Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Erotes	By : Bickymonster Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 70634 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 19
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any concepts or characters associated with it. I am not making any money from this this story

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
AN: Chapter 16; this is my apology for the mess up with the update of chapter 15 where I accidentally posted this chapter in place of one it was supposed to be (so if this looks familiar go back and read yesterday's update which you probably haven't read yet).
This is also a birthday present to my very loyal and lovely reader Nari-chan. Happy Birthday buddy. <3
Enjoy.
Warnings: Swearing, slash and Adult themes, sexual content. For full warnings see story description.
Thank you to my beta, AchillesTheGeek.

(Note: This is the updated edited version of the chapter. Updated 09/07/2015)
One final point: This chapter is very slightly longer than my usual but that said, that is mostly because a lot of it is very closely related to the chapter “The House of Gaunt” in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It will be obvious where and why when you get to it, so obviously full Credit to J.K.Rowling for all sections that were borrowed (the dialogue of the memory).

Harry was feeling distinctly grumpy as he made his way towards Dumbledore’s office. He had not been happy to leave Draco in Snape’s quarters but understood that it was for the best and that his mate would be perfectly safe in the potion master's care. He had managed to catch up on sleep the day before, after his sleepless night in Paris, but having to deal with one of the Headmaster's lessons was likely going to be far too tiring for such an early hour in the day.
It wasn’t helping that he was going to be worrying about Draco until he saw for himself that his mate and unborn child were unharmed and Harry was more than willing to rain hell down upon Lucius Malfoy, should the man fail to do right by Draco for once in his life.
'You keep saying how you want to have more information.'
The words that Draco had told him over breakfast came back to him as he found himself stood in front of the set of stairs up to the Headmaster's office. He knew it was true and that he should be glad that the old man was finally giving him some answers but Dumbledore's obvious reluctance to include Draco in whatever he was planning was putting Harry on edge.
He really was finding it increasingly difficult to trust the man, particularly with Snape's warning so fresh in his mind, but he had gone over this again and again, and he really had no choice but to at least hear the Headmaster out for the moment. And so he took a calming breath and climbed the steps that were usually hidden behind the gargoyle.
“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore called out happily, when Harry knocked loudly on the office door. "Good morning," the Headmaster added jovially as Harry stepped into the room and closed the heavy door behind himself.
"Headmaster," Harry said politely, giving the man a small nod as he approached the desk where Dumbledore was sitting. He didn't agree entirely with the sentiment that this particular morning was a good one; he had definitely preferred the morning of the previous day and couldn’t help the amused smile that crept onto his face at the less than appropriate memories of his and Draco's shared shower in Paris.
“I trust that today finds you more rested than when we spoke last?” Dumbledore enquired kindly as he pushed himself out of his chair, taking a moment to stroke his fingers through Fawkes’ feathers as he made his way around the large desk.
Harry nodded again. "Yes, thank you, sir." It was apparent that Dumbledore was hoping to start an actual friendly conversation between the two of them, but Harry was not at all in the mood; he wasn't there for a social call, and he didn't want to be away from Draco any longer than he actually needed to be.
Thankfully, the Headmaster seemed to get the message and when he spoke again his tone was businesslike. “Last term you expressed an interest in my plans and the information I have about Voldemort,” the Headmaster said, fixing Harry with a stern look
“Yes,” Harry answered, though it hadn’t really been a question; Dumbledore's eyes seemed to be trying to look into his soul and Harry found this annoyed him a great deal more than it had in the past. “You promised to explain a lot of things," the teenager added trying not to sound too bitter about how much he had been kept in the dark, "and I think you mentioned something about some memories you wanted me to show me.” His tone was somewhat harsher than he had intended and he promptly added “sir,” feeling momentarily worried that he had been overly rude.
Dumbledore nodded, seemly unfazed by Harry mood. “I also promised protection for your family,” the Headmaster reminded him, approaching the teenager. “I received a letter from Tonks just this morning," he said, indicating a piece of parchment that was open on his desk. "She has agreed, with permission from the minister of magic, to take over the post of Defence against the Dark Arts Professor.” The old man peered over his glasses to watch Harry closely, as he so often did. “She also suggested we recruit the former Professor Lupin.”
Harry, who was already smiling at the thought of having Tonks around, broke it a delighted grin at the prospect of having Remus at Hogwarts again. “Really?” he asked hopefully, barely daring to believe that the last of his parent’s friends would agree to return to the school, particularly given how he had been ‘encouraged’ to leave the last time.
The Headmaster dipped his head in confirmation. “I have already written to Remus," Dumbledore told him. "I have informed him that there have been some developments that you and I would like to discuss with him, and that his assistance in assuring your safety whilst at the school would be appreciated."
Harry nodded his understanding as he mulled it all over. He knew that Remus was likely to seriously consider returning if he thought it would help protect Harry. The teenager didn't like the idea that Remus would be pushed into taking the job at the school for his sake, but it at least sounded like Dumbledore was going to let him be involved in the discussion, which meant that he would be able to make sure that Remus at least knew all the facts before making his choice about whether or not to return.
"I rather thought you would want the opportunity to explain the situation to him yourself, in person," Dumbledore went on, when Harry said nothing. "Though I am quite sure that as soon as Remus is aware that his position here would be to assist you, he will not hesitate.”
“Thank you,” Harry said earnestly, his mood now having improved greatly, giving the Headmaster an honest smile. He agreed that Remus was likely to agree to take the position, but at the moment he was just glad that he was going to get to talk to his father's friend.
“You are most welcome,” Dumbledore responded cheerfully, glad to have finally got a reaction from the teenager. “Now, however," he went on, heading over to one of the cabinets against the wall of his office, "we have an appointment to keep with the late Mr Bob Ogden, or, more specifically, his memory.”
Harry rolled his eyes slightly, finding himself lost in the middle ground between amusement and resignation. “Bob Ogden?” he asked curiously, despite himself.
“He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” the Headmaster told Harry, as he removed his pensieve from the cabinet. “Although he sadly died some time ago now, I was able to meet with him before then and was successful in persuading him to share his recollections of a particular meeting," he explained. "I would like to share this memory with you today, Harry.”
“You make it sound as though you have many such memories to show me,” Harry observed, crossing the office towards the Headmaster's desk, glaring slightly at the stone basin as Dumbledore carefully placed it on the side closest to them. Harry was not fond of the device; his previous experience with it had left him feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “ And that you are not planning on showing them to me today,” he added, narrowing his eyes at the Headmaster.
“That is indeed so, Harry,” Dumbledore confirmed, sounding mildly impressed that Harry had interpreted as much from his words. “This is a complex matter and I feel it would be unwise to impart too much of this information at once," the Headmaster explained. "I believe it would be advisable to allow what I wish to explain today to settle in your mind before we attempt to address anything further.”
Harry had to restrain the growl that was trying to escape his throat; the older man’s constant need to control everything was grating on him and his irritation with the Headmaster was rapidly growing again. He had many things that he wanted to say to Dumbledore; however, with a level of self-restraint for which he was sure Draco would have been proud of him, he managed to hold his tongue.
“For now, however," Dumbledore went on joyfully, as though the teenager wasn't glaring daggers at him, "I invite you to join me in the past.” The Headmaster pulled a small crystal bottle from the pocket of his robes and held it up for Harry to see.
It was full of a silvery substance that seemed to be neither liquid nor gas, which Harry recognised as a collected memory; this one presumably belonging to the aforementioned Bob Ogden. However, it was not the small bottle that had caught Harry’s attention but rather the blackened and somewhat dead appearance of the hand holding it.
“Sir!” Harry exclaimed with a gasp. “What happened?” His face was scrunched up slightly in both concern for the Headmaster and disgust, for the hand really was quite a gruesome sight.
It appeared to take a few moments for the Headmaster to register what had caused Harry's rather alarmed reaction and, as he followed the teenager's stare to his own hand, he sighed. “Ah, that is a tale for another time, my boy," Dumbledore said, his tone heavy with what Harry thought might be regret. "I assure you all that can be done, has been done, and that it causes me no pain.”
Harry nodded his acceptance of the dismissal, recognising it for what it was; however, he didn’t stop frowning or take his eyes from the damaged hand, as the Headmaster struggled to pull the stopper from the bottle. “Sir, shall I...?” Harry offered, not liking to watch the man struggle.
“No matter, Harry...” Dumbledore assured him, as he drew his wand in one swift motion and used a silent spell to uncork the bottle instead. The Headmaster poured the memory into the shallow stone basin and returned to the empty phial to his pocket. “After you,” he insisted, as he indicated the bowl with a wave of his good hand.
Harry shook off his still burning curiosity about what had happened to Dumbledore's hand, knowing that it wasn't really any of his business, and reminding himself that he had other things to be thinking about at the moment. He braced himself as he took the last few steps to stand next to the Headmaster by the pensieve.
He looked up and noticed Dumbledore was smiling encouragingly. He really hated the sensation he knew was coming but it felt a bit churlish to even consider backing out now, when he had been the one who wanted the answers this memory would apparently give him. So, reminding himself that it was in the name of creating a safe world for his family, he leaned forward and, taking a breath, he plunged his face in.
As Harry had expected, he was hit by the sudden and unnerving sensation of falling. The Headmaster’s office and the Headmaster himself were both gone and he was surrounded by an oppressive darkness, until, quite suddenly, he wasn’t.
The bright sunlight stung at his eyes a little, and the feeling of firm ground beneath his feet was somewhat disorientating for a few seconds; by the time he had his bearings, Dumbledore was standing next to him, watching him with a patient expression.
Harry looked around, trying to work out where they were. They seemed to be on a country lane; high hedgerows stood on either side of the road and, given the clear blueness of the sky and the warmth of the air, Harry assumed it to be summer.
There was a man a little way ahead of them; Bob Ogden, Harry assumed. He was short and plump, with thick glasses and was currently inspecting a nearby sign post. He had the appearance of what Harry now easily recognised as a wizard in muggle clothing; a frock-coat and spats were not, to the best of Harry's knowledge, the usual accompaniment to a striped one-piece bathing suit and the sight brought a small smile to the corner of Harry’s mouth.
Having seemingly identified the direction in which he needed to go, Mr Ogden headed off down the lane and Harry didn’t need the hand Dumbledore placed on his upper back to know they should follow him.
As they passed it, Harry glanced at the sign Ogden had been reading; they were heading towards Little Hangleton, which was apparently just one mile away, as opposed to Great Hangleton, which was five miles away in the opposite direction; not that that really told him anything, as neither was familiar to Harry.
The two of them followed Ogden a short way down the lane before it veered off to then left and down a hill, the valley below suddenly displayed before them. They could see a little village, which Harry suspect to be Little Hangleton, safely tucked between two hills, looking quaint with its church and large manor house, complete with large grassy grounds.
Harry and Dumbledore made haste as they followed the strangely dressed man, as Ogden's pace had increased thanks to the downwards slope the road had taken. They only just saw as the man suddenly turned, disappearing from sight, and Harry was unsurprised when Dumbledore let them off the road through the gap in the hedge and onto a small dirt track.
The path was significantly narrower than the road they had just left and uneven underfoot as they followed it downhill and into a dark patch of trees. It was only a few moments later that they managed to catch up with Ogden; the man was standing with his wand out, just a little way ahead of them. Given the bright sunlight outside the copse, it took Harry's eyes a few minutes to adjust to the darkness caused by the thick growth of trees all around them, and so it was a few moments before Harry noticed the half hidden house.
The building seemed to be somewhat the worse for wear, with its mossy walls, broken and missing roof tiles, exposed rafters and impressive collection of nettles; Harry couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been abandoned and what Ogden could possibly want in such a place.
He was about to turn to Dumbledore and ask, but almost jumped out of his skin when a window was very suddenly thrown open with a loud thud as it hit against the wall and steam, or maybe smoke, began to pour out. It was apparent that the place wasn't nearly as abandoned as Harry had assumed, but that just made him even more curious, wondering who might live there.
Ogden stepped forward cautiously and Harry had to admit that he was not in any hurry to enter the building either, not even knowing that it was just a memory. It seemed that his caution was well earned as, with a rustle and a crack, a filthy, scruffily dressed man dropped from a tree in front of Ogden, attempted to back away quickly; however, in his haste, Ogden managed to stand on his own coat and stumbled backwards a few paces.
“You’re not welcome,” the unknown man stated, glaring at Ogden with small dark eyes. The man's hair was thick and black, and as dirty as the rest of him, when he sneered Harry could see that he had several teeth missing; Harry found the whole appearance nothing short of frightening.
“Err... good morning," Odgen greeted a little hesitantly, tugging at his coat and trying to regain his composure. "I am from the Ministry of Magic...,” he attempted to explain but apparently the other man was not interested in hearing what he had to say.
The man was brandishing both a wand and a knife, one in each hand as he took another step towards the ministry official. “You’re not welcome,” the man repeated, interrupting Ogden.
Ogden looked a little ruffled but held his ground and Harry rather thought that Ogden was far braver than he would have been in his place. “Err... I’m sorry... I don’t understand you,” Ogden said his voice shaking slightly in nervousness.
Harry's face scrunched in confusion at that, thinking that the unknown man had made himself perfectly clear, but a few seconds later the realisation hit him hard. “Parseltongue,” Harry whispered under his breath. Having heard it spoken so very rarely, it was not what he had been expecting at all and didn't know what to think now that he had.
“Very good, ” Dumbledore praised, and when Harry turned to look at the Headmaster he saw that the man was smiling at him with approval.
Harry's thoughts were racing, so many questions rushing through his mind. He had thought that Voldemort the only person, other than himself, who would speak parseltongue, but this was a memory, so he didn't really know when they currently were. Did that mean these people were also descedents of Slytherin, that they were related to Voldemort?
He opened his mouth to ask but the Headmaster raised a single finger to his lips and nodded his head towards Ogden and the stranger. Harry got the message; he was supposed to pay attention now, and questions could come later.
The man in rags was prowling forward towards Ogden and the ministry official, even without understanding parseltongue, could have no illusions about just how unwelcome he was. “Now look...” Ogden said in a valiant attempt to take control of the situation; however, the strange man was having none of it and with a sudden bang, Ogden was on the ground, clutching at his face as some kind of yellowish goo started coming from his nose.
“Morfin!” came a gruff yell, and an older man with broad shoulders and oddly long arms came scurrying from the house; his eyes were bright and brown in colour, and though he was cleaner than the man now identified as Morfin, his hair was just as shabby and Harry couldn’t help but think that there was something monkey like about his appearance.
Morfin was clearly amused by what he had done to Ogden and was laughing at the state of the ministry official when the older man came to stand next to him. “Ministry, is it?” the man who had just come out of the house asked, looking at Ogden with a sneer.
“Correct,” Ogden confirmed angrily, his hand still pressed against his own nose. “And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?” he asked, seemingly getting rather impatient with the two other men.
“That’s right,” Gaunt said bluntly. “Got you in the face, did he?” he asked, sneering down at Ogden, who was still sat on the ground trying in vain to stem the flow of strange goo from his nose.
“Yes, he did,” Ogden snapped indignantly.
“Should’ve made your presence known, shouldn’t you?” Gaunt suggested in rather an aggressive tone. It seemed pretty obvious that Harry that Gaunt was not at all concerned about the fact that Morfin had attacked a Ministry employee and had no respect for Ogden in the slightest. “This is private property," Gaunt went on. "Can’t just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself.”
“Defend himself against what, man?” Ogden asked incredulously, as he finally scrambled back to his feet. Harry definitely agreed with him on that front because Morfin's attack had seemed entirely unprovoked.
“Busybodies. Intruders. Muggles and filth,” Gaunt told him, as though it should have been obvious, and Harry frowned, realising that despite the squalid living conditions of these men, they seemingly followed much of the same pure-blood politics that he had heard before.
Ogden didn't look particularly impressed by this excuse either, and used his wand to quickly fix whatever had been done to his nose, before taking a few seconds to compose himself. Harry suspected that this wasn't the first time that Mr Ogden had dealt with such attitudes.
“Get in the House. Don’t argue,” Harry heard Gaunt hiss at his son, and Morfin, though he looked like he wanted to disagree, obeyed the order leaving Gaunt and Ogden to speak alone.
“It is your son I’m here to see, Mr Gaunt,” Ogden informed him, sounding extremely frustrated as he struggled to rid himself and his clothing of the last remnants of the yellow mess. “That was Morfin, wasn’t it?” he questioned.
“Ar, that was Morfin,” Gaunt confirmed casually, apparently not bothered in the slightest that there was a Ministry official at his door wanting to speak with his son. “Are you a pure blood?” he asked suddenly.
Harry's frown deepened into a scowl though he was somewhat placated when Ogden responded dismissively with, “that’s neither here nor there.”
“Now I come to think of it, I’ve seen noses like yours down in the village,” Gaunt declared, his voice thick with disgust as he narrowed his eyes, peering more closely at Ogden's appearance with a look of suspicion.
“I don’t doubt it, if your son’s been let loose on them,” Ogden told him bitterly through clenched teeth. “Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside,” he suggested, once again trying to regain his composure.
“Inside?” Gaunt asked, looking baffled by the very suggestion, and Harry suspected this was the kind of man who would want proof of ten generations of blood purity before he would even consider agreeing to let you through the door.
“Yes, Mr Gaunt," Ogden said with obvious exasperation, "I’ve already told you. I’m here about Morfin. We sent an owl...”
“I’ve no use for owls,” Gaunt interrupted bluntly. “I don’t open letters.”
“Then you can hardly complain that you get no warning of visitors,” Ogden pointed out and Harry couldn’t help but smirk at the defiance the ministry employee was showing. “I am here following a serious breach of wizarding law which occurred here in the early hours of this morning...”
“All right, all right, all right!’ Gaunt yelled, sounding quite irate. “Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it’ll do you!” he griped as he lead Ogden inside; Harry quickly followed, Dumbledore only a few paces behind him.
Harry looked around the small house curiously, there were only three rooms as far as he could tell from the two doors leading out of the main room, which didn't seem to be in much better condition than the outside of the building. Morfin was slouched in an armchair, which was every bit as dirty as him, playing with a snake, letting it slide between his fingers as he cooed at it in parseltongue.
“Hissy hissy, little snakey, Slither on the floor. You be good to Morfin, or he’ll nail you to the door.”
Harry shuddered; the man really was creepy. He turned from Morfin and continued to look around the room; it appeared to be both their living room and kitchen, and he was surprised to notice the bedraggled form of a girl in the kitchen area, doing something with the pots and pans.
The girl was plain and pale skinned, and her grey clothes almost camouflaging her against the stone wall behind her. She kept her eyes down, seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible and, while cleaner than the men, she looked like life had defeated her.
“My daughter, Merope,” Gaunt grudgingly introduced with a dismissive wave of his hand, causing the girl to glance over at the her father and Ogden.
“Good morning,” Ogden greeted kindly; Merope, however, didn’t respond, instead returning her attentions to the shelf of pots and pans. “Well, Mr Gaunt,” Ogden went on, “to get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a muggle late last night.”
Harry started as there was a loud clang; Merope had dropped a pot, catching the attention of the others in the room. “Pick it up.” Gaunt yelled, making Harry flinch involuntarily. “That’s it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle. What’s your wand for, you useless sack of muck?”
Harry was simultaneously saddened and furious to see the man speak to his daughter in such a way and couldn’t help but remember the verbal lashings that his Uncle Vernon had given him; it wasn't something that he would wish on anyone. He couldn't help but think of his own unborn child, silently swearing that no-one would ever treat them in such a way; he was confident that Draco would be of the same mind on this.
“Mr. Gaunt, please!” Ogden exclaimed with a gasp, apparently as disgusted at the man’s behaviour as Harry.
Merope, who had the pot back in her hands again, flushed scarlet and it was no more than a few seconds before she lost her grip on it again. As it hit the floor loudly, she shakily pulled her wand from a pocket and muttered a spell under her breath. Whatever the intended result had been, it failed, and instead the pot was sent flying the width of the small room, straight into a wall, where it cracked in two.
Morfin was seemly very amused and was openly laughing at her failure; Harry’s eyes narrowed at the man's complete lack of respect for his own sister. “Mend it, you pointless lump, mend it.” Gaunt bellowed, clearly having no more consideration for her than Morfin.
Merope went to raise her wand in a trembling hand; however, Ogden beat her to it and, with a quick wave of his wand, repaired the pot before the girl had even had a moment to attempt it. Gaunt seemed to be considering yelling at Ogden but apparently decided against it, turning on his daughter again instead.
“Lucky the nice man from the ministry’s here, isn’t it?" Gaunt sneered at her. "Perhaps he’ll take you off my hands; perhaps he doesn’t mind dirty Squibs.”
Harry’s fists were clenched, his nails digging into his palms. "This is just a memory," Dumbledore pointed out softly, the Headmaster resting a hand on Harry's shoulder, having apparently noticed Harry's agitation. "There is nothing to be done to change any of these events," he pointed out when the teenager turned to look up at him.
Harry nodded, he knew the truth of the Headmaster's words, but that didn't make it any easier to keep his temper in check. Merope, however, seemed quite used to such treatment and, without comment, returned the pot back to its shelf. As Harry turned back to the scene playing out before them, she moved to silently stand against the stone wall by the stove, close to the window.
“Mr Gaunt,” Ogden said, tried once again to get control of the situation, perhaps in the hope of turning the man’s attention away from Merope, “as I’ve said, the reason for my visit...”
“I heard you the first time!” Gaunt snapped angrily. “And so what?" he demanded, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Morfin gave the muggle a bit of what was coming to him... what about it then?”
“Morfin has broken wizarding law,” Ogden told him, his voice stern and obviously frustrated that Gaunt wasn't taking the matter at all seriously.
“Morfin has broken wizarding law,” Gaunt mocked, much to Morfin’s amusement. “He taught a filthy muggle a lesson, that’s illegal now is it?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Ogden stated firmly, as he pulled out a scroll and began to open it, “I’m afraid it is.”
“What’s that, then, his sentence?” Gaunt demanded, his tempter rising again. Harry too found himself curious and wanting to go read what it said, but Dumbledore's hand was still on his shoulder.
Ogden looked up from the scroll. “It is a summons to the ministry for a hearing...” he explained after a moment, but Gaunt had apparently heard enough already.
“Summons! Summons?!" Gaunt exclaimed in outrage. "Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?” he furiously demanded to know. Harry actually also laughed at the ridiculousness of the man's arrogance.
“I’m head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad,” Ogden informed him with stern calmness, though Harry suspected that such a title would not mean much in Gaunt’s opinion and more than likely do nothing to earn the man's respect.
“And you think we’re scum, do you?” yelled Gaunt, advancing on the ministry employee again, a finger pointed in accusation. “Scum that will come running when the ministry tell ‘em to? Do you know who you’re talking to, you filthy little mudblood, do you?”
“I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr Gaunt,” Ogden said warily and again Harry was surprised by his determination and courage the Ministry official showed as he stood his ground.
“That’s right!” Gaunt bellowed proudly, as though this explained away everything. He held up his hand, his middle finger upright, showing the large black stoned ring that sat there. “See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from?” Gaunt asked angrily. “Centuries it has been in our family, that’s how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I’ve been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone.”
“I’ve really no idea,” Ogden admitted, clearly slightly unnerved and confused by the ring being held so very close to his face in such an aggressive manner. “And it is quite beside the point, Mr Gaunt," he went on with determination. "Your son has committed...”
Gaunt, however, was not to be dissuaded and was seemingly determined to have Ogden understand his family's importance. The man stormed towards Merope and Harry flinched, worried for a moment that Gaunt might turn violent towards the girl, tensing as the man’s hands went to her neck. However, Ogden’s grip tightened on Merope's necklace, using it to drag her across the room.
“See this?” he demanded, waving the locket in Ogden’s face, as he had done with the ring, seemingly oblivious to his daughter still being attached to it and ignoring Merope spluttering and gasping for air.
“I see it, I see it!” Ogden told him quickly, clearly worried for the girl's safety. Harry too was getting a little concerned, but the Headmaster's hand on his shoulder tightened slightly, reminding him that this was just a memory and there was truly nothing that they could do for Merope.
“Slytherin’s!” Gaunt yelled at the Ministry official. “Salazar Slytherin’s! We’re his last living descendants. What do you say to that, eh?” he demanded with a decidedly smug air about him.
Harry was still worried about the slowly suffocating girl, who was looking increasingly panicked as she tried to escape from the necklace that was pulled tight around her throat, but at the mention of Slytherin Harry's curiosity had him looking up at Dumbledore with a questioning expression on his face.
“Mr Gaunt, your daughter,” Ogden exclaimed, sounding quite alarmed, but Harry kept his focus on Dumbledore, not sure that he would be able to cope with just standing there and watching this girl's own father suffocate her.
Harry was sure he was right; these people were, in some way, Voldemort’s family but he still failed to understand what it was about this memory that was so important. Dumbledore, however, was apparently not answering questions yet, and nodded towards the scene once more. With a small frown, he reluctantly turned his attention back to Ogden and Gaunt, and was thankful to see that Merope had been released; the girl was once again cowering in her corner, still gasping for air as she ran a hand over her abused throat.
“So,” Gaunt declared as though he had won a great victory and was now beyond reproach, “don’t you go talking to us as if we’re dirt on your shoes! Generations of pure-bloods, wizards all... more than you can say, I don’t doubt!” Gaunt spat at Ogden's feet, causing Morfin let out a laugh that was all but a cackle.
“Mr Gaunt,” Ogden said, apparently not ready to give in despite the man’s persistent attitude, “I’m afraid that neither your ancestors nor mine have anything to do with the matter in hand. I am here because of Morfin, Morfin and the muggle he accosted late last night. Our information is that..." Ogden paused and looked down to read from the scroll in his hands, "...Morfin performed a jinx or hex on said muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives.”
Morfin practically giggled in glee at the description of what he had done. Gaunt was apparently less impressed though because he hastily hissed, “be quiet, boy,” at Morfin before turning back to Ogden once more. “And so what if he did then?”Gaunt demanded. “I expect you have wiped the muggle’s filthy face clean for him, and his memory to boot...”
“That’s hardly the point, is it, Mr Gaunt?” Ogden proclaimed, sounding more than a little exasperated. “This was an unprovoked attack on a defenceless...”
“Ar, I had you marked as a muggle lover the moment I saw you,” Gaunt interrupted, sneering in disgust and once again spat at Ogden's feet.
“This discussion is getting us nowhere," Ogden said, apparently having finally had enough, "it is clear from your son’s attitude he feels no remorse for his actions.” The Ministry official looked down and read from the scroll again. “Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a muggle and causing harm and distress to that same muggle...”
The sound of a horse and carriage passing nearby made them all pause and look towards the sound, even the otherwise silent Merope. Harry looked to Dumbledore for a second, but the Headmaster was also looking towards the window, and so Harry followed his lead.
“My god, what an eyesore.” The rather pompous voice of a girl carried through the open window. “Couldn’t your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?” she asked.
“It’s not ours. Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp called Gaunt and his children,” a fairly disinterested male voice replied. “The son’s quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village...”
The girl laughed at that, and Morfin went from move from his seat as it sounded like the carriage was about to pass right by the window, and Harry supposed that the lane must wind back around closer to the cottage than he had expected.
“Keep your seat,” Gaunt warned his son firmly, before Morfin could even get up from the chair, and Harry was actually a little surprised when he did as his father instructed.
“Tom,” the girl said, and Harry was fairly sure that they were right outside at that point, “I might be wrong, but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?”
“Good Lord, you’re right!” the man, who Harry presumed to be Tom, exclaimed in mild horror. “That’ll be the son. I told you he’s not right in the head. Don’t look at it, Cecilia darling.”
“Darling,” Morfin mocked as the sounds of the carriage became quieter as it moved further away. “Darling he called her. So he wouldn’t have you anyway,” he hissed and Harry realised that the words were directed at the now very faint looking Merope.
“What’s that?” Gaunt questioned harshly, rounding on his son. “What did you say, Morfin?” he demanded to know
“She likes looking at that muggle,” Morfin hissed, looking very pleased with himself. Harry didn't miss the way that he smirked at his sister, before looking back to their father for a moment. “Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him; isn’t she.”
By this point Merope looked nothing short of terrified, leaning against the wall, as though it was all that was holding her upright as her eyes darted between her brother and her father; however, it seemed her brother was not done throwing her to the wolves.
“Hanging out of the window, waiting for him to ride home; wasn’t she,” Morfin went on with obvious delight, the harsh sounds of parseltongue making the man's words seem even worse.
“Hanging out of the window looking at a muggle?” Gaunt hissed quietly. “Is it true?” Gaunt demanded to know as he rounded on his terrified looking daughter, having apparently forgotten Ogden’s presence in the room. “My daughter... pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin... hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined muggle?”
The ministry representative was looking completely bewildered and Harry supposed it would be most odd to see the three members of the Gaunt family hissing at each other incomprehensibly. Merope, however, seemed to once again be trying to disappear into the wall behind her, pressing herself against it as she shook her head rapidly.
“But I got him father,” Morfin cackled happily, a maniacal grin on his face. “I got him as he went by, and he didn’t look so pretty with hives all over him; did he, Merope?” he asked, turning to his sister once more.
That was enough for Gaunt to lose whatever control he had left. “You disgusting little squib, you filthy little blood traitor,” he screamed as he ran towards his daughter, his hand tightening around Merope’s airway.
“No!” Harry yelled at the same time as Ogden, but all chaos had broken out.
Ogden cast ‘relashio’, throwing Gaunt away from his daughter and Morfin was up from his chair, making a hell of a racket, brandishing his wand and knife again. Dumbledore maintained a firm grip on Harry's shoulder, and they watched as Ogden’s resolve seemed to finally crumble and amid the madness he ran.
Harry half wanted to stay, make sure that Merope would survive her father's attack, but this was Bob Ogden's memory and he and Dumbledore had no choice but to follow out of the house and back up the path to the lane. A short distance away, Harry could see Ogden as he collided with the horse of Tom and Cecilia’s carriage.
“I think that will do.” Dumbledore told Harry quietly and with a tug at his elbow, Harry was pulled from the memory, back through the darkness and returned to the Headmaster’s office.
“Merope... what happened...?” Harry demanded, despite the disorientation that he felt at being pulled from the memory so suddenly; he couldn't help but be a little concern that he had just witnessed the last few moments of her life.
“Oh, she lived," Dumbledore said a little dismissively, as he moved around the desk and took a seat in his chair. "Ogden returned with reinforcements shortly after. Both Morfin and his father were subsequently arrested and charged with various crimes; Morfin was given three years and his father, Marvolo, was given six months.”
“Marvolo...? So they were related to Voldemort then?” Harry asked, as he took a seat in the chair that Dumbledore wordlessly summoned for him.
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, smiling proudly at the teenager across the desk. “I am glad you were keeping up. Marvolo Gaunt was Voldemort’s grandfather; he and his two children, Merope and Morfin were the last of the Gaunt family,” the Headmaster explained. “They were an old wizarding family, which sadly became known for its violence and instability, likely due to the common practice of marrying their own cousins. Their wealth all frivolously spent away, several generations before Marvolo’s own birth.”
“And people wonder why pure-bloods have such a bad reputation....” Harry mumbled under his breath, wondering how many of the other pure-blooded families were simply keeping up a pretence of grandeur, or simply preaching their beliefs out of pure arrogance.
“Quite so, Harry," Dumbledore said with a nod of his head, "though we would be being as prejudiced to assume that all pure-bloods are the same." Harry nodded in agreement to that. "Marvolo, however, had a fierce temper and an exaggerated sense of self-importance," the Headmaster went on, "which he reassured himself of using a pair of heirlooms that he perhaps loved far more than his own children; certainly more than his daughter.”
“Merope... she was Voldemort’s mother...?” Harry asked, already quite sure she was; he was fairly sure that she was the main reason that the Headmaster had shown him the memory. Dumbledore nodded in confirmation, giving the teenager an encouraging smile. “...and Tom, that muggle, the one she had taken a liking to...?” Harry suggested.
“Ah, I was wondering if you would spot that,” Dumbledore said looking pleased. “Yes, that muggle was indeed Voldemort’s father," the Headmaster confirmed, "Tom Riddle Senior.”
“Well I probably shouldn’t be one to scoff at unlikely parings,” Harry said, looking thoughtful, “but how did they end up together?” He just had to ask, because he had rather had the impression in the memory that Tom Riddle Senior had wanted nothing to do with any member of the Gaunt family.
Dumbledore sighed sadly. “I suspect that despite her father’s declarations of her being a squib, Merope may have resorted to magic to get what she wanted," he explained. "We cannot be sure of the exact methods she used, but I am sure you could suggest a few possibilities.”
“Imperious curse," Harry said at once, "or a love potion, perhaps?” he added with a shrug. Dumbledore was right though, it wouldn't have been difficult for a witch to trick a muggle into falling in love with her, or at least into agreeing to be with her.
“Very good,” Dumbledore praised with a nod. “Thought personally I am inclined to believe the latter; however, as I said, we cannot be certain and, in truth, the exact method she employed now matters very little. What we do know, however, is that there was a terrible scandal not more than a few months following the memory we just witnessed, when the squire’s son ran away with the local tramp’s daughter.”
“I can’t imagine that Marvolo took it much better,” Harry said with an amused smirk; he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of Merope for having taken action to escape her personal hell, even if her choice of action had been at best morally questionable, if not outright illegal.
“I would imagine not," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "We can only imagine what his reaction might have been upon returning home to find several inches of dust and a note from his daughter, explaining her absence.” Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. “However, Marvolo did not live long enough to see Morfin finish his sentence.”
“And Merope died..." Harry went on, finding that he really had no sympathy for Marvolo, and was not at all sorry to hear of the man's death. "Voldemort was raised in an orphanage right?”
“Correct again," the Headmaster confirmed. "She died giving birth; however, the time in between is left once more to the depths of our imagination and some intelligent guesswork. It was sometime later that Riddle Senior returned to the village, and various stories of faked pregnancies and tricks were told to explain away his marriage to Merope Gaunt.”
Harry frowned, not sure that he entirely followed. “When she died?” he asked sceptically; he didn't understand why Voldemort would have ended up in an orphanage if that was the case.
“No, I am quite certain that he left her whilst she was pregnant," Dumbledore informed the teenager. "I believe that she likely thought that he would stay for the sake of their child, even without the influence the love potion or whatever she was using, and so decided to stop using them. Tom Riddle Senior, however, did not, and for whatever reasons, returned home; to the best of my knowledge, he never enquired about his son.”
Harry frowned. It seemed to him that all this mess, with so much hatred and death and the nightmare that was Voldemort, might have been avoided completely if a few men had just learned to be good fathers. If Marvolo had been able to love Merope, or if Tom Riddle Senior had cared enough to make sure his son hadn't been left alone in the world, then Lord Voldemort might never have come to be at all.
Harry leaned back in his seat and looked towards a nearby window. It was raining and grey; it felt appropriate for the mood. It was rather a lot to take in and, with his own impending fatherhood, he couldn't understand how these men could treat their children in such a manner.
With a sigh, Harry turned back to Dumbledore, who was watching him patiently. “This is very interesting, sir," the teenager admitted after a few minutes of silent contemplation, "but I fail to see how this helps us.”
“It helps us to understand, Harry," Dumbledore told him, leaning forward on his desk. "It helps us piece together the path of Voldemort’s life, which is of the utmost importance,” the Headmaster insisted pointedly.
Harry looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway. He wasn't sure how understanding Voldemort's life was going to help them defeat him, but Dumbledore was at least giving him information, and he would wait and see where the Headmaster was going with this.
“I think we should leave it here for today,” the Headmaster suggested with an indulgent smile. “I know how tiring exploring someone else’s memory can be, especially for an old man such as myself.”
“Of course, sir,” Harry agreed, pushing himself out of his chair and heading across the office; part of him wanted to demand more answers, but he was eager to get back to his mate, and so for now he would let it go.
“Harry,” Dumbledore called out, as the teenager reached the door, and Harry turned to look at him. “I ask that you do not discuss what I have...”
“I am not keeping it from Draco...” Harry told him bluntly, interrupting Dumbledore before the Headmaster could even suggest that he keep secrets from his mate. “Nor Ron and Hermione,” he added quickly.
Dumbledore stared for a few moments but when Harry stubbornly met his gaze, seemed to realise the futility of the request. The Headmaster sighed, and gave a resigned nod. “I do ask that you do not share this information too freely," he suggested instead. "It would not do, after all, for others to realise how much we know.”
Harry nodded, able to see what the Headmaster meant. “I can manage that,” he promised; and without another word, before Dumbledore could request anything further, he turned and left the office to go in search of his mate.

By popular demand I am going to try and create an email group, where I will send an email notifying when I update any of my stories. If you wish to receive these trial email notifications then please let me know in a review, leaving me your email address. (literally put your email in the review and I will sort the rest)
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Review Responses:
Wolfpup - thank you for both of your reviews, given that you have already read this chapter, due to my mess up; I will try not to leave you waiting for too long before the next update..
Delia Cerrano - Sorry about the mix up, hope you enjoyed both chapters, having gotten to actually read this one first.
Diana- hope you enjoy, I for once really did update soon ;)
Nari-chan - Happy Birthday, this is a birthday present for you and an apology for the mess up with the chapter. Enjoy.
Tony h - apologies for messing up with the chapters, hope you enjoy getting to finish reading this one.
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