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HRHL# CHAPTER 212
🕑 Added 2025-06-14 01:11:57 +0000 UTCIn the Headmaster’s office, Albus Dumbledore sat with his eyes closed, resting quietly. When he heard Harry enter, he didn’t even open his eyes, merely asking softly, “Harry?”
“It’s me, Professor,” Harry replied, giving a wave to Phineas Nigellus, who was standing nearby.
Phineas waved back, looking as if they were old pals.
Dumbledore rubbed his eyes, appearing weary.
“What’s wrong, Professor?” Harry asked with concern.
Dumbledore let out a sigh. “Newt was just here. He said he wants you to bring back that Sphinx to serve as Gryffindor’s gatekeeper.”
Harry blinked, bewildered. A Sphinx? “Wait, how did you get here so fast?!”
It was clear that Professor Scamander was determined to keep the Sphinx at Hogwarts.
“What do you think about it?” Harry asked uncertainly.
“I’m not opposed,” Dumbledore said with a chuckle, “but we can’t let the Fat Lady lose her job. After all, she’s been guarding the Gryffindor common room for centuries.”
He added, “Though we could ask the Fat Lady’s opinion. Perhaps she’s tired of guarding the door?”
“I highly doubt that,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “If a Sphinx is guarding the door, I’m not sure any Gryffindor would ever get back into the dormitory…”
“I think Newt’s idea has merit,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully. “It could sharpen the Gryffindors’ wits, teach you all to be less reckless. And besides, Gryffindor isn’t without its bright minds. If I recall correctly, Hermione is a very clever witch. I’m certain a Sphinx wouldn’t stump her.”
“Fair enough,” Harry said with a shrug. After all, a Sphinx wasn’t likely to keep him locked out.
He sat down across from Dumbledore and, after sipping two glasses of unsweetened lemonade, Dumbledore stood and invited him to the Pensieve.
“Come, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “I’ve poured Morfin’s memory into the Pensieve. We can view it together.”
“You can view a Pensieve memory with someone else?” Harry asked, surprised. This was news to him.
“Of course,” Dumbledore said with a smile.
Harry approached the stone basin, leaning forward before Dumbledore, his face sinking into the shimmering liquid of the memory.
He felt the familiar sensation of falling into nothingness, much like when he’d seen his mother’s memory. Then, his feet landed on a filthy stone floor, surrounded by near-total darkness.
Moments later, Dumbledore appeared beside him.
Magic was extraordinary. The memories in a Pensieve could be viewed by multiple people at once, almost like a shared experience.
Morfin’s memory revealed the Gaunt family’s old shack, even more decrepit than what Harry had seen a few days prior. Cobwebs draped thickly across the ceiling, the floor was caked with grime, and moldy, rotting food was piled among a chaotic mess of rusty cans on the table, untouched for what seemed like over a year.
The only light came from a single candle at the feet of a younger Morfin, whose long, unkempt hair and beard obscured his eyes and mouth. He sat slumped in an armchair by the hearth, looking as though he were dead, utterly still.
Then came a loud knock at the door. The man jolted awake, raising a wand in his right hand and clutching a short knife in his left.
The door creaked open, revealing a tall, pale boy holding an old-fashioned lantern. His black hair framed a handsome face—it was a young Tom Riddle.
Tom’s eyes slowly scanned the room before settling on Morfin.
They stared at each other for a few seconds before Morfin stood abruptly, sending a cascade of empty bottles clattering to the floor, rolling noisily across the room.
“You!” Morfin roared, his voice thick with drunkenness. “You!”
He lurched toward Tom, brandishing his wand and knife.
“Stop.”
Tom hissed, and Harry recognized the sound of Parseltongue.
Morfin froze by the table, knocking moldy cans to the floor. He stared at Tom as if he’d seen something unbelievable, his mind clearly racing.
“You said… you said that?” Morfin asked hesitantly, studying the familiar face before him. “That?”
“Yes, I did,” Tom said casually, closing the door behind him and stepping closer to Morfin.
Looking at his disheveled, filthy relative, Tom wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“So… who are you?” Morfin asked.
“I’m Morfin Gaunt,” Morfin replied.
“Marvolo Gaunt’s son?” Tom pressed.
“I am, so…” Morfin pushed back his greasy hair to get a better look at Tom. Harry’s eyes were drawn to a ring on Morfin’s right hand—and he noticed Dumbledore, standing beside him, staring at it too.
“I thought you were that Muggle,” Morfin muttered. “You look just like that Muggle.”
“Which Muggle?” Tom asked eagerly.
“The one my sister was obsessed with, the Muggle from the big house over there,” Morfin said, suddenly slamming his hand on the floor between them. “You look too much like him, that Tom Riddle. But he’s old now, older than you. Let me think…”
Morfin swayed, dizzy, still clutching the table’s edge for support.
“He came back,” he added.
Tom studied Morfin, as if unraveling a puzzle in his mind. He leaned closer and asked, “You mean—that Riddle came back?”
“Yeah, he left her, went off with his proper fiancée, married that filthy thing!” Morfin spat, slamming the floor again in rage. “Before she ran off, she robbed us! Where’s the box? Where’s Slytherin’s locket?”
Tom didn’t answer. Morfin descended into a frenzy, waving his knife at Tom and shouting, “She disgraced us, that little harlot! Why’re you here, you filthy half-blood, asking these questions? It’s over… it’s all over…”
Exhausted, Morfin collapsed back into his chair. Tom stepped forward.
At that moment, Harry was plunged into darkness. He felt a hand grab his arm, and then his head snapped up, pulling him out of the memory’s void.
“So, that’s all there is?” Harry asked uncertainly. “What about Ominis’s portrait? Any news?”
“No, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Morfin Gaunt doesn’t remember what happened next. He only recalls waking up the next morning on the floor, the ring that belonged to Marvolo Gaunt gone, along with Ominis Gaunt’s portrait. No one knows where Voldemort took it.”
“And at the same time,” Dumbledore continued, “the Riddle family in Little Hangleton was killed—by the Killing Curse.”
“Was it Tom?” Harry asked, immediately suspecting the truth.
“The Muggles didn’t know what happened, but the Ministry knew it was the Killing Curse,” Dumbledore said. “And they knew there was a family nearby who despised Muggles and had attacked the Riddles before. So they went straight to the Gaunt shack.”
Dumbledore stroked his white beard. “The Ministry didn’t waste much effort. Morfin believed he’d killed the Riddles himself and was proud of it. He was sent to Azkaban without much of a trial.”
“He was terrified about losing the ring, kept saying old Marvolo would kill him,” Dumbledore added. “But he also confessed to me about what happened. Perhaps years in Azkaban did weigh on his conscience.”
“Or maybe he just didn’t want to die,” Harry said skeptically. He doubted a dark wizard like Morfin would ever truly repent. “Even without Tom framing him, Morfin Gaunt would’ve been a blight on the wizarding world. So, the ring?”
“I have reason to believe that after Voldemort stole it, he turned it into something evil,” Dumbledore said gravely.
“Something evil?” Harry’s mind flashed to past events. “Professor, I remember a diary in Slytherin, one with a young Tom Riddle inside it. But the notebook Pansy had was the Voldemort that possessed Quirrell’s head… Maybe Voldemort split his soul…”
They locked eyes and said in unison, “To make a Horcrux!”
“That notebook must be a Horcrux from when Voldemort was young,” Harry mused. “The Voldemort in it was a young Tom Riddle, disguised as a girl, deceiving people in Slytherin.”
“As I understand it,” Dumbledore said, “creating a Horcrux involves splitting a wizard’s soul through acts like murder, then placing a fragment of that soul into an object outside the body—the Horcrux.”
He paused, taking out an orange candy. “This way, even if the wizard’s body is attacked or destroyed, they cannot die, as a piece of their soul remains intact in the world.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” Harry said, tapping the table, “around that time, he opened the Chamber of Secrets and used the Basilisk’s gaze to kill Moaning Myrtle. That’s how he split his soul to create the Horcrux—the diary.”
“But something doesn’t add up, Harry,” Dumbledore said, frowning. “Last year, in the Chamber of Secrets, the notebook Miss Parkinson had contained the soul of the Voldemort who possessed Quirrell. Why is that?”
“Maybe for some reason we don’t know yet,” Harry said. “At least I destroyed that piece of his soul.”
“No, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “With a Horcrux, one cannot truly die. Even if you used powerful spells, you can’t destroy his soul. That’s the nature of a Horcrux.”
“That explains it,” Dumbledore continued. “Once a soul is split, it becomes highly unstable. That’s why Voldemort grew increasingly erratic and rageful, almost like he’d lost his mind.”
He sighed. “This is also why many dark wizards, even those capable, refuse to make Horcruxes. They’d rather face death than fracture their souls.”
“Can only one Horcrux be made?” Harry asked curiously.
He’d first heard of Horcruxes from Sebastian, who had been desperate to save Anne, even researching such dark magic to break her curse and prolong her life. But Sebastian had only scratched the surface, unaware of the finer details.
“It’s uncertain,” Dumbledore said. “In theory, a soul could be split infinitely, but no one has ever endured such a process. Most wizards couldn’t bear the pain, Harry.”
“But Voldemort isn’t most wizards,” Harry said. “He’s obsessed with escaping death, with immortality.”
Dumbledore nodded. “To confirm our theory, our priority now is to find that ring and determine if it’s a Horcrux.”
“I doubt Voldemort would make it easy to find,” Harry said with a scoff. “Someone as obsessed with survival as him? I’d bet he hid it somewhere nearly impossible to find. If I were him, I’d stash it in a Gringotts vault… maybe even Ominis’s portrait is there too.”
“It’s not impossible,” Dumbledore said, nodding. “But the question is, with so many vaults in Gringotts, where would he hide it?”
“We don’t need to rush to find every Horcrux,” Harry said, yawning. “This is a long game, Professor. We should carefully analyze and narrow down which vault it could be.”
“It’s the only way,” Dumbledore agreed.
After leaving the Headmaster’s office, Harry headed to the Great Hall.
Today was the last day of the term. Tomorrow, the House Cup would be awarded, and the day after was the official start of the holidays.
Harry planned to spend the break searching for information about Merlin’s relics, hoping to rescue Cassandra as soon as possible.
And, at the same time, to track down Ominis’s whereabouts.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
