Dumbledore spoke with a tone of indifference, “Now is not the time to discuss this, Harry. We have an appointment with Bob Ogden.”

  He poured the silvery substance from the bottle into the Pensieve. It swirled slowly within the basin, giving off a faint glow, not quite liquid, not quite gas.

  “You go in first,” Dumbledore said, pointing to the Pensieve.

  Harry leaned forward, took a deep breath, and plunged into the silvery substance.

  “Coming in after me?” Harry asked.

  “Yes,” came the low, slightly hoarse voice of the man in grey robes.

  They stood on a narrow country ne, lined on both sides by tall, tangled hedgerows. Above them stretched a clear summer sky.

  About ten paces ahead stood a short, plump man wearing thick gsses that shrank his eyes to pinpricks, like a mole’s. He was studying a wooden signpost that jutted out from the brambles to his left.

  He was dressed bizarrely, a striped bathing suit under a formal tailcoat, with overshoes on his feet. As Harry was just finishing his quick appraisal of the odd outfit, Ogden briskly headed down the path.

  The three followed. As they passed the signpost, Harry gnced up at the two arrows. The one pointing back the way they had come read: Great Hangleton, 5 miles. The other, in the direction Ogden had gone, read: Little Hangleton, 1 mile.

  They walked on for a while. There was little to see, only the towering hedgerows, the vast summer sky above, and the swishing figure of Ogden ahead of them. Then the path veered sharply to the left, descending steeply. Without warning, a valley came into view, open and complete. Nestled between two steep hills was a vilge, unmistakably Little Hangleton. The church and graveyard were clearly visible. Across the valley, perched on the opposite slope, stood a grand mansion surrounded by sweeping green wns.

  The ne curved again to the right. As they turned the bend, they saw the tail of Ogden’s formal coat vanish through a gap in the hedge.

  Following him, they emerged onto a narrow dirt track, the hedges now even taller and denser than before. The road was winding, pockmarked, and littered with stones, descending steeply like the previous path, seemingly leading into a small, shadowy woodnd. Indeed, after a short distance, the path merged into the low woods. Ogden stopped, drew his wand, and the three others halted behind him.

  Although the sky was cloudless, the ancient trees overhead cast deep, chilling shadows. After a few moments, Harry's eyes adjusted, and he made out a house, half-hidden among twisted roots and thick undergrowth.

  Ogden crept forward cautiously, his movements deliberate. As he slipped from the shadows, he stopped again, eyes fixed on the front door. Someone had nailed a dead snake to it.

  Just then, a rustling sound, then a snap. A ragged man leapt down from a nearby tree, nding directly in front of Ogden. Ogden jumped back, stepping on the tail of his coat and nearly falling.

  After some tension, Ogden was reluctantly admitted into the shabby wooden house by the man named Gaunt.

  “I’m here to speak with your son, Mr. Gaunt,” Ogden said. “That’s Morfin, isn’t it?”

  The ragged young man gnced at Ogden and stepped behind Gaunt.

  “Yes, that’s Morfin,” the old man said indifferently. Then, abruptly suspicious, he asked, “Are you pure-blood?”

  “Neither side,” Ogden replied coldly. “Mr. Gaunt, I’ve already expined, I’m here about Morfin. We sent an owl, ”

  “Owls are no use to me,” Gaunt sneered. “I never read letters.”

  “Then you can’t compin you weren’t warned,” Ogden said sharply.

  At that moment, a girl stepped out from the doorway to another room.

  Her tattered grey dress blended into the filthy stone wall behind her. Her straight hair was dull and limp, her complexion pale, her expression full of misery.

  “My daughter, Merope,” Gaunt said reluctantly, noticing Ogden gncing at her.

  “Good morning,” said Ogden politely.

  The girl did not reply. She cast a frightened look at her father, then quickly turned away, shrinking into a corner.

  “Well then, Mr. Gaunt,” Ogden said, “let’s get straight to the point. We have reason to believe your son Morfin used magic on a Muggle te st night. This is a serious viotion of wizarding w, ”

  Cng!

  A loud crash interrupted him. Merope had knocked over a jar, which shattered on the floor.

  “Pick it up!” Gaunt roared. “What, groveling on the ground like a filthy Muggle? What’s your wand for, you useless lump?”

  “Mr. Gaunt, please!” Ogden excimed. Merope had picked up the jar, but her face turned blotchy red and white in embarrassment. Her fingers slipped, and the jar fell again. Trembling, she pulled out her wand and whispered a spell. The jar shot across the room and smashed against the wall.

  Morfin burst into harsh ughter. Gaunt shrieked, “Fix it! Fix it, you useless squib!”

  Merope staggered forward, but before she could raise her wand, Ogden calmly pointed his own and said, “Reparo.” The jar instantly mended itself.

  Gaunt sneered at his daughter. “Lucky the Ministry man’s here, eh? Maybe he’ll take you off my hands. Maybe he doesn’t mind filthy Squibs…”

  Merope didn’t thank Ogden. She simply picked up the jar with trembling hands and returned it to the shelf. Then she stood still, back against the wall between the grimy window and the stove, as if wishing she could disappear into the stones.

  “Mr. Gaunt,” Ogden resumed, “as I said, I’m here because, ”

  “I heard you the first time!” Gaunt barked. “So what? Morfin gave a filthy Muggle what he deserved, so what?”

  “He broke wizarding w,” Ogden said sternly.

  “‘He broke wizarding w,’” Gaunt mimicked mockingly, dragging out the words in a singsong tone. Morfin cackled. “He taught a dirty Muggle a lesson, and now that’s illegal?”

  “Yes,” Ogden said firmly. “It is.”

  He pulled a small scroll of parchment from inside his coat.

  “What’s that, his sentence?” Gaunt growled.

  “A summons to appear at the Ministry for a hearing, ”

  “Summons? You think you can summon my son?”

  “I’m Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” said Ogden.

  “You think we’re riffraff?” Gaunt shrieked, jabbing a dirty finger into Ogden’s chest. “You think we come crawling when the Ministry whistles? Do you know who you’re talking to, you filthy little mudblood?”

  “I believe I’m speaking to Mr. Gaunt,” Ogden replied cautiously but without flinching.

  “Exactly!” Gaunt shouted. He thrust a ring in Ogden’s face. “See this? Do you know what this is? This has been in our family for centuries, pure-blood for generations! People have offered me fortunes for it! The Peverell crest is engraved on the stone!”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Ogden said, blinking as the ring passed an inch from his nose. “And it’s irrelevant. Your son has, ”

  Gaunt roared and lunged at his daughter, one hand reaching for her throat. For a moment, Harry thought he might strangle her. But instead, Gaunt grabbed the chain around her neck and yanked her forward.

  “See this?” he bellowed at Ogden, shaking the heavy golden locket in front of him while Merope, Anne, coughed, gasping for breath.

  “I see it, I see it!” Ogden said quickly.

  “Slytherin’s!” Gaunt roared. “Sazar Slytherin’s! We are his st living descendants! What do you say to that, eh?”

  “Your daughter, ” Ogden said urgently, but Gaunt had already released her. She stumbled back to her corner, rubbing her neck and gasping.

  “There you go!” Gaunt crowed triumphantly, as if he had proved something beyond dispute. “So don’t speak to us like dirt under your boots! We’re pure-bloods, through and through! Bet you can’t say the same!”

  He spat at Ogden’s feet. Morfin cackled again. Anne shrank deeper into the shadows by the window, head bowed, her face hidden by her hair.

  “Mr. Gaunt,” Ogden said firmly, “our ancestry has nothing to do with this. I’m here for Morfin, and for the Muggle he attacked. We have reports,” he gnced at the scroll, “that Morfin cast a jinx or hex that caused the Muggle to break out in extremely painful hives.”

  Morfin giggled.

  “Shut up, boy!” Gaunt snapped in Parseltongue. Morfin instantly fell silent.

  “So what if he did?” Gaunt challenged. “I suppose you cleaned up the Muggle’s face, wiped his memory, ”

  “That’s not the point, is it, Mr. Gaunt?” Ogden interrupted. “He attacked an unarmed, defenseless, ”

  “Ha! The moment I saw you, I knew you were a Muggle-lover,” Gaunt sneered and spat again.

  “This conversation is going nowhere,” Ogden said firmly. “Your son clearly shows no remorse.” He gnced again at the parchment. “Morfin is to appear on September fourteenth to answer charges of using magic in front of a Muggle, causing harm and suffering, ”

  Suddenly, he stopped. Through the open window came the sound of jingling harnesses, hoofbeats, and cheerful ughter. It was clear that the vilge ne ran close to the woods.

  Gaunt froze, ears pricked. Morfin hissed with excitement, eyes gleaming. Anne looked up. Harry saw she was deathly pale.

  “Ugh, what an eyesore!” a young woman’s voice rang out clearly, as though she stood right beside them. “Tom, can’t your father tear down that old shack?”

  “It’s not ours,” replied a young man. “Everything on the far side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to an old tramp named Gaunt and his children. The son’s mad, you should hear what the vilgers say, ”

  The girl ughed. The jingling grew louder. Morfin tried to leap from his chair.

  “Sit down!” Gaunt barked in Parseltongue.

  “Tom,” the girl’s voice came again, now much closer. “Tell me I’m not seeing things, is that a snake nailed to the door?”

  “You’re not wrong,” the young man replied. “The son must’ve done it. Told you, he’s not right in the head. Don’t look at it, Cecilia, darling.”

  The jingling and hoofbeats faded into the distance.

  “‘Darling,’” Morfin muttered to Anne in Parseltongue. “He called her ‘darling.’ Guess that means he’s not taking you, eh?”

  Anne turned pale.

  “What’s that?” Gaunt snapped in Parseltongue, gncing between his son and daughter. “What did you say, Morfin?”

  “She likes watching the Muggle,” Morfin hissed with a cruel grin. “Every time he rides by, she’s out in the garden, peeking through the hedge. Last night, ”

  Anne shook her head frantically, but Morfin pressed on. “She was outside the window, waiting to see him ride home.”

  “Outside the window, waiting for a Muggle?” Gaunt whispered.

  All three seemed to have forgotten Ogden’s presence.

  “Is it true?” Gaunt asked coldly, stepping toward his terrified daughter. “My daughter, a pure-blood descendant of Sazar Slytherin, chasing after a filthy, lowly Muggle?”

  Anne shook her head violently, pushing herself further into the corner, speechless with fear.

  “But I taught him a lesson, Father!” Morfin ughed. “I gave him a face full of hives, he didn’t look so pretty after that, eh, Anne?”

  “You filthy Squib! You disgraceful little freak!” Gaunt bellowed, losing control. He grabbed his daughter by the throat.

  “No!” Ogden shouted. He raised his wand and cried, “Reshio!” Gaunt stumbled back, releasing Anne. He tripped over a chair and fell ft on his back.

  Morfin roared and leapt at Ogden, brandishing a blood-streaked knife and hurling curses from his wand.

  Ogden bolted. Dumbledore motioned for Harry and the others to follow. They rushed outside, Anne’s screams still ringing in their ears.

  Ogden shielded his head and sprinted up the dirt path, darted onto the main road, and ran straight into a gleaming chestnut horse. Its rider, a striking young man with dark hair, and the beautiful girl beside him on a gray mare, ughed aloud at Ogden’s dusty, disheveled appearance.

  He bounced off the horse, scrambled up, and ran as fast as he could, his formal coat billowing behind him.

  “I think that’s enough for now, Harry,” said Dumbledore as the scene began to dissolve. Moments ter, they were back in his office.

  ??━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ? ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━??

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