaction whatsoever. There was a noise from downstairs, footsteps on the stairs, and Harry jerked out of his meditation. "Sorry, Barliman. But – err, can you describe her? How old she was, what she looked like?"

"Sure. She must've been just out of school, I'd reckon. Maybe twenty. Not a pretty looking thing I'm sorry to say…or I would've been if she didn't stiff me out of six months of rent and leave a corpse in my house! But um, yeah, not so easy on the eyes. And speaking of eyes, she was a bit cross-eyed herself, almost looking in two directions at once. I think they can fix that at St. Mungo's these days, but I have the manners to not say such things to a lady."

At this the cellar door swung open and Abraxas stood in the doorway. "Potter, you're here." His normally boisterous voice was subdued. "Come down here, you've got to take a look at this." Harry rose to his feet, still not looking quite right, but he made his way to the cellar door. Abraxas was standing on the first step but was still noticeably taller than Harry. "Before we fully realized what we were dealing with here, we were going to have the kid bring some experts. Department of Potions and Elixirs, Department of- "

Harry waved his hand and cut him off. "Send him now. Whoever you think we need – but do not tell them what this is. Say it's a routine murder investigation." Harry cast a quick glance at Barliman and said "Under no circumstances is anyone to mention the h-word. With your protective enchantments we should have at least an hour until they get here."

Abraxas nodded at Harry and then looked at Tim. "You heard him. Head back to the Ministry now and get representatives from the Departments we discussed." Then he turned around and he and Harry both descended the stairs into the nightmare below.

Tim let out a sigh. He wasn't sure what was worse, being left in the kitchen while the real aurors handled the crime scene or being sent back and forth to the Ministry like an owl. He'd thought about hunting horcruxes when he was younger. I mean who hadn't, after hearing the impossible tale of Harry Potter's triumph over the Dark Lord. He'd expected to be scared on such an adventure. He'd expected to be up all night deciphering cryptic clues. He didn't expect to spend all his time making tea and fetching more important wizards. But someday he was going to be one of those more important wizards, and doing his best today was the first step. He drained his cup of tea, took out his wand and strode to the front door.

"Barliman, I'll be back in about hour accompanied by several people. Don't spill your tea this time because I'm not making another kettle."

Harry walked down the steps in a trance. Merope Gaunt. He still vividly remembered the first time he heard that name. It was in Dumbledore's pensieve during Harry's sixth year. Dumbledore had been preparing Harry to face Voldemort and, on this occasion, showing Harry memories of Tom Riddle's ancestors. That particular memory had introduced Harry to Tom Riddle's grandfather, Marvolo, his uncle, Morfin, and his mother, Merope. Merope Gaunt, the mother of Voldemort. Harry had seen her in the memory too and Barliman's description was a match as well – young woman, lank hair, eyes staring in different directions.

Harry had pitied her, the woman who had given birth to Voldemort. Marvolo and Morfin were cruel and abusive. They treated her like dirt, like she was subhuman. Harry was all too familiar with cruelty at the hands of family. At least Harry had been able to escape to Hogwarts and be among friends. Merope's story was far more tragic. The two of them, Merope's father and brother, had landed themselves in Azkaban and she left her family home with the only thing of value they had left: the locket of Salazar Slytherin. She bewitched Tom Riddle Sr., a handsome muggle who lived in the next town over, and married him. But that didn't last – she lifted the enchantment and Tom Riddle Sr., understandably, wanted nothing to do with her. She sold the locket, a near priceless item, for a few galleons. Then she gave birth to Tom Marvolo Riddle, the man who would become Voldemort, at a muggle orphanage and promptly died. Harry didn't know the exact date, but he did know that Tom Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets sometime in the early 1940s at the age of sixteen. That would mean Merope Gaunt had died in childbirth in the 1920s, some 80 years ago. Yet she'd paid rent on this house just six months ago.

Harry's foot hit concrete and thoughts of Merope Gaunt were pushed to the back of his mind. Harry looked around the cellar and took it all in. The room was illuminated by five globes of light suspended in midair – one in each corner and the fifth in the dead center of the room. A corpse lay spread eagle directly underneath the center light. The corpse was at the heart of a seven-pointed star that took up the entire room – a star made of, what appeared to be, floating blood. The inner portion of the star, the walls, and parts of the ceiling were covered with strange writing and symbols. Harry let out a whistle.

"We're making sense of it the best we can", John's voice came from the far side of the room. "We think we've identified each type of blood. We're working on the symbols and writing. Do you think this was used to make a horcrux?"

"What type of blood was used to make the heptagram?"

"Seven types: human, giant, mermish, goblin, centaur, unicorn and phoenix."

Harry's eyes were drawn to the golden arm of the seven-pointed star, small droplets occasionally sparking into the air. "How on earth did they get that much phoenix blood?" Harry shook his head and walked around the perimeter of the star twice, saying nothing.

"Well, Potter, what do you think? Was this a horcrux ritual?"

"Definitely. The interesting thing about this is, if you strip away all theatricality, it's very…textbook. Very straightforward." Harry glanced up and smiled as he saw John and Abraxas exchange bewildered glances. "Don't get me wrong, this whole scene is horrifying and whoever did this is a monster. The construction of the star implies our perpetrator murdered five sentient beings along with capturing and injuring two extremely elusive magical creatures, so we're dealing with someone very skilled and dangerous in addition to evil. But from a horcrux perspective, this reads to me like a first timer, following the instructions to the letter because they are afraid to mess it up."

John didn't appear convinced. "Are you sure, Harry? This doesn't seem like a first go round to me…"

"Can't you spot the signs? Don't you remember the horcrux training we did?"

"Well, that was five years ago", John said wringing his hands. "There may be a few specifics that we forgot."

"Then I think we'll need to make the horcrux training program an annual thing. We cannot be lax about horcruxes." Harry took a deep breath and then did his best Hermione impression. "To successfully create a horcrux, the caster must first rip their soul by committing murder. Then, they need to perform a ritual that has three essential ingredients: first is the body of the victim – the vessel that, up until recently, contained a soul itself; second is the blood of a sentient creature – human, goblin, house-elf, etc.; third and last, is the blood of either a unicorn or a phoenix – two creatures associated with immortality or rebirth."

"Like any other ritual, the horcrux ritual needs to be an enclosed shape. Any shape should work but the seven-pointed star is popular because seven is the most powerfully magic number – whether that's superstition or if a seven-pointed shape actually works better is unclear. But for the horcrux ritual to work, the shape only needs to be big enough to contain the body of the victim and the object the caster will use to encase their soul."

Harry turned back to the scene on the cellar floor. "When I look at our scene here, I see the following: seven-pointed shape used for the ritual – not strictly necessary but most books would recommend it; blood from a unicorn and a phoenix – only blood from one is necessary, but our caster used both; blood from five sentient creatures: human, giant, goblin, centaur and mermaid – again, only one would be necessary to complete the ritual. The overwhelming majority of the time, the caster will just use human blood for the 'blood of a sentient creature' element. I mean, they already killed a human being as part of this process so human blood should be readily available to them. Our caster went out of their way to get the blood of several other sentient creatures. They also tracked down both a unicorn and a phoenix, which is a hell of a lot harder than most people think. So my first impression is that our caster is a very skilled, very competent wizard who just got their hands on a horcrux textbook and wanted to make sure their ritual was as complete as possible."

Abraxas and John looked at each other and then Abraxas spoke. "The phoenix blood, that concerns us the most. Just as you inferred, phoenixes are extremely rare. But even if our perpetrator did manage to find one, phoenixes can teleport – disappear in a flash of flame and appear somewhere else. Also, when phoenixes "die" their bodies burn and they are reborn from the ashes. There is no blood when a phoenix dies, you couldn't kill one and then extract the blood. The only thing we could think of, is our perpetrator must have found a phoenix, managed to magically subdue it before it teleported, and then slowly drained its blood without killing it."

Harry felt a cold wave of nausea and he looked away from the star. "Unfortunately, I agree with that assessment. I think we're dealing with one sick, twisted bastard here." Harry thought about the only phoenix he ever met, Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix. It was a wonderful creature that had saved Harry's life on more than one occasion. It was friendly, warm, fiercely loyal. Harry couldn't imagine what kind of person would hurt a creature like that. Harry thought he would be sick if he kept thinking about this, so he changed the subject. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will be able to tell us more. What have you figured out about these symbols and writings?"

John pulled out a thick stack of parchment. "We've copied every line of it down, so the Ministry can analyze it without the need to come here." John flipped the top page over to show Harry. "Abraxas is a surprisingly good artist, I think we have an accurate rendition of the ritual site with all symbols and markings copied faithfully. We think the writing is Greek, but don't know that for sure. One thing that supports our Greek theory is the victim."

Harry shifted his attention to the victim. He forced down his nausea and tried to take in the details without emotion. Male. Medium height. Light brown hair. Brown eyes. Maybe 40 years old. Blank expression on his face. Harry thought he'd never seen a less remarkable looking person. But he took a mental image of this man, determined not to forget him. "Any idea who he is?"

"No. He had no wand. No identification. No purse, wallet or anything else. But if you look at his robes, you'll notice two things: first, the cut of the robe exposes the shoulder. At first we thought it was just the way the body was lying, but it's a specific design of the robe itself. He's wearing a toga, see the clasp at the front? Older fashion, but still occasionally worn in Greece. Second, you'll see he has a brand on the exposed shoulder. Clearly a snake, but we've been looking at that closely. We think, specifically, it's a basilisk, which of course are native to Greece."

Harry stared closely at the brand on the dead man's shoulder. It was fairly large, filling the entire space from his collarbone to his nipple. The details of the snake itself were incredibly intricate and Harry was certain it was branded by magic. It did resemble a basilisk. Great, like horcruxes weren't bad enough.

"So, we have an anonymous victim that might be Greek. A tenant that has not been seen nor heard from in six months, but all her belongings have been removed from the house. We have pages of possibly Greek writing and symbols that we'll need the Ministry to translate and decipher. And, our perpetrator appears to be new to horcruxes, but otherwise extremely skilled in Dark magic and willing to kill several sentient creatures without a second thought", Harry finished, shaking his head. "I think that summarizes what we know. Is there anything else?"

"One last thing, Potter", John said shuffling his parchment back into a bag. "Over here." John walked to the far side of the cellar and Harry followed. Abraxas waved his wand and the five orbs of light that had been illuminating the place followed them to the far wall, throwing the entire wall into sharp relief. The wall was dominated by a picture of a man drawn with some green substance. The drawing was huge, nearly reaching the twelve-foot ceiling. The man was wearing a similar robe as the victim – toga style, one shoulder exposed. His vaguely monkeyish face was wearing a sinister grin. He held some type of staff or scepter that was wider at the top than at the bottom.

There was an inscription at the bottom, just below the floor. Harry read it aloud, "'Herpo Olympus'. Any idea who or what that is?" He asked turning to John and Abraxas. They both shook their heads. "Is he supposed to be some kind of king? He has that scepter…"

"That's no scepter", it was Abraxas this time. "Look closer. It's a snake." Harry did look closer and quickly realized that the long thin object this man was holding was a snake. A king cobra with its hood flared out. Harry took a step back and followed the gaze of the twelve-foot man on the wall.

"He's looking directly at the horcrux ritual, right at our victim in the center. And he certainly seems happy about what he's seeing. This Herpo character is either half-giant or he was drawn to look far larger than he was. I'm guessing the latter. Bigger tends to mean more important. So, was this ritual meant to please this Herpo person? Like a sacrifice? Or worshipping him somehow?"

The blank looks on his aurors' faces told Harry they had no answers either. "Alright, well I think we have three immediate courses of action: first, identify the victim; second, find out what happened to the tenant who seems to have disappeared; third, identify creepy Herpo here and decipher the writings and symbols."

"Agreed", said John. "What about the crime scene? Should we bring Barliman in for questioning? Interrogate the locals, see if anyone has seen anything?"

"Yes and yes", Harry nodded. "I'll leave it to you to delegate the lower priority aspects of this however you want. But I want the two of you working on identifying the victim and locating the missing tenant. I'll work with the Ministry on the rest. I don't have to tell you, but this looks bad. If you need backup or support of any kind, ask for it immediately. Time is of the essence on this." Harry hesitated. "The tenant…make sure you tell me the second you find anything on her."

There was the bang of an opening door upstairs followed by the sound of several footsteps. "Sounds like our experts are here", Harry said. "John if you give me your notes, I'll take them to the Ministry and get moving on it right away. I trust the two of you to give the tour to our reinforcements. John frowned, but pulled his notes out of his bag and handed them over to Harry. Harry tucked them away and went upstairs to the kitchen, which now contained a large group of people.

The room was abuzz with conversation. In addition to Tim and Barliman, Harry counted three witches, two wizards and one goblin. Oh damn.

"Harry Potter!" the goblin shouted and the rest of the group quieted immediately. The goblin strode forward and addressed Harry in a cold voice. "They told me goblin blood had been found here. Tell me, did something new happen or did they just mean the blood already on your hands?"

"Hello, Ragnar", Harry said, pasting a fake smile on his face. "Always good to see you." He turned his attention to the rest of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, the aurors downstairs are waiting for you and will tell you specifically why you were called here and what assistance they require of you. I need to get back to the Ministry of Magic as soon as possible, so if you would please excuse me and make your way downstairs as efficiently as possible. Thank you."

Harry could feel the muscles in his cheeks as he held that smile while he shuffled his way out of the house. Only when the door shut behind him did it fall away. The angry goblin didn't bother Harry, he'd been dealing with that for nearly 10 years. On his walk back outside of Abraxas' defensive spells, he didn't think about the dead man, or the creepy floating blood, or the drawing of that man holding a snake. He thought about Merope Gaunt. He thought about that memory of the Gaunt house Dumbledore showed him. He thought about their conversation afterwards. He thought the most about his own feelings upon hearing the story. How Merope had essentially given up on life and died despite just giving birth to a son. How his own mother had chosen death so her son might live. Harry had seen his mother on that night 10 years ago, when Voldemort had died for good. He'd used the Resurrection Stone and spoke to her, but Harry had felt that she had been with him always. Dumbledore had once told him that the ones we love never truly leave us. Perhaps Voldemort's mother hadn't left either.