Chapter 48: The Gaunt Shack
20th March 1995, Little Hangleton
(Dumbledore POV)
Albus knew he was being impulsive. He should have spent more time planning and scouting the area and look out for the likely traps Tom set up to protect one of the safeguards of his immortality. But this was a deathly hallow, the only deathly hallow he didn’t know the location of. Albus will admit that while he had moved on from his past with Gellert, he was still a tinge fascinated with the hallows and the resurrection stone was the hallow he desired the most. And according to Nicholas, he was a dead man walking anyway. He had already researched extensively the village of little Hangleton and while it looked like any normal muggle village, it was anything but that. It was a place with a rich history full of mysteries and ancient magic.
The village of Little Hangleton has been inhabited since antiquity. In the earliest days, Celtic tribesmen built a fort on the hill overlooking the river and the rich lands below. These folk raised livestock and farmed, wove cloth, and made leather goods. During Roman times, farms were built in the valley and the fort fell out of use. Yet some people continued to visit the old fort on the hill with offerings of food and flowers in the belief that helpful spirits inhabited the place.
With the arrival of the Normans, the village began to prosper. A noble knight received property as a gift from the King and built a manor on the hill. Hunting one summer day and caught in a sudden storm, he sought shelter in the old fort. The next day he brought home a wild and beautiful woman to be his bride. Their marriage flourished, as did Little Hangleton. Tradesmen were attracted to the estate and village to provide the many services needed by the large medieval household. The old forest was set aside as the private hunting preserve of the nobility and because the livestock were still allowed to roam free within its precincts, relations between the lord and the farmers were harmonious.
The family and the village continued to burgeon. Plague and famine struck other towns, not Little Hangleton. The herds were always fat, the harvests always abundant. Many wondered why this village was spared from the horrors outside of it. There were rumors about pact with ancient gods, of fairies that protect the village and its inhabitants. It was all nonsense of course, just children’s stories.
But Albus knew otherwise. It took some time to find but he did discover why this insignificant little village was spared the hardships of many other. The land occupied by the village was home of ancient druids. They were wizards and witches that were so connected to nature that they were able to gain some of its abilities. They could manipulate plant life, could connect with animals in a way never seen before and never seen after their disappearance. Their healers were unparalleled at the time, and some were rumored to be able to alter the weather itself. They did not use wands but channeled their magic and ambient magic using rituals. Whatever magic they performed had lingered, blessing the inhabitants of little Hangleton with luck and vitality.
Generations passed and Little Hangleton continued to be a rich farming community. Folk still raised livestock and farmed, wove cloth, and made leather goods. Industrialization was something people read about in the newspapers from the big cities. The village was the closest thing to Utopia, until Tom Marvolo Riddle came to little Hangleton.
Most villagers blamed the decline to their livelihood to the mysterious death of the Riddle family. Without the support of the Riddle family, shops closed, the mill moved to a larger town, the children of farmers left to find work elsewhere.
This was what the muggle thought but Albus knew better. Only something truly heinous could destroy a blessing as powerful as the one Little Hangleton possessed. Today, the farms and barns are empty. The atmosphere feels dead and oppressing. The fertile land was dried up and almost barren. This was a testament to how much Tom Riddle has fallen, how terrible a Horcrux truly is. Tom Riddle had unknowingly destroyed the lives of hundreds without even meaning to. This showed Albus that he was right. Uncontrolled knowledge was a terrible thing and dangerous magic should not be practiced. Magic was a beautiful thing and should remain pure, in the light.
Albus took a deep breath and steeled himself, it was time for him to get the resurrection stone. With a small pop, he disappeared.
He reappeared with a light pop on a country lane. It was raining and he was in the middle of a forest. With a quick wave of his wand, he confirmed that he was alone with only the shadow of the hanging trees, the perfume of earth rising from the undergrowth, soaked out from beneath.
In Albus's opinion it was unwise to go conspicuous. Following his spell of invisibility, he cast a charm to conceal his footprints and one to quiet the sounds of his steps. Thunder rumbled somewhere high above. Any lighting that followed was lost in the white of cloud-reflected sun, the intense brightness of the sky patched with grey and summer blue, the colors mixing like the inky smudging of paint. The rain fell a little harder.
Albus followed the feeling of dark magic. Magic sensing was a skill that he had honed to the extreme, enough to be able to detect individual magical signatures. He was very familiar with Tom’s, as corrupted as it has become, its feel remained the same. He kept walking for a dozen of minutes until he suddenly stopped, and triumph lit the corners of his mouth. He raised a hand and felt the muggle repelling charms and layers of complex dissuading magic, subtly done, almost untraceable. Had he been a lesser wizard, he wouldn’t have notice that there was something hidden at all. But this all but confirmed that the shack was hidden in front of him.
With a wave of his wand, he was able to see a runic representation of the anchored wards. They looked like standard protection wards. Muggle repellent wards, a few obscure privacy wards, and a remarkably strong barrier ward. Nothing too dangerous or lethal, which wasn’t Voldemort’s style. Albus waved his wand in a complicated pattern. It was a nifty piece of magic, that he and Gellert created. It allowed one to have a complete analysis of any magical item or ward and displays it as an arithmetic formula. The spell allowed him to replicate many artifacts and feats of magic. There were a few items that it couldn’t analyze like the elder wand, the sword of Gryffindor, the Potter’s invisibility cloak and some of the castle wards. While it shows that something exists, it shows it as gibberish. Something that makes no sense, and what he managed to understand after decades of study made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
Albus analyzed the ward around the manor and found a number of hidden wards that would have surprised most if not all other intruders. There was a very nasty mental ward that invades the mind of any intruder and shows them their deepest nightmares. There was a marking ward that would mark the magic of whoever was able to enter the ward and escape somehow. It was something he had never seen before. It’s probably one of Tom’s own creations. What a shame, he truly is a brilliant wizard.
It took a while to calculate the exact spell needed to break the wards. He wished he still had the allegiance of the elder wand; it would have been easier to just overpower the ward. After a couple of hours, Albus sent a beam of light towards what seemed like an empty place and ended up absorbed by an invisible wall. Suddenly, the wall started to crack, and it collapsed on itself. The ward scheme was down.
Suddenly, a house was visible. It was nestled in the darkness, with trunks and vines wrapped around it. Calling it a house would be generous, a shack would be more appropriate. Even Hagrid’s shack was better built and Albus was incredulous that someone had at some point lived here. As soon as Albus stepped past the ward, he felt a surge of magic and dozens of inferi climbed from the ground and raced towards him. With a flick of his wand, a massive flame appeared and burned the undead into crisps. When he was done, all that remained of them was ash.
Albus sighed, this was classic Voldemort. He never like subtle, sometimes, that boy disappoints him. With that done, he cast a few revealing charms and found nothing outside the shack. He slowly walked towards the shack and entered. The interior was in as much disrepair as the exterior. The settlement appears too not be inhabitable at all. Within the mossy walls lay items from past inhabitants of the shack; broken chairs, stacks upon stacks of the Daily Prophet, portraits of family members coated in a thick film of dirt and cobwebs. Although those who once lived here were long gone, Albus still felt their presence, their madness, their darkness in this house.
Albus followed the feeling of Tom’s magic into a room. It was very difficult, the shack practically radiated dark magic, he had to focus just to distinguish Tom’s signature. He was so focused that he didn’t sense the activation of another trap until it was too late. A giant undead snake, almost ten feet tall suddenly appeared out of nowhere and was able to sink its teeth in Albus’ side.
Albus let out a grunt of pain and set the snake on fire. Other snakes came out of the wall trying to attack him and they were also set aflame. After the snakes were gone, he almost collapsed in pain. He felt nauseous and disoriented. The snake must have poisoned him somehow. He was almost tempted to turn back and try again another time, but he felt the phoenix essence trying to heal him. He felt a little better but not enough. The bite was healing very slowly; it must be cursed somehow. He steeled himself and focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t give up now.
A couple of minutes later, he followed Tom’s signature, making sure there weren’t any traps. He found himself in front of a small room at the back. The magic here felt different; Tom’s signature was unmistakable but there was also another. It was distinctly female. It was full of fear and suffering. Long, long ago was this the room of Merope Gaunt. Albus frowned, he would not have expected Voldemort to bury a part of himself within his mother's room, or perhaps he had not known.
It didn’t matter now; he pointed his wand at the floor and suddenly and box came from the ground levitating before him. It was open. Inside was a ring, a Horcrux. But he didn’t care about that. What he did care about was the stone on top of the ring. He had finally found it; he could feel it in his heart. This was the resurrection stone. Oh, what he would do with the treasure in front of him. He could talk to his father, he never got to say goodbye. He wanted to talk to his mother, to thank her for everything she did for him and his siblings. And, most of all, he wanted to talk to Arianna. To plead for her forgiveness. For not being a good brother, for being resentful of her, for killing her. He didn’t know if he cast the spell that took his sister’s life, but it was his ambitions with Gellert that resulted in the duel. It was all possible now, he knew the stories. All he had to do was to put on the ring.
As he touched the ring, he felt pain like he never felt before. He had never experienced such agony. The ring must be cursed, and he fell right into it. He only had the presence of mind to cast a spell containing the curse to his arm and he felt his phoenix essence combat the curse. But it was too spent saving him from the snake’s poison. As he passed out, he unconsciously apparated back into the castle, in his office and then everything went black.
Chapter 48: The Gaunt Shack
20th March 1995, Little Hangleton
(Dumbledore POV)
Albus knew he was being impulsive. He should have spent more time planning and scouting the area and look out for the likely traps Tom set up to protect one of the safeguards of his immortality. But this was a deathly hallow, the only deathly hallow he didn’t know the location of. Albus will admit that while he had moved on from his past with Gellert, he was still a tinge fascinated with the hallows and the resurrection stone was the hallow he desired the most. And according to Nicholas, he was a dead man walking anyway. He had already researched extensively the village of little Hangleton and while it looked like any normal muggle village, it was anything but that. It was a place with a rich history full of mysteries and ancient magic.
The village of Little Hangleton has been inhabited since antiquity. In the earliest days, Celtic tribesmen built a fort on the hill overlooking the river and the rich lands below. These folk raised livestock and farmed, wove cloth, and made leather goods. During Roman times, farms were built in the valley and the fort fell out of use. Yet some people continued to visit the old fort on the hill with offerings of food and flowers in the belief that helpful spirits inhabited the place.
With the arrival of the Normans, the village began to prosper. A noble knight received property as a gift from the King and built a manor on the hill. Hunting one summer day and caught in a sudden storm, he sought shelter in the old fort. The next day he brought home a wild and beautiful woman to be his bride. Their marriage flourished, as did Little Hangleton. Tradesmen were attracted to the estate and village to provide the many services needed by the large medieval household. The old forest was set aside as the private hunting preserve of the nobility and because the livestock were still allowed to roam free within its precincts, relations between the lord and the farmers were harmonious.
The family and the village continued to burgeon. Plague and famine struck other towns, not Little Hangleton. The herds were always fat, the harvests always abundant. Many wondered why this village was spared from the horrors outside of it. There were rumors about pact with ancient gods, of fairies that protect the village and its inhabitants. It was all nonsense of course, just children’s stories.
But Albus knew otherwise. It took some time to find but he did discover why this insignificant little village was spared the hardships of many other. The land occupied by the village was home of ancient druids. They were wizards and witches that were so connected to nature that they were able to gain some of its abilities. They could manipulate plant life, could connect with animals in a way never seen before and never seen after their disappearance. Their healers were unparalleled at the time, and some were rumored to be able to alter the weather itself. They did not use wands but channeled their magic and ambient magic using rituals. Whatever magic they performed had lingered, blessing the inhabitants of little Hangleton with luck and vitality.
Generations passed and Little Hangleton continued to be a rich farming community. Folk still raised livestock and farmed, wove cloth, and made leather goods. Industrialization was something people read about in the newspapers from the big cities. The village was the closest thing to Utopia, until Tom Marvolo Riddle came to little Hangleton.
Most villagers blamed the decline to their livelihood to the mysterious death of the Riddle family. Without the support of the Riddle family, shops closed, the mill moved to a larger town, the children of farmers left to find work elsewhere.
This was what the muggle thought but Albus knew better. Only something truly heinous could destroy a blessing as powerful as the one Little Hangleton possessed. Today, the farms and barns are empty. The atmosphere feels dead and oppressing. The fertile land was dried up and almost barren. This was a testament to how much Tom Riddle has fallen, how terrible a Horcrux truly is. Tom Riddle had unknowingly destroyed the lives of hundreds without even meaning to. This showed Albus that he was right. Uncontrolled knowledge was a terrible thing and dangerous magic should not be practiced. Magic was a beautiful thing and should remain pure, in the light.
Albus took a deep breath and steeled himself, it was time for him to get the resurrection stone. With a small pop, he disappeared.
He reappeared with a light pop on a country lane. It was raining and he was in the middle of a forest. With a quick wave of his wand, he confirmed that he was alone with only the shadow of the hanging trees, the perfume of earth rising from the undergrowth, soaked out from beneath.
In Albus's opinion it was unwise to go conspicuous. Following his spell of invisibility, he cast a charm to conceal his footprints and one to quiet the sounds of his steps. Thunder rumbled somewhere high above. Any lighting that followed was lost in the white of cloud-reflected sun, the intense brightness of the sky patched with grey and summer blue, the colors mixing like the inky smudging of paint. The rain fell a little harder.
Albus followed the feeling of dark magic. Magic sensing was a skill that he had honed to the extreme, enough to be able to detect individual magical signatures. He was very familiar with Tom’s, as corrupted as it has become, its feel remained the same. He kept walking for a dozen of minutes until he suddenly stopped, and triumph lit the corners of his mouth. He raised a hand and felt the muggle repelling charms and layers of complex dissuading magic, subtly done, almost untraceable. Had he been a lesser wizard, he wouldn’t have notice that there was something hidden at all. But this all but confirmed that the shack was hidden in front of him.
With a wave of his wand, he was able to see a runic representation of the anchored wards. They looked like standard protection wards. Muggle repellent wards, a few obscure privacy wards, and a remarkably strong barrier ward. Nothing too dangerous or lethal, which wasn’t Voldemort’s style. Albus waved his wand in a complicated pattern. It was a nifty piece of magic, that he and Gellert created. It allowed one to have a complete analysis of any magical item or ward and displays it as an arithmetic formula. The spell allowed him to replicate many artifacts and feats of magic. There were a few items that it couldn’t analyze like the elder wand, the sword of Gryffindor, the Potter’s invisibility cloak and some of the castle wards. While it shows that something exists, it shows it as gibberish. Something that makes no sense, and what he managed to understand after decades of study made absolutely no sense whatsoever.
Albus analyzed the ward around the manor and found a number of hidden wards that would have surprised most if not all other intruders. There was a very nasty mental ward that invades the mind of any intruder and shows them their deepest nightmares. There was a marking ward that would mark the magic of whoever was able to enter the ward and escape somehow. It was something he had never seen before. It’s probably one of Tom’s own creations. What a shame, he truly is a brilliant wizard.
It took a while to calculate the exact spell needed to break the wards. He wished he still had the allegiance of the elder wand; it would have been easier to just overpower the ward. After a couple of hours, Albus sent a beam of light towards what seemed like an empty place and ended up absorbed by an invisible wall. Suddenly, the wall started to crack, and it collapsed on itself. The ward scheme was down.
Suddenly, a house was visible. It was nestled in the darkness, with trunks and vines wrapped around it. Calling it a house would be generous, a shack would be more appropriate. Even Hagrid’s shack was better built and Albus was incredulous that someone had at some point lived here. As soon as Albus stepped past the ward, he felt a surge of magic and dozens of inferi climbed from the ground and raced towards him. With a flick of his wand, a massive flame appeared and burned the undead into crisps. When he was done, all that remained of them was ash.
Albus sighed, this was classic Voldemort. He never like subtle, sometimes, that boy disappoints him. With that done, he cast a few revealing charms and found nothing outside the shack. He slowly walked towards the shack and entered. The interior was in as much disrepair as the exterior. The settlement appears too not be inhabitable at all. Within the mossy walls lay items from past inhabitants of the shack; broken chairs, stacks upon stacks of the Daily Prophet, portraits of family members coated in a thick film of dirt and cobwebs. Although those who once lived here were long gone, Albus still felt their presence, their madness, their darkness in this house.
Albus followed the feeling of Tom’s magic into a room. It was very difficult, the shack practically radiated dark magic, he had to focus just to distinguish Tom’s signature. He was so focused that he didn’t sense the activation of another trap until it was too late. A giant undead snake, almost ten feet tall suddenly appeared out of nowhere and was able to sink its teeth in Albus’ side.
Albus let out a grunt of pain and set the snake on fire. Other snakes came out of the wall trying to attack him and they were also set aflame. After the snakes were gone, he almost collapsed in pain. He felt nauseous and disoriented. The snake must have poisoned him somehow. He was almost tempted to turn back and try again another time, but he felt the phoenix essence trying to heal him. He felt a little better but not enough. The bite was healing very slowly; it must be cursed somehow. He steeled himself and focused on the task at hand. He couldn’t give up now.
A couple of minutes later, he followed Tom’s signature, making sure there weren’t any traps. He found himself in front of a small room at the back. The magic here felt different; Tom’s signature was unmistakable but there was also another. It was distinctly female. It was full of fear and suffering. Long, long ago was this the room of Merope Gaunt. Albus frowned, he would not have expected Voldemort to bury a part of himself within his mother's room, or perhaps he had not known.
It didn’t matter now; he pointed his wand at the floor and suddenly and box came from the ground levitating before him. It was open. Inside was a ring, a Horcrux. But he didn’t care about that. What he did care about was the stone on top of the ring. He had finally found it; he could feel it in his heart. This was the resurrection stone. Oh, what he would do with the treasure in front of him. He could talk to his father, he never got to say goodbye. He wanted to talk to his mother, to thank her for everything she did for him and his siblings. And, most of all, he wanted to talk to Arianna. To plead for her forgiveness. For not being a good brother, for being resentful of her, for killing her. He didn’t know if he cast the spell that took his sister’s life, but it was his ambitions with Gellert that resulted in the duel. It was all possible now, he knew the stories. All he had to do was to put on the ring.
As he touched the ring, he felt pain like he never felt before. He had never experienced such agony. The ring must be cursed, and he fell right into it. He only had the presence of mind to cast a spell containing the curse to his arm and he felt his phoenix essence combat the curse. But it was too spent saving him from the snake’s poison. As he passed out, he unconsciously apparated back into the castle, in his office and then everything went black.
