A Promise Kept - Chapter 39 - A Mind of the Past

A Mind of the Past

It was not often that her father would choose to host a guest, or in this case, potential business in the family home. Usually, he would book the most expensive, gaudy, and overpriced restaurant he could find, wine and dine those in attendance, and leave his subordinates to negotiate any contracts that would emerge from the gathering.

This time, however, the Van Droombeelds were to host perhaps the most important family from Britain, well, that was how her father had announced the dinner, and now, Sabine found herself dressing for an occasion she wanted no part of.

For her father, it was an opportunity to demonstrate the wealth of the family, and her mother, her oldest brother, and Sabine to endure an awkward meal that they were out of practice for.

Whenever Sabine was hungry, she would usually send for one of the elves to fetch her a meal.

More often than not, her father was not at home for dinner anyway.

“You look wonderful, and remember…”

“Charming, charismatic, and womanly.”

Her mother offered her a tight smile.

“Believe me, I would rather do without this foolishness, but the Malfoys are an important family.”

“But why are they here?” Sabine asked.

“I suppose we will see soon enough. Come, let us get this over with.”

She followed her mother to where her father and brother Marcus were waiting for the arrival of their guests, whom her father had insisted arrive via the front door.

It was merely a power play on his part so that those visiting would see the wealth of the Van Droombeelds on display.

The Malfoys entered under escort of one of the elves only a few moments later, the patriarch using what appeared to be an ebony, despite having no need of it.

His long, silver hair was pulled neatly into a braid of sorts, and he was wearing robes of the finest black silk with matching gloves. His son was all but a smaller version of him, down to the smug grin that tugged at his lips.

At first glance, Sabine suspected the woman accompanying them wished to be here as much as her and her mother, and the smile she offered when greeting her parents was as well practiced as the curtsey.

Narcissa Malfoy.

She was Sirius Black’s cousin, and sister of the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange.

“And this is my daughter, Sabine,” her father introduced.

Sabine offered a curtsey and practiced smile of her own, and was grateful for Marcus looping his arm through hers to escort her into the dining room before Draco could.

It was a rare, generous gesture from her brother.

For the most part, he’d spent his life pretending Sabine simply did not exist, and she had given up trying to garner his attention years ago. He was twelve years older than her and married with three children of his own.

Before she’d even gotten to know him as a child, he’d already moved out, but spent most days with her father still, and ran several of the family businesses.

“Please, take a seat.”

She may have managed to escape Draco’s efforts briefly, but it appeared that would not be so as he held out a chair for her before sinking into the one next to it.

“Oh, I have been considering approaching you for some years now, but I was waiting for the right, beneficial arrangement to surface between us,” Lucius declared.

“And it has?”

Lucius nodded.

“It is my understanding that you have some of the very best and most reputable businesses on the continent. I only work with the very best, Mr Van Droombeeld.”

Her father chuckled.

“Well, I can assure you, Mr Malfoy, that you will not find a finer supplier of potion ingredients than me. We are one of few businesses that are able to import just about anything you could ever need from the four corners of the world.”

Potion ingredients.

Was Britain and Europe lacking potion supplies so badly that Lucius Malfoy was willing to a considerable premium to import them from outside of his jurisdiction?

Either that was indeed the case, an innocent venture, or there was an ulterior motive.

Perhaps he was trying to avoid paying taxes, or maybe the cost of ingredients back home had reached heights he was unwilling to pay.

Maybe that was not it at all.

“I must warn you, we only supply in bulk,” her father spoke once more. “Usually, our service is reserved for schools, hospitals, or research centres.”

“Then you are exactly what I am looking for,” Lucius declared.

“Then let us enjoy our meal, and then we can work out the finer details.”

Sabine frowned as he pondered what it was in her soup.

She cared little for her father’s dealings, and even less so for the staring of the boy seated next to her.

“Do you attend Ilvermorny?” he asked.

She nodded.

“I am now going into my fifth year.”

“Ah so you will know Harry Potter.”

Her frown deepened.

“Only by reputation. We are not in the same house. I expect it is the same for you at Hogwarts with the houses not mixing so much, and Ilvermorny is huge. We have a lot more students.”

“Oh,” Draco murmured. “Yes, Hogwarts has become more exclusive.”

She fought the urge to smirk.

“No, I haven’t crossed paths with Potter much. I’ve seen him play Quodpot, just as everyone else in the school, and even most of the scouts from professional teams have. He’s really good and has broken just about every record that exists.”

Her praising words were bothering the boy, and though it was rather petty, Sabine was getting quite the kick out of it.

Draco was not asking merely out of friendly curiosity. He was hoping for gossip of sorts, or for her to disparage Harry; something she would not do.

“The girls all seem to like him too,” she sighed, feigning irritably. “There’s always someone commenting about how good looking he is. One girl even snuck into the changing rooms and said it was worth the fortnight of detention she was given for what she saw.”

She was laying it on thick, but the more she spoke, the more his cheeks reddened and tighter his grip around his spoon became.

Sabine was almost disappointed that he did not ask her anything else for the duration of the meal, and kept his down, scowling at every dish that was placed in front of him, and she even received a subtle nod of approval from Marcus.

If her father wanted to go into business with Lucius Malfoy, that was his prerogative. Sabine had been polite, courteous, charming, and womanly throughout, so, as far as she was concerned, she had played her part, even if Draco had not liked it.

Even now, more than a week later whilst she was waiting for the carriages to arrive to take the students to Ilvermorny, she could not quite understand the motives of Lucius suddenly taking an interest in her father’s enterprise.

The cost of potion ingredients were not any higher than they were here, and there was certainly no shortage.

Although she could not figure out what it was, there was more to the agreement between her father and Lucius Malfoy than met they eye, and Sabine intended to speak with Harry about it when she saw him.

In the last weeks of the summer, she’d received no fewer letters from him than usual, but he’d seemed somewhat distant, almost distracted when he’d been writing them.

Was he going off her or regretted what involvement they had with one another.

The very thought left an unpleasant pang in her chest.

“The carriages are here,” Clara spoke, pulling her from her thoughts. “Is something wrong? You’ve been quiet.”

“No,” Sabine said dismissively. “I’m just tired.”

Her friend quirked an eyebrow at her but did not press further, and Sabine stepped into the carriage, shooting a final glance towards the gathered students, not seeing Harry among his group of friends a short distance away.

Perhaps he was running late, or he was already here but did not wish to be seen.

Sabine didn’t know, but it wasn’t as though she wouldn’t see him soon enough.

They had a habit of always bumping into each other, after all.

(Break)

Over the many years he’d spent as a rat, peter had become adept at working his way through throngs of people. Living within the Weasley home had been the perfect practice, and the additional years in a castle full of students had not hurt.

Here, waiting for the carriages to arrive, it had been no problem for him to navigate his way into a trunk that someone was not paying attention to, and soon enough, he would be within the grounds of Ilvermorny, where he would begin his next phase of spying and familiarising himself with his new surroundings.

For how long he was expected to remain here, he didn’t know, but he maintained that his task was preferable to being around the Dark Lord.

Even so, Peter knew that could change in a moment if he was to be caught; something he had no intention of allowing to happen.

He’d not spent more than a decade hiding from Sirius and the Ministry to be killed in a foreign land.

No, he would make his way back home and do what he did best; go in whatever direction the wind was blowing.

(Break)

He warmed his hands on the fire that had been lit in what had once been a rubbish bin, keeping his chin tucked into his cloak to stave off the cold. For all of his talk of building a safe community werewolves where they could thrive as equally as their human counterparts, little had changed since the last time Remus had found himself among Greyback’s pack.

Most here were still underfed, miserable, but with nowhere else to go they wouldn’t be persecuted for what they were, this was often the best place to be.

Here, they had numbers, and not all of them were like Greyback. They had no desire to inflict the same lives thy endured onto others, but that only meant that those that did harbour such were the more violent, assertive, and aggressive members of the group.

Inevitably, they were the ones that were in charge, but above all of them was Fenrir Greyback, who lived like a king.

Since arriving a few days prior, Remus had only seen the alpha twice and had been avoiding him as best he could.

The first time, he’d been readying groups to attack a nearby village just outside of Sofia during the next full moon, and the second, he’d killed a man for preventing the other males from sharing his wife in any way they saw fit.

She now belonged to one of Greyback’s most devout followers, and her screams could be heard by all who lived here; a reminder that at any moment, whatever they held dear could be taken from them.

Remus did his best to block out the terrified wailing of the woman.

He wanted nothing more than to help her, to end her suffering, but it was not to be.

Attempting to do so would see him slaughtered, and as much as he wished he could make a difference here, his job was to gather intelligence, to listen for any rumour that Voldemort had once more reached out to the monster that had come for him when he’d been only five years old.

“Mind if I share your heat?”

Remus offered the elderly werewolf a nod and made some space for him by the bin.

He was heavily scarred, more so than any other of his kind he’d met, and noticing that he was being gawped at, he laughed amusedly.

“I’ve seen my fair of summers,” he said in a heavily accented voice. “I spent most of my life in Koblenz, hiding what I was, even from my wife, but she found out eventually. In 1972, I was chased out of my home and spent some years on the run. I suspect they’re still looking for me now. Oh, I never harmed anyone, but was captured a few times over the years,” he finished, gesturing to the scars. “What’s your story, friend?”

Remus snorted.

“I was luckier than most. I was bitten when I was five but still received an education. I had good friends who did not shun me.”

“Yes, lucky,” the man agreed, “but none of our kind truly are. No matter where we find ourselves, we are on the very fringe of society, looked down on at best, and hunted at worst. Even here,” he added with a disapproving frown.

“Even here,” Remus murmured. “I thought life would be better with Greyback.”

The other werewolf snorted derisively.

“He is like any man who gets power. He wants more, and I expect he will seek it soon.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have a visitor from Britain form what I hear. The last time one of them came, our kind found themselves supporting and fighting a war we had no business involving ourselves in. That is the only reason anyone sees our presence as a benefit.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“It sounds downright foolish. I for one have no intention of fighting a war. I’m an old man and would rather live out my final years alone and despised than with him and undoubtedly dead sooner rather than later.”

Remus nodded but offered no further comment.

“You would do well to remember that. You are still young, and there is hope for you. You are educated, and less wolfish than most of us here.”

The man gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze before leaving Remus alone.

He’d been right.

He knew it would not be long before the Dark Lord sent a messenger here to parlay with the werewolves, and when Greyback undoubtedly agreed to throw his lot in once more, Britain would again have a plague of werewolves tearing through it every full moon.

(Break)

“Now, I can only fathom that you are asking about soul magic for two reasons. One, it is something you a considering delving into, and if that is the case, you are not as bright as I first thought.”

“What’s the second?”

“You believe or know that the Dark Lord has.”

Harry nodded.

“Exactly that,” he sighed. “He made a Horcrux, at least one, and Albus seemed to think he made more.”

“That is very troubling, Harry, very troubling indeed, and, Albus would know him better than any. I cannot profess to be an expert on the subject, but it is agreed upon by those that have looked into such things that the soul is not something to be trifled with. Even muggles know that much.”

“What are the side effects?”

Croaker shook his head.

“Truthfully, I do not know. There is not enough research to identify any trends. It is not as though someone willing to make a Horcrux is handing themselves over so that they and the object can be researched. No, very few have come into contact with one, and those that did spoke of being plagued by an unpleasantness. I suspect the magic within the vessel is parasitic in nature, or at the very least, has the wherewithal the defend itself, and perhaps attack someone it does not belong to.”

“Well, it sounds like a fun thing to have.”

“Do you have one?”

“I do, and I intend to destroy it…”

“Fiendfyre will do the trick, but that in itself presents another problem. The fire is cursed, Mr Potter, exceedingly difficult to tame, and does not cooperate. Of course, there are other methods, but not so easily obtained. Basilisk venom would certainly destroy it, or perhaps a dementor would eat it. Not that I would recommend any of those three.”

“Are there others?”

“Undoubtedly, but none that are known, I’m afraid. I will not even risk myself or those below me to look into it. This knowledge can never become known, Mr Potter. If he has indeed made more than one, they must all be destroyed for him to truly die.”

That was the last of the discussion, and though Croaker was willing to help him in any way he could, it seemed that Harry would be alone whilst tackling the Horcruxes.

Not that he didn’t have any leads to work with.

The memories Albus had left were proving to be useful, and he still had a list of places he needed to visit that were or had once been of interest to Tom Riddle.

What he was looking for exactly had not become any clearer, but the Dark Lord would not use just anything to house a fragment of his soul, nor make then completely inaccessible.

No, if he were to die and his Horcruxes remained, he would need them to be found.

Harry just needed to get to them first before anyone else, and preferably prior to him and Tom Riddle meeting as equals, whatever that meant.

It all remained rather unclear for the most part. The prophecy could be construed in many ways, depending on who interpreted it. Riddle would likely see it differently to Harry, and perhaps Dumbledore had his own ideas on it, but in the end, it didn’t matter.

One part of it was clear, that Harry and Riddle would meet, and only one of them would live when all was said and done.

“Harry, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mum,” he sighed. “I have no intention of looking for him. You’ve made it clear that I am to be a good boy at school and just watch as he burns Britain to the ground.”

“That is not going to happen.”

Harry snorted.

“And you and what gathered at Grimmauld Place are going to stop that?”

“We will do everything we can…”

“Just like last time? What you all did last time wasn’t enough, and there is no Dumbledore to save the day.”

“You’re being pessimistic…”

“No, I’m being realistic, and you’re being overly optimistic. The Order cannot be the same as it was, or you’re all going to get yourselves killed. Anyway, I’m going to be late for the carriages.”

He placed a kiss one her cheek and fought the urge to shake the woman by her shoulders.

Harry couldn’t be certain if this was just a coping mechanism, but delusion was a poor substitute for the truth of what was to come. Nonetheless, it wasn’t her seeming optimism that bothered him so, it was everything else.

Already, he could feel the air shifting, the changes setting it, and it was only a matter of time before Riddle made his next move. What that was, Harry did not know, but the man would not stop until he was forced to.

It just so happened that it was only Harry that could see it so.

He may have promised his mother that he would not seek out the Dark Lord, for now, at least, but he’d not been so generous with the rest of his plans.

He could not sit idly by and simply watch Tom’s plans unfold without a hitch, not when there was much for him to do to, things that would shape the outcome of the war in a way that was favourable for him, necessary things he could not put off indefinitely.

“Where have you been?” Olivia asked worriedly as he arrived, among the very last of the students to do so.

“Just packing the last of my things,” Harry said dismissively. “You waited.”

“Of course, we waited. Come on, it’s cold out here, and we’re going to be late.”

“When have you ever worried about being late?”

She shrugged as they entered the carriage where the others were already seated.

“Five years ago this lot invaded my carriage,” Wendell sighed. “They’re still here.”

“It’s easier to get rid of an infestation of gnomes,” Harry mused aloud.

“And they’re less vicious.”

Isabelle shot him a glare, and Wendell wisely chose to remain silent.

“What’s a gnome? Do you mean garden gnomes, like the ones some no-maj’s like?”

“They like gnomes in their gardens?” Harry asked confusedly.

“Little old men with white beards holding fishing rods. They’re ornaments.”

“Must be something different to the gnomes I know,” Harry muttered, smirking as an image of Dumbledore holding a fishing rod formed in his mind.

“So, did any of you make prefect?” Maggie asked curiously.

“Me,” Harry huffed, removing his jacket to reveal the two badges pinned to the front of his robes.

“And me,” Olivia added.

“That’s why you didn’t want to be late.”

“Shut up, Harry,” she grumbled. “Anyone else?”

Both Marisa and Isabelle raised their hands, and Wendell chortled.

“No more rule breaking for all of you then,” he said gleefully. “What the hell they were thinking giving Harry the badge, I’ll never know. He can barely go a week without getting a detention.”

“I said the same thing,” Harry snorted, “but at least I have this one here…”

“If you think I’m going to be doing your duties for you, Harry Potter, you have another thing coming.”

“I should’ve known better.”

“Yes, you should. We will be patrolling together, and both do our fair share with everything else.”

“Yes, dear.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, and Wendell laughed a little too heartily for Harry’s liking.

“Shut up, Wendell.”

Already, it felt different this year, as though whatever normalcy Harry had managed to live since starting at Ilvermorny would be all but over sooner rather than later.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but on the very edge of his conscience was a shadow he could not ignore, and it only grew darker with each passing moment.

(Break)

The werewolf grinned, baring his yellow teeth as he took in the appearance of the mark on Severus’s forearm.

“He’s back. I knew he wasn’t dead!”

“He’s back,” Severus confirmed, “and he has a space for you and your followers, a home to call your own.”

Greyback’s eyes lit up at the mention of it before he scowled.

“A real home?”

“An estate.”

It wasn’t as though the Rosier family were coming back to claim it. Evan had been the last of them, and he’d been killed by Alastor Moody near the end of the war.

For more than a decade, the house had fallen into disrepair, but Greyback and his pack could fix it easily enough, and it was of a considerable size, big enough for them to live comfortably.

“There is one other thing you should be aware of. There may be a spy here.”

Greyback’s nostrils flared.

“A spy? One of Dumbledore’s?”

“Yes, but if you give me a little time, I will find him for you. Of course, you are free to do as you will.”

Greyback grunted before stalking into the next room, and returned a moment later, hurling a barely breathing, older man in front of him.

“Become him and wear his clothes. He’ll be dead soon enough.”

With a grimace, Severus stripped the weakly protesting man. He would not risk using Polyjuice potion with the hair of a werewolf, but it was not so difficult to adopt his appearance with a few glamours.

When his work was done, Greyback nodded satisfactorily.

“Find him.”

It had taken less than an hour to find Lupin lurking by the burning rubbish bin, and only a few moments of his time to ensure he would be found by Fenrir.

Severus did not despise Lupin as much as he did Potter and Black, but he had been one of them during their youth, a Marauder as they called themselves, and the man’s closeness to Black was more than enough for him to feel no remorse for what he’d done.

“He is marked on the shoulder and is west from here. You cannot miss him.”

Greyback smiled and licked his lips anticipatorily.

“Then you should stay for the show. It will be good for the Dark lord to see that my ways have not changed.”

He all but shoved Severus out of the crumbling building he called a home, and did not break stride as he raced towards where Lupin had been only moments prior.

With a shrill howl from the werewolf, Severus felt the protections fall into place before the air was filled with the baying of the untransformed men and women.

He watched as they descended upon one lone figure attempting to flee, but Lupin ran out of time and space.

It was a rather gruesome and unpleasant display that followed, and Severus doubted he would ever forget the sounds of Remus Lupin’s screams as he pummelled and torn to shreds by Greyback and those that were able to claim their pound of flesh.

All that remained of him when they were done was a broken, unrecognisable lump of flesh and shattered bones.

Two werewolves had been killed in the struggle, and Severus could not be certain if it had been courtesy of Lupin, or they had turned on one another in the frenzy.

Whatever the cause, it did not matter.

Remus Lupin was dead, and Severus Snape felt nothing more than a little jubilation that, somewhere, he’d gotten one over on James Potter and Sirius Black.

With little more than a nod, he took the phoenix pendant Dumbledore had given the man, pocketing it to present to the Dark Lord upon his return.

His only wish was that he could be there to witness Black’s reaction to the news of what had transpired here.

No matter.

He would ensure the man learned of every detail.

(Break)

Coming here was one of her favourite times of year.

For Isabelle, there was little else better than spending a week with her friends away from school, and just simply being together, even if it was different every year that passed.

This was the most different.

With the changes Gabrielle had endured, it was no longer possible to ignore that they were no longer the young children that had met on the first day of school.

Now, they were almost on the cusp of adulthood in their world, teenagers, whose interests had shifted from what they had once been, but it was not something they had spoken of much, if at all.

“You’re looking at him like he is a delicious pastry you want to eat,” she commented to her cousin.

Gabrielle was wearing sunglasses, but what or who she was staring at was hard to miss.

“Is there such a difference?” she asked with a grin.

Isabelle shook her head.

She was not embarrassed by Gabrielle’s observations of Harry. She got it. He was athletic, pleasing to the eyes, and had this quiet confidence and mystery about him.

“I doubt Sabine would like how you’re looking at him,” Marisa commented amusedly.

Gabrielle frowned before shrugging.

“Are they married? Non, and it is not as though I want to take him from her, but I cannot help that I want him too. She can have him all to herself when I am done with him.”

“Gabby!” Isabelle gasped.

The others giggled, a foreign sound within the group.

“So, you don’t want him to be your boyfriend?” Maggie asked confusedly.

“I do not know,” Gabrielle sighed. “I adore him in every way, but I am not sure if I want him for life, or just a few moments here and there. I can’t help it. There is a part of me that needs him, it is the other part that doesn’t know in what way. I haven’t figured that out.”

“So, the Veela knows what it wants.”

Gabrielle grinned as she nodded.

“Exactly.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

“Olivia!”

“What? I’m not blind. Just look at him. I wouldn’t want to ruin our friendship but…”

She broke off and shrugged.

“Not me,” Maggie snorted. “My sister warned me about dating Quodpot players. Marisa?”

“If he has no intention of marrying me, then no. Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy what I see.”

Isabelle shook her head amusedly.

“And what about you?” Gabrielle asked.

She felt her cheeks flush.

“Non, there is someone else I like.”

Her gaze drifted towards the other boy who was sipping on his coffee, though she looked away as Sirius appeared.

Only a moment later, he led Harry away.

“Where are they going?”

“I don’t know, but Harry doesn’t look happy, does he?”

“If you keep frowning like that, you’ll age early.”

Wendell chuckled before taking a sip of whatever it was he had taken to drinking each morning.

“Pa says wrinkles make you appear to be wiser, even if you’re a dumbass.”

“I’ll remember that when I’m getting old.”

He looked at her before shaking his head.

“Girl’s like you don’t get older. You age like wine, not like Uncle Brian’s moonshine.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“It was a compliment.”

Isabelle smiled.

Wendell had a strange way with words, and it wasn’t just because he was American. Oddly, she found she quite liked it.

“Want some?”

“What is it?”

“Coffee.”

Isabelle took the metal cup, and tentatively took a sip, sputtering from the bitterness whilst Wendell laughed at her.

“You took it better than Harry.

“That is not coffee,” she protested.

“It’s real coffee. It’ll put hairs on your chest.”

“I do not want hairs on my chest.”

“Suit yourself. You could probably make it work for you.”

He was teasing her. His eyes were twinkling with mirth as he finished his drink before placing the cup down.

“You come here every morning.”

“I like to watch the birds. They’re fascinating. There’s even a falcon that comes sometimes.”

“It’s peaceful.”

Wendell nodded.

“It’s a good place to think.”

“What do you think about?”

“All sort of things. Sometimes school, sometimes home, but not today.”

“What’re you thinking about today?”

“Harry.”

“Does he know you think about him?”

“Careful. We don’t need those rumours circulating.”

“That wouldn’t be good for your reputation.”

“I have a reputation? Ma says that’s a bad thing to have.”

“Sometimes,” Isabelle agreed. “Why’re you thinking about Harry?”

Wendell deflated.

“Something is bothering him. He’s not said anything, but I can see it.”

Isabelle released a deep breath.

“What is it?”

“Just rumours as far as I know,” she whispered worriedly, “but I hear my father and uncle speaking about Voldemort. They are saying that he is the one who could Dumbledore.”

“Well, shit,” Wendell huffed. “Isn’t that mad bastard dead?”

“Non, I do not think so. My parents are worried, and so is Sebastien.”

“That’s why Harry is damn near killing himself in everything he does. Do you think I should speak with him?”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know,” Wendell murmured. “What can you say to someone who learned the man that killed his father is not really dead?”

“I don’t know.”

They said nothing for a few moments, and Wendell stood to stretch, an expression of concern marring his features.

“He won’t stop.”

“Voldemort?”

“Both of them. We know Harry, probably better than most. What do you think he is doing right now?”

“Preparing to go to war.”

“No,” Wendell denied. “He’s already at war.”

(Break)

“They did well,” Olivia praised, nodding towards the retreating first years. “Not as well as us, but not bad.”

“At least none of them wet themselves.”

Although he did not agree with the locking of first years in a room as an initiation, he’d not be the one to buck the tradition of the school. Overall, it was harmless, and fortunately, he and Olivia had been given a group that had overcome the adversity they’d faced.

“Yeah, you would’ve been cleaning that up.”

“You have a wand.”

“Still an unpleasant job,” Olivia said with a grin, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, I am going to bed. We only have a few hours before the first of them will wake up. Night, Harry.”

She headed towards her own room, looking back towards him briefly, and Harry wondered if she was swaying her hips a little more purposely, or if he was imagining it.

On the surface, the list of places Albus had left seemed comprehensive, promising, but not somewhere he was likely to find a Horcrux just waiting for him on a plinth.

No, he would need to work for more specific details, and they would not be so easy to come by.

Even so, Albus had been as thorough as possible, and there were several leads for Harry to follow, the first being a visit to a care home on the south coast of England.

Checking his watch, he saw that it was shortly before 9am before knocking on the front door.

“Oh, I thought you were the postman,” a rather disgruntled woman greeted him. “Well, what do you want?”

“I am here to visit my great uncle Dennis Roberts.”

The woman’s expression shifted to something a little softer.

“Of course, I expect you heard that he is not so well. Please, come in.”

Harry offered her an appreciative nod before stepping over the threshold.

From what little he could gather, Dennis Roberts, formerly Dennis Bishop had changed his name when he’d come of age in the muggle world and had spent much of his life working in the mines in the North.

He’d been married, and his wife had died only a few years prior.

Between them, they had six children, but the man had left behind the Bishop name, perhaps in a bid to rid himself of the final vestiges of what had been an unpleasant childhood.

“Dennis, you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?”

“Your great nephew is here.”

The old man laid up in his bed frowned as Harry entered.

“I have no nephews,” he denied.

The woman offered Harry a sad smile.

“His mind isn’t what it once was, I’m afraid. Please, do call if you need me.”

“I will.”

She left the room, closing the door behind her, and Harry shifted his attention to the confused Dennis Bishop, drawing his wand before casting several privacy charms.

“You are Dennis Roberts, formerly Denis Bishop of Wool’s Orphanage.”

The man’s eyes widened fearfully, and Harry cast a calming charm to silence the impending scream.

“H-how do you know that?”

“That isn’t important, Mr Bishop. I have no intention of digging up your past beyond only a few moments of unpleasantness for yourself.”

“Legilimens!”

Harry was as gentle as he possibly could be as he navigated the man’s mind and buried behind the many happy memories of his family and adult life, he found a dark recess, a small collection Dennis had refused to revisit for many years.

Viewing them, Harry was given just a glimpse of the cruelty even a very young Tom Riddle was capable of. He looked on as an innocent Dennis and another, Amy Benson, who had already passed on according to Dumbledore, were led along a sheer rockface.

To the muggles, it was all but impossible to navigate, but with Tom’s help, they managed it, and even the lengthy swim through the underwater tunnel that led them into an enormous cavern.

When inside, Tom went about the task of tormenting the duo, mocking them, and enjoying himself doing so, yet, that was only the beginning of what they’d endured at his hands.

The laughter from the boy was eerie as he began harming them with his magic, his eyes alight with glee as he watched the others writhing in agony.

It sickened Harry to see, but he did not take his eyes away, not until he all but dragged the barely moving muggles back out of the cave and to the beach with the other Orphans.

The memory had glitched briefly, and Harry did not experience the entirety of the return journey, but he’d seen enough to know that Tom had brought them quite the distance.

Magic was truly a wondrous and troubling thing in the wrong hands.

“Tom, where have you been?” a stern woman asked.

“Exploring,” Riddle answered with a grin.

“Well, the three of you are soaked through! “Come along, back to the bus. I think we should reconsider bringing you here next year. You wandered off last year too.”

Tom showed no sign that he cared, and Harry took in his surroundings.

Nothing stood out when it came to the architecture of the houses in the buildings above. Even if there was anything memorable, there was no assurance that it still it still existed.

The second world war had certainly changed the landscape of certain parts of Britain, but there was one thing that might be able to tell him exactly where he found himself.

“Hastings,” he murmured as he spotted a sign pointing towards the pier in the distance.

Not wanting to cause any further harm to Dennis Bishop, he withdrew from his mind, his own head throbbing slightly from the experience.

Fortunately, muggles did not have any defence against the Mind Arts, but it was Harry’s first time entering the consciousness of another.

“Obliviate,” he intoned, pointing his wand towards Dennis once more, ensuring he did not remember the last few moments.

The man fell back onto his pillows, his breathing laboured, though it slowed as Harry poured a pain-reliever down his throat.

After only a moment, Dennis Bishop fell asleep, and when he woke, he would not even know that anyone had ever been here, or he’d had to relive the most harrowing of his experiences in life.

For Harry, he had come away with something he sorely needed.

Perhaps he would find a Horcrux in the cave Tom had tortured his victims in. If not, it was likely the first of many places to tick off a long list, that he expected would only grow longer still.