"Why does it always have to be so foggy in England." Harper keeps staring out of the train window. "Tom, the other day … You were only talking about marriage because I asked you to convince my parents, weren't you?"

The bleak landscape passes us by, grey in grey, as if the sun could never quite reach the earth through all those clouds again, and yet it doesn't sadden me at all.

Unlike the uncomfortable seats in our otherwise empty train compartment … However, even that can't bother me now. Not as long as Harper's leaning her head against my shoulder as closely as she is right now.

"First you complain about something as trivial as the weather, then you proceed to ask me a question like that." I chuckle. "Very British. Do you know what I want to know, though?"

She tries to stop herself from yawning, fails and then gives me a dull smile. "You want me to ask you what you're wondering about before I repeat my own question?"

"Yes."

"Damn it, what do you want to know, Tom Riddle?

"Can we at least apparate back?"

She nods at once. "You bet we will, this is nonsense … Now –"

"I want you, Harper. All of you. Your head, your heart. So highly official that not a soul will ever dare doubt it again, and that till death works up the courage to do us part."

Her ready glance is in contrast to her reaction. "Mhm," she hums, and I can't quite read her. "So what if I don't want that?"

Quite puzzled, I ask: "Why wouldn't you?"

"I'm sure you know the three most important words beyond all logic, which are a sine qua non for what you plan …"

Three words. Eight letters.
I know exactly what she's getting at.

I smirk and let our eyes meet, in complete silence, in complete agreement, and maybe I should just –

Someone knocks at the train compartment's aisle window.

An elderly lady asks if she may sit with us, hence we promptly have company. No shy one at that. Old Ms Abigail – she immediately introduces herself – won't stop talking the minute she sits down, so we find ourselves in an exhausting conversation about the rural character of the area.

"Where do you two actually have to get off?" she finally asks. "There'll soon be nothing around here but Little Hangleton."

"What's your destination?" I ask.

"Well – Little Hangleton," she laughs. "My cousin runs a little Bed & Breakfast there. Basically the only one. I visit her every year …"

"Interesting." Harper promptly looks at me. "Don't you think?"

I nod and turn to the old lady again. "Seems like a fateful coincidence – our destination is Little Hangleton, too, and of course we need a place to stay."

"Oh, Cousin Bess will be pleased to hear that!" the old bat claims. "Guests don't come to her that often."

"Sure, and do you know your way around in the village?"

"Not nearly as well as Bess," she confesses and leans towards us as though we were about to conspire. "But as far as the localities are concerned, I know a thing or two. There's a nice street in the centre of Little Hangleton, with a pretty flower shop, and a pub and a café – apart from that, though, not much else." She winks. "And of course, like everywhere else, there's a lot of gossip."

Harper acts all excited. "What do people talk about?"

"Frankly, they tell each other rather strange things. If I repeat any of it, you might change your mind and turn back …"

"Strange things?" I can hear it, Harper's interest is really sparked by now. "Don't worry, ma'am, we're friends of the bizarre. If you will …"

I nod until Abigail takes heart and continues. "Well, it's bizarre indeed, and … Bess has probably even seen him herself."

"Seen him?" Harper repeats, already a bit tense.

Now Abigail almost whispers. "The man who always carries snakes in his pockets …"

Harper tries not to show it, and I can barely hide my resigned surprise at these words as well.

"Ma'am," I say, "would you mind elaborating on that?"

"Well, they say the poor devil thinks he can talk to snakes …" She looks at us, shaking her head all worried. "A lunatic, that's what he is. Lives in his own world."

"Of course," I wearily say, "what else would it be."

"What else do you think we should know about the place, ma'am?" Harper asks on.

"That was already the most exciting part. I'm afraid there might well be better destinations for your honeymoon."

"Oh, we – this is not our honeymoon," Harper corrects.

"It's not?" The lady suddenly eyes us in irritation. "Sweetheart, then you should keep a little more distance from your friend here …"

"To what point and purpose?" I ask.

"Well, surely you're aware that it's improper to show yourself so close while unmarried?" She goes on to explain, "Bess certainly can't take you two into her Bed & Breakfast like this …"

I take Harper's hand in mine without even blinking. "Ma'am, I see no value in yet another honeymoon, but pray tell if you do have arguments for repetition."

"Oh, I beg your pardon – you are married? Me and my jumping to conclusions …" She sighs in dismay. "But perhaps you'd better wear your rings, then – otherwise this sort of conjecture will take place all the time with you young folks."

Harper nods. "I often lose things on the road – we prefer to travel with light luggage."

"I see," Ms Abigail laughs. "And look! We're almost at our destination! Now it's just a half-hour stroll to Little Hangleton. Will you come with me? Surely the young man can carry my suitcase?"

"Oh there's hardly anything I'd rather do," I reply.

Harper tries to suppress a laugh because of my cynicism – Abigail doesn't, however, she's thinks I'm thrilled indeed and keeps on being chatty.

Our walk leads us to nothing more than vast lands in the middle of Yorkshire. We pass stone cottage after stone cottage as we stroll from the remote railway station towards the centre of Little Hangleton.

Clouds are towering against a dark sky, yet those bright-green meadows seem to outshine the dreary, charged air.

Where there are strange people that can talk to snakes, I eventually end up.
If our research has not led us completely astray, I may be on the verge of finding out more about my family. Maybe I'll get to know them. But I don't know if that's a good thing …

"I'm sure we'll find answers here," Harper whispers to me when she notices my glance down the valley towards the centre of the village.

"For better or worse."

We continue to follow the old lady until we pass a cemetery on the outskirts of town.

"Scary, don't you think?" she asks us, shuddering. "I don't like cemeteries …"

"Why not, ma'am?" I look around and shrug. "It's a place like any other."

"Too much peace and quiet is never good," she replies, "and just seeing the entrance to the crypt back there makes me feel queasy."

"Why don't you look at the angel statue on the grave over there then," Harper suggests. "Isn't that a beautiful symbol of hope?"

"I suppose it is, yes," our companion sighs.

"Do you happen to know anything about the place over there?" I ask as I walk past the angel.

"The big manor on the opposite hill? Belongs to the wealthiest family here. Cold-hearted people, at least according to Bess … The son became a doctor, after all, but his wife and their three brats are apparently quite spoilt. Let's move on, shall we? It'll be dark soon, we shouldn't be wandering out here too long."

She likely isn't wrong. A clouded twilight intensifies as we finally reach the edge of the village in the valley.

It might only be my imagination, yet I feel as if I've been here before. I don't know these streets, and yet they're strangely familiar. As though my eyes still remember, yet my mind can't keep up. Like my heart could beat in time here, when everywhere else it only ever rushed.

Is that good or bad? Are these the same cobblestones my mother walked on? Possibly my father?

"Here we are," Abigail tells us, benevolently smiling as she points to the Bed & Breakfast sign. "Bess will be pleased I brought guests!"

She goes ahead, waving us along, and as we walk on Harper mumbles to me, "Should we just quickly check in and then have a look around?"

I'm tempted to say Yes, but I can see how tired she is. Her pale face is a testament to our long journey, and not least to the many sleepless nights over books and newspaper articles that finally brought us here.

She tries to stifle a yawn in vain, and I can't help but smile at her. "No," I hence say, "but we have to find you something to eat."

"Aren't you hungry, too?"

"I'm never hungry, Harper."

She just shrugs it off. "No human needs – sure …"

"Are you coming?" Abigail calls out to us. "Let me introduce you to Bess!"

Harper and I exchange wary glances already, yet we leave the spacious porch behind and follow old Abigail's annoying voice into the side room of the Bed & Breakfast, right up to the counter.

And just before we get there, the lady behind it stares at me in irritated bewilderment.

"Mr … Mr Riddle?"

Harper freezes, yet I walk on – my face as grim as it gets.

"What makes you think that?"

Lost for words she shakes her head, adjusting her glasses as she mumbles, "For heaven's sake – my bad, at first glance I truly thought you were Mr Riddle …"

Abigail adds, "The manor on the hill, you surely remember …"

My face burns all at once, it's quite odd. "You confused me with a Mr Riddle who lives in Little Hangleton?"

Bess nods. "I'm sorry. You look uncannily similar."

"Do you know him?"

"Not at all, actually," she's quick to reply. "I've been running this Bed & Breakfast for over ten years and have never spoken to him. But just when you approached me, I thought it was him wanting a room – yet, of course, he's living much more comfortably in his family mansion."

I nod, as indifferently as I can manage, and still it's strange and new to me how my body reacts to such news – with a stupid mixture of curiosity, excitement and incomprehensible trepidation.

"I apologise for confusing you, yes?" Bess gives me an uncomfortable smile, likely because I've been stuck in my head for too long. "Now you, sweetheart." She turns to Harper. "Come closer, my dear! Surely you'd also like a room?"

"No, we'll actually share a room, ma'am," she informs her, stepping up beside me. She takes my hand because I'm still barely able to move due to this sudden revelation, and it seems like a silent promise that we'll somehow get through this, too.

"They're married," Abigail rushes to our support. "They just don't wear rings on the road, Bess."

"Oh, young love, then," her cousin immediately giggles. "How nice! Are you going to tell me your name?"

"Sullivan," Harper replies before I can even think of it. "Tom and Harper Sullivan."

"Wonderful." Bess nods and begins to write that down. "Welcome to Little Hangelton, Mrs and Mr Sullivan!"