Chapter 34: The Crux of it All - Part 1 (Patreon)

Chapter 34: The Crux of it All - Part 1

Leavesden Studios, UK. December 2007.

[Dumbledore’s circular office looked a lot neater than the last time I’d visited. Considering I’d vented my frustrations out on it, it wasn’t a surprise to me that some of the puffing, whirring, and softly whistling were missing.

The headmaster genially leaned on his table, a soft smile on his face, and his hands clasped comfortably in front of him.

The camera was nearly perched on my shoulder as I, in complete contrast to Dumbledore, stiffly made my way over. Every echoing step got me and the shot closer, as the wall of framed green canvases that framed him fell out of view, till the focus rested solely on the both of us. “Ah, good evening, Harry. You have been busy, a year’s worth of detention under your belt already in the first week of classes! You may, of course, feel free to bother Professor Snape for more. I have instructed the staff that all punishment pertaining to you shall alas fall on my shoulders.”

He was doing his best to add levity to the situation, but being in his office only brought back memories of unfulfilled promises. “You said, at the end of last term, you were going to tell me everything,” Dumbledore peered at me over his half-moon glasses. I stared back, unwavering. “Sir.” Nails dug into the skin of my palm as my arms folded at my back. The camera behind me captured the tension of the moment. “About why Voldemort came after me fifteen years ago, about the prophecy. About my survival.”

“And so I did.” His gaze, his smile, and his bright tone - along with the lens - faltered and zoomed into the handful of vials holding memories resting on the desk beside him. “I told you everything I know. From this point forth, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory into thickets of wildest guesswork.”

“But you think you’re right?” Urgency entered me as I took a few more steps forward and encroached on his space; I wouldn’t let him shrink away so easily. 

Memory vials in hand, Dumbledore pushed off and marched towards the far wall that held the mirrored and illuminated pensieve. Hot on his heels I followed, but I couldn’t help the slight, displeased twitch in my expression as the reminder of Snape dunking my head into the brackish water surfaced. “You look worried.” The smile was back on his face. “This time, you enter the pensieve with me… and, even more unusually, with permission.”

Sensing that I was finally getting my way, or at least part of it, with Dumbledore, I let my shoulders droop as I alleviated myself of the worst-case scenario, and brought my hands to rest on the lip of the bowl. “I wonder what it’ll feel like…”

“The memories, Harry?”

“No.” Strained though it was, I returned Dumbledore’s grin. “Permission.”]

As Harry and Dumbledore went on their pensieve picnic, Gambon and I, too, were on our own outing. Granted, it was only around Leavesden proper with all the different set constructs around the larger warehouse and mainly on the green screen sound stage.

The secondary film crew were to film the relevant scenes that corresponded to the distinct memories Dumbledore and Harry would dive into. Which was a shame as I wouldn’t get to meet some familiar faces like Christian Coulson, who I’d acted with in Chamber of Secrets where he played Tom Riddle Jr. Six years later, he appeared much older and was cast as Tom Riddle Sr.

But Voldie’s dad aside, it was time Dumbledore and Harry familiarize themselves with the rest of his family - especially his mom. 

[Knees buckled, and I blew out a puff of air through inflated cheeks as I pretended to slam hard into the ground as Dumbledore and I entered the first memory.

 Bob Ogden, the man whose memories we were invading, had begun his journey to the Gaunt house by apparating into Little Hangleton, - specifically a locale I was intimately familiar with. “This graveyard…” Few better places to look haunted than a cemetery. I let my voice trail off as I distractedly stared with unfocused eyes at the foot of the ornate grave where I remember escaping with Cedric’s corpse.

“Fitting that our journey should begin here. Come, Harry. We must explore this memory, not get lost in our own.” Dumbledore softly placed his aged hand on my shoulder and guided us behind Ogden. No gravel crunched under our feet, because we weren’t actually here. But the loud sound of clopping hooves as a man on a horse raced past us was unmissable.

“Has somebody nailed a snake to that door?” I stepped out of memory lane and onto the Gaunt’s path as we approached their dilapidated house, and instead of a door knocker there was the bleeding corpse of a dead serpent.

“The Gaunts, not only had very little of the magic, but the charm as well, that Tom became known for.” We entered in the midst of a raucous argument.

 “Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?” 

“I’m Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad. Morfin has broken Wizarding law.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?”

“Yes, Mr Marvolo Gaunt, I do.” 

“Marvolo?” My ears immediately perked up.

“That’s right,” The camera rack-focused on him smiling at me, as the background action would remain blurred for our aside. “I am glad to see you’re keeping up.” 

“That old man was-?” 

“Voldemort’s grandfather, yes. Marvolo, his son, Morfin, and his daughter, Merope, were the last of the Gaunts.”

“See this? See this? Know what it is? Know where it came from? Centuries it’s been in our family, that’s how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Salazar Slytherin’s! We’re his last living descendants!”

The rig dollied in between us and moved ahead as it zoomed back into the clues littered throughout. Marvolo, caked in wrinkles and rage, extended his finger and pressed it nearly into Ogdens’s face as a greasy Morfin slung parseltongue insults in the back. “And they were parselmouths…” The shot was an extreme closeup of the ring. Then it panned to Marvolo snatching a feeble Merope by the throat to showcase the locket around her neck. “So Merope was… Sir, does that mean she was… Voldemort’s mother?” She sputtered and gagged for breath. My instincts screamed at me to lunge and do something, but I dropped my heel back to the floor, realizing the futility of my actions.

“Yes, indeed. Our tale begins with her. Following this altercation, Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban, once she was alone and free for the first time in her life, then, I am sure, she was able to give full rein to her abilities and to plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years. And it so happens that we also had a glimpse of Voldemort’s father. Tom Riddle senior, the handsome Muggle for whom Merope Gaunt cherished a secret, burning passion. I wonder whether you noticed?” 

“The Muggle Morfin attacked? The man on the horse? She married him?”

 “I think you are forgetting that Merope was a witch. Can you not think of any measure Merope could have taken to make Tom Riddle fall in love with her?”

“The imperious curse? A love potion?” I cast one last mournful glance at the woman, tearfully rubbing her throat near my feet.

“Precisely! I’m more inclined towards the latter, but such means cannot last forever. This is just guesswork, but I believe that she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby’s sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son.” 

We walked out and away from the house, signaling the end of the memory. “Until Voldemort came.”]

Over the next few weeks, Gambon and I became residents on the expansive and elaborate green screen sound stage built specifically for the pensieve sequence.

One by one we delved into the details of Voldemort’s creation and rise.

Merope’s story continued through the eyes of Caractacus Burke, of Borgin and Burke’s, where she sold her family locket in desperation. Until she ultimately died at Wool’s orphanage in grief over Voldemort’s father, for whom he was named after. And just as importantly, drawing more attention to the locket and its significance.

 Then came Dumbledore’s own remembrance of his visit to Wool’s orphanage, where he encountered a young Tom Marvolo Riddle for the first time. Highlighting Voldemort’s inherent cruelty, thirst for power, and deep relationship to magic even at a young age. Not forgetting his obsession with collecting trophies from his victims. And his obsession with his parentage when he massacred the Riddle family and pinned it on Morfin after stealing the ring.

This aspect of his personality was further explored through Hokey the house-elf’s eyes as he charms his way into Hepzibah Smith’s confidence whereby she revealed her prized possessions to Hogwarts graduate Tom Riddle. More trophies for him to collect and more foreshadowing into the significance of both Hufflepuff’s cup and the return of Slytherin’s locket. The flash of his eyes gleaming red as he manically clung to the artifacts, cementing his final transformation.

Of which Dumbledore and Harry get a final visceral view with his dark descent when the once handsome man ghosted into Dumbledore’s office as a distorted caricature of himself. His request to rejoin the annals of Hogwarts denied to him, but his reason for coming still achieved as vaguely hinted at by the hamstringing of the Defense position. A last potential perversion in the castle. 

Years of Voldemort’s life took us weeks to film all for Harry to have it jammed into his mind in a single evening. Too much was at stake to go any slower.

[Whether it was the scar or just a headache from the info-dump, my hand latched on to my scar as I squinted in subdued pain. 

Touching Voldemort’s twisted psyche never failed to unleash old wounds.

The CGI world around would whirl as we billowed into the next memory.

Dumbledore spoke as his beard blew because of the fans off screen. “Your unique connection to Voldemort,” some more subtle foreshadowing about my fate, “both physical and circumstantial, has provided you the greatest insight into Voldemort. Bolstered, I would say, by our ongoing excursion. An insight, Harry, that I am ashamed to say, I feared. The similarities were always there because I now admit I looked for them and sometimes couldn’t see past. You were kept in the dark so long, Harry, because it had become the only shade I could envision. I say all this now - show you everything I have - not to absolve myself, but to prove to you I trust you, Harry. My only request is to implore you to extend that same opportunity to me.”

Blearily, one side of my face still buried in my palm, I eyed Dumbledore. My mouth opened, but shut just as quickly as my lip quivered. I buried that shock of emotion under the stern vise of my teeth. Though my entire fiber was telling me to accede, my better judgment remained skeptical. “Then why does it seem like there’s a piece missing from this puzzle?” My voice was thicker than usual, but I stayed level.

“Because,” He beamed at me, “You’ve been paying attention. This will not take long, and I am certain you shall finally understand the mission you and I must undertake.” His head moved up as the last memory slotted into place. “This is perhaps the most important memory I have collected. It is also a lie!”

Slughorn’s memory was glitchy. Foggy and obscured, cuts and jumps mid conversation, with booms and muffles drowning out parts of the conversation, until Slughorn angrily and falsely dismisses a smug Tom Riddle fiddling with his ring.

One word, however, rang clear as day. “Horcrux…”

The memory faded away, and Dumbledore and I were ejected. “And so, for the first time, I am giving you homework, Harry. It will be your job to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all.”

“What about you?” How could I resist asking such a basic question for once?

“I shall, in the meantime, endeavour to plan your next detention with me. Perhaps a field trip is in order.”]