Name: MORFIN GORMLAITH GAUNT
Age: 46
Wand: fir, 10 ¾ inches, dragon heartstring
Residence: Gaunt Estate, Little Hangleton, Yorkshire
Marital status: -
Offense charge: three counts of murder in the primary degree
Date of charged offense: 1st July, 1943
Offense Detail: prisoner entered the residence of the Riddle family (Muggle, IM-00) and inflicting the Killing Curse (UC-001-1717) upon the three members of the Riddle family present; Thomas Riddle (63), Mary Riddle (60), and their son Tom Riddle (37). Use of the Killing Curse has been confirmed by Prior Incantato (see report DMLE-619-1951-BLE, SA: Robert Odgen).
Date of Testimony: 3rd July, 1943
Prisoner plea: guilty
Sentence: Azkaban, 360 years
Date of Sentence: 3rd July, 1943
You frown.
It's very late, the candle your desk is barely a stub, the little flame hovering nervously on the surface of a broad pool of wax, and you've been copying over these stupid reports to the new, tamper-proof parchment forms for seven hours now – but something is extremely odd about these dates.
"McCollin," you say slowly. "Did you work this case?"
"Hmm?" McCollin doesn't look up at the desk beside you, head resting heavily on one hand and his spine curled into a perfect and truly concerning C-shape over his own stack of files. He looks close to passing out right there and then, salt-and-pepper hair a little greasy, scruffy five o'clock shadow, eyes bleary and shadowed.
"Gaunt," you read, "1943. You were working with Odgen then, right?"
He snorts. "Yeah, I remember that nutter."
"What happened?"
"Guy was from one of those ancient pure-blooded clans, you know, one of the real fanatical ones, inbreeding and liquidated assets and all," McCollin yawns, dragging his hand down his face and smearing ink across his whiskered cheek. "Hated Muggles like nobody's business."
"Yeah he killed three Muggles, right?" you peer at the report.
McCollin nods at the form he's copying. "Went off the deep end one day. Walked right up to their house and murdered 'em. When they brought him in he was ranting and raving about how they'd had it coming for years."
"He was arrested, charged, and sentenced within three days," you say slowly.
He finally looks up at you. "So?"
"That's the fasted processing I've ever seen."
"The guy admitted to it, kiddo," McCollin says in deadpan, "he had snakes nailed to his door and his family tree was basically a Christmas wreath."
"Yeah, but... what made he snap?"
He laughs again, shaking his head despondently as he returns to his form. "You got a lot to learn."
His tone wants to be fond but it just strikes you as patronising, especially considering the amount of times people have said that exact same stupid line to you. It's like half the bloody department think being Muggle-born makes you incapable of understanding the subtle and unique intricacies of wizarding culture – as if bigotry and supremacists and assholes are exclusive to the magical world. "What?" you say a little too defensively.
"Families like that... guys like that... they're not right in the head. Hate Muggles just to hate 'em, reckon they're all that's wrong with the world. Honestly it's a miracle he didn't do it sooner."
You look back down at the report, suspicions anything but assuaged. "Yeah," you say quietly, "it is."
☆゜·。。·゜゜·。。·゜★
YOU ARE READING
white dove ★ T.M.R/Reader ★
Fanfiction"If this is a game, then you're playing too," he says softly, stepping closer, "and if you're playing too, then either one of us could be the winner." You watch him closely. The man's eyes are dark, beautiful, and alight as he looks back at you, the...
