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HRHL# CHAPTER 208
🕑 Added 2025-06-10 01:22:37 +0000 UTCHarry, of course, understood what Dumbledore meant.
Voldemort, that master of curses, would naturally know how to undo them as well. As the old saying goes, within seven steps of poison lies its antidote. Someone skilled in casting dark curses would surely know how to lift them too.
Harry pondered for a moment, reflecting on the rapport—or lack thereof—between himself and Voldemort. Then it hit him.
Every time they met, Harry hurled insults at Voldemort and his dear mother, not to mention rebounding Voldemort’s Avada Kedavra, leaving him neither fully human nor ghost. And that wasn’t all—Harry had thwarted Voldemort’s schemes twice. If anything, Harry reckoned Voldemort would rather drag him home to stew him in a cauldron than help lift some dark curse.
“You’re not seriously suggesting Tom would help me, are you?” Harry said, his face screaming, Are you kidding me?
“All things are possible in this world,” Dumbledore replied with a cheerful smile. “But we mustn’t delay. We should head to the Gaunt Shack at once.”
With that, he took Harry by Apparition to a spot before a road sign.
Harry looked up, noting the two directions indicated by the signpost. One pointed to Great Hangleton, five miles away. The other pointed to Little Hangleton, one mile away.
“The Gaunt Shack is in Great Hangleton,” Dumbledore said to Harry. “Oh, I forgot—you’re on good terms with young Gaunt. You must know roughly where the Gaunt family home is.”
“No, he never mentioned it,” Harry replied. “Ominis may come from the Gaunt family, but he despises their ways… I remember him saying once that when he was a child, his family forced him to use the Cruciatus Curse on Muggle children…”
“A truly extreme family,” Dumbledore said, his tone a mix of lament and pity. “No wonder they’ve fallen into ruin.”
They followed the wooden sign pointing toward Great Hangleton, walking a short distance. Fortunately, the weather had been pleasant lately, and the ground wasn’t muddy, sparing their clothes and shoes.
“Why not just Apparate us there, Professor?” Harry asked curiously.
“The Gaunt Shack is warded against Apparition, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “And since Fawkes seems to have gone off with Miss Grindelwald, I can’t bypass the anti-Apparition charm to get us there.”
Fair enough. Harry accepted the explanation.
Dumbledore led Harry down a narrow, dirt-paved path flanked by taller, denser hedgerows than before. The path twisted and turned, rocky and uneven, sloping downward as if leading to a dark woodland below.
Sure enough, the path vanished at the edge of the forest.
They took a few more steps and arrived at a walled courtyard. The walls were covered in moss, and many tiles had fallen from the roof, exposing patches of oak beams. Thick nettles grew around the house, reaching up to the tiny, grime-encrusted windows.
A dead snake was nailed to the door, though time had reduced it to a brittle skeleton, incomplete and twisted, coiled grotesquely around the frame.
“This is the Gaunt Shack,” Dumbledore said with a soft sigh. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? Once a proud member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, now reduced to a place overrun with weeds.”
He raised his wand and flicked a large spider off the doorframe. The spider scurried away without protest, clearly uninterested in confronting rude strangers.
“Ron would absolutely hate this place,” Harry remarked dryly.
Dumbledore glanced back at Harry, puzzled by the sudden comment.
“Ron’s terrified of spiders,” Harry explained succinctly.
“Being afraid of spiders is nothing to be ashamed of,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “When I was young, I wasn’t fond of insects either—especially the ones with too many legs, like centipedes.”
With that, he pushed open the door and stepped into the Gaunt Shack.
The place had been abandoned for ages. Weeds sprouted everywhere inside, and thick moss clung to the walls. The moment Harry stepped in, a heavy, musty odor hit him—a smell so potent it was almost dizzying.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s lived here in a long time,” Harry said to Dumbledore.
“The last heir of the Gaunt family, Morfin Gaunt,” Dumbledore said, his eyes flickering, “was imprisoned in 1943 for murdering a family of Muggles. He’s been in Azkaban ever since.”
“Really?” Harry said with a gleeful chuckle. “Sounds like a proper Gaunt, then—you know what I mean, Dumbledore. The cruel, cold-blooded kind.”
“Aren’t you curious about who he attacked?” Dumbledore asked.
“Not the Riddles, surely? That poor Muggle lad seduced by that vile Merope?” Harry ventured.
Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, it was them. I learned as much from the locals when I last visited Greater Hangleton.”
“But,” he added, “the last time I was here, I didn’t enter the Gaunt Shack. Now that we’re here, it seems it wouldn’t have made much difference either way. I think we should visit Azkaban to uncover the truth.”
“Like what?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not convinced Morfin Gaunt is the true culprit behind the Riddle murders,” Dumbledore said. “No matter how unhinged he was, I don’t think he’d…”
“Who knows, Professor?” Harry interrupted. “You know the Gaunt family’s ways. By their rules, Merope should’ve been Morfin’s wife… They’re obsessed with blood purity—ugh…”
Harry gagged, both at the Gaunts’ barbaric customs and the overwhelming stench of mold in the house.
“We should look for the portrait,” Dumbledore said, clearly eager to change the subject. He raised his wand and cast, “Lumos.”
They pressed forward until they reached a small, seemingly sealed door.
“Perhaps here, Harry,” Dumbledore said, tapping the door with his wand. It clicked and creaked open.
But he was mistaken—it was just a storage room.
“Not here,” they concluded after rummaging through moldy, green-furred clutter and shoving it back inside. “Let’s keep looking.”
Farther in, they entered what seemed to be the main hall. Before they could take in their surroundings, a furious hiss echoed through the room.
“Who’s there?!”
Harry followed the voice, pointing his wand at a portrait. The figure in it was grotesquely proportioned—shoulders too broad, arms unnaturally long, with gleaming brown eyes, short, bristly hair, and a wrinkled face that resembled a ferocious old monkey.
“You ill-mannered little mongrel!” the figure bellowed. “Get that wand out of my face!”
Harry glanced at the nameplate below the frame: Marvolo Gaunt.
“Marvolo Gaunt?” Harry said, ignoring the insult. He knew the Gaunts were hardly known for their sanity. “Where’s Ominis? Is his portrait hanging in this house?”
Marvolo was about to retort when the familiar name caught him off guard. Warily, he asked, “Ominis? Who are you? How do you know my brother?”
Dumbledore stood to the side, arms crossed, content to observe the exchange with interest.
“Harry Potter,” Harry replied casually.
At the name, Marvolo’s half-closed eyes widened in shock. He stammered, “H-H-Harry Potter? The Harry Potter who crushed the goblin rebellion and wiped out the Ashwinder gang?”
“That’s me,” Harry said. “Ominis is my friend. He left me a letter telling me to find his portrait here. So, where is it?”
“It was taken,” Marvolo replied. “By that filthy Muggle-born! That half-breed! That wretched spawn!”
“Merope’s son?” Dumbledore interjected suddenly. “Tom?”
“Yes! Don’t mention that name to me!” Marvolo roared, seething. “An absolute disgrace!”
“Which one? Merope or Tom?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Both!” Marvolo spat, his anger unabated. “I never imagined my daughter—Squib though she was—would stoop to drugging a Muggle! She’s brought shame upon the Gaunt name!”
“Seems to me letting her marry Morfin wouldn’t have turned out any better,” Harry said with a shrug. “If I get the chance, I’ll have another portrait bring you a copy of Biology.”
Then he pressed on. “Alright, one more question—where did Tom take Ominis’s portrait, and why? Do you know?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know,” Marvolo said, frustrated. “You know, Mr. Potter, my brother Ominis was the most outstanding of our generation in the Gaunt family… and since he was your comrade, not to mention that half-breed’s grandfather, that’s likely why he took him.”
“Don’t tell me he’s craving fatherly love?” Harry said, smirking. “I know he grew up with a mother but no father, but that’s hardly a reason to cart off Ominis’s portrait, is it?”
“I don’t know why,” Marvolo said, struggling to maintain composure. “All I know is that wretched boy was obsessed with following in your footsteps, Mr. Potter… He always looked up to you.”
Harry: …?!
Seriously, mate?
Dumbledore swiftly unwrapped a handful of sweets, popping them into his mouth to stifle his incredulity.
As Voldemort’s former professor, Dumbledore knew Tom had always chased power and immortality. But to think Voldemort’s lifelong idol was… Harry Potter?
If Dumbledore hadn’t known that this Harry was the same person as the one from the future, he might have found it reasonable. But knowing they were one and the same made Voldemort’s obsession utterly absurd.
Voldemort’s idol, nemesis, and enemy… all the same person.
“Are you alright?” Marvolo asked cautiously, noticing Harry’s complex expression.
Harry sighed helplessly. “I don’t even know what to say…”
What could he say?
“Got any other leads, Marvolo?” Harry asked. “Like where Tom might have hidden Ominis’s portrait?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter,” Marvolo said regretfully. “Ominis only has one portrait in this house, so he usually stays in it… He could visit mine, but he’s always held a grudge against me, so he’d rather linger in some unknown place than return to the Gaunt Shack to see me.”
“And you can’t go to him?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
“If I could, I would’ve already,” Marvolo replied. “But I don’t know where his portrait is, so I can’t. I’m sorry, Mr. Potter.”
“Alright,” Harry said with a nod.
After a brief exchange with Marvolo, Harry and Dumbledore left the Gaunt Shack.
“Where do you think Ominis’s portrait might be hidden, Harry?” Dumbledore asked suddenly.
Harry gave Dumbledore a long, exasperated look. “I’d say the person who knows Tom best is you, Professor, not a second-year who just graduated.”
“But you’re hardly young, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a smile.
Harry shot him another glance.
“Then why aren’t you calling me ‘senior’?”
“Very well, senior,” Dumbledore said lightly, his tone almost playful. “I’ve been wanting to call you that for a while—”
“I can tell,” Harry said dryly. “So, where to next?”
“Perhaps you should revisit the Chamber of Secrets,” Dumbledore suggested. “The basilisk is kept there, isn’t it? Maybe Ominis’s portrait is there too.”
Harry thought it over briefly and shook his head. “Unlikely. Alfonso, the basilisk, doesn’t know Ominis, which means his portrait can’t be in the Chamber… Let me think. Maybe we should visit Azkaban and talk to Tom’s uncle. He might know something.”
“You mean Morfin Gaunt?” Dumbledore’s interest was piqued. He considered it for a moment. “That could work. But before we go to Azkaban, we should prepare. The Dementors there are quite dangerous. Have you learned the Patronus Charm yet?”
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
