The Secrets of The Sighted (Golden Trio Era) {3}

Little Hangleton

Mikayla takes a minute to sit down, Harry following her lead as they digest the new information they've learned. Dumbledore returned to his seat on the opposite side of the desk of the two sixteen year olds that are staring silently at the ground. "Why did you alter the prophecy?" Mikayla looks up at Dumbledore, "Alina told me that if we hide the fact that you were involved that Voldemort wouldn't target you. I would've done the same for you, Harry, only one of Voldemort's followers heard the first half of the prophecy, and warned him." Mikayla looked over at Harry as if she was waiting what his take was on this whole situation. "Will you do it?" Harry asked her sincerely, Mikayla was taken aback as she couldn't believe Harry was questioning her, "of course, I'll do it, Harry." Harry was slightly pale, "Mikayla it will lead to sacrifices and despair on your part, I want to make sure you know what you're agreeing to."

Mikayla shrugged, "Harry, that prophecy began the second Voldemort tried to kill you, 15 years ago, and I will keep fighting by your side and protecting you for as long as I live." Mikayla paused for a second, turning her body more towards Harry, "you first, always has been, always will be, okay?" Harry face grimaced at Mikayla's words, as he didn't like the idea of possibly loosing her because she's vowed to protect him for the rest of her life. He didn't want to be her burden, but he knew better than to argue with her. "Okay," Harry agrees in a whisper, Mikayla sends him a reassuring smile, knowing that he's worried about her which cemented her decision even more.

Dumbledore got to his feet and walked around the desk, past the pair, who turned in their seats to watch Dumbledore bending over the cabinet beside the door. When Dumbledore straightened up, he was holding a familiar shallow stone basin etched with odd markings around its rim. He placed the Pensieve on the desk in front of them. "You two look worried," Mikayla and Harry had indeed been eyeing the Pensieve with some apprehension, "can you blame us, sir?" Dumbledore chuckled at Mikayla's question, "no, no I can't, but this time, you enter the Pensieve with me... and, even more unusually, with permission." Mikayla still stared at the pensieve uneasily, unsure if wants anything to do with the magical object. Dumbledore leads them over to a glass cabinet, "what you are looking at are memories. In this case, pertaining to one individual... Voldemort. Or as he was known, then... Tom Riddle."

The vials in the cabinet spin slowly before stopping, and Dumbledore picks up the vial in the centre of the cabinet, "this vial contains a memory belonging to Bob Ogden," Dumbledore informs the pair, Harry asked who is Bob Ogden, "he was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' said Dumbledore. 'He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties. Now if you will accompany me." Dumbledore lead both Mikayla and Harry over to the Pensieve that was still sitting on his desk, Dumbledore was having difficulty pulling out the stopper of the crystal bottle, his injured hand seemed stiff and painful.

"Shall, shall I open it, sir?" Harry asks respectfully, "no matter, Harry," Dumbledore pointed his wand at the bottle and the cork flew out. "Sir, how did you injure your hand?" Mikayla asked, taking in it's appearance, the blackened fingers resembled the bark of a black oak tree or Quercus velutina. Dumbledore flipped his hand around as if he was examining it for the first time, "the tale is thrilling, if I say so myself. But now is not the time to tell it, we have an appointment with Bob Ogden." Dumbledore tipped the silvery contents of the bottle into the Pensieve, where they swirled and shimmered, neither liquid nor gas. "After you," Dumbledore spoke gesturing towards the bowl, Harry and Mikayla shared a glance and a nod as they bend forwards. They take a deep breath before plunging their faces into the silvery substance. They felt their feet leave the office floor, they were falling, and they grab a hold of each others hand as they fall deeper, through whirling darkness. Suddenly, they were shielding their eyes from the dazzling sunlight, blinking to adjust to the newfound brightness.

They were standing in a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a summer sky as bright and blue as a forget-me-not. Some ten feet in front of them stood a short, plump man wearing enormously thick glasses that reduced his eyes to molelike specks. He was reading a wooden signpost that was sticking out of the brambles on the left-hand side of the road. Mikayla and Harry drew the conclusion that it must be Bob Ogden, as he was the only person in sight, and he was also wearing the strange assortment of clothes. It was a similar style to the wizards at the Quidditch World Cup two years ago that were trying to look like Muggles. Ogden wore a frock-coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing costume. Before the two young Gryffindors had time to do more than register his bizarre appearance, however, Ogden had set off at a brisk walk down the lane. Dumbledore, Mikayla and Harry followed.

As they passed the wooden sign, Harry and Mikayla looked up at its two arms. The one pointing back the way they had come read: 'Great Hangleton, 5 miles'. The arm pointing after Ogden said: 'Little Hangleton, 1 mile'. They walked a short way with nothing to see but the hedgerows, the wide blue sky overhead and the swishing, frock-coated figure ahead, then the lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside, so that they had a sudden, unexpected view of a whole valley laid out in front of them. Harry could see a village, undoubtedly Little Hangleton, nestled between two steep hills, its church and graveyard clearly visible.

Across the valley, set on the opposite hillside, was a handsome manor house surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn. Ogden had broken into a reluctant trot due to the steep downward slope. Dumbledore lengthened his stride, Harry not far behind him, Mikayla had to break in a jog to keep up with them. Harry thought Little Hangleton must be their final destination and wondered, as he had done on the night they had found Slughorn, why they had to approach it from such a distance. He soon discovered that he was mistaken in thinking that they were going to the village, however. The lane curved to the right, and when they rounded the corner, it was to see the very edge of Ogden's frock-coat vanishing through a gap in the hedge. They all followed him on to a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind.

The path was crooked, rocky and potholed, sloping downhill like the last one, and it seemed to be heading for a patch of dark trees a little below them. Sure enough, the track soon opened up at the copse, and Dumbledore, Mikayla, and Harry came to a halt behind Ogden, who had stopped and drawn his wand. Despite the cloudless sky, the old trees ahead cast deep, dark, cool shadows and it was a few seconds before Harry's eyes discerned the building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks. It seemed to be a very strange location to choose for a house, or else an odd decision to leave the trees growing nearby, blocking all light and the view of the valley below. Mikayla and Harry wondered whether it was inhabited, it's walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime.

Just as Harry had concluded that nobody could possibly live there, however, one of the windows was thrown open with a clatter and a thin trickle of steam or smoke issued from it, as though somebody was cooking. Ogden moved forwards quietly and, it seemed to Mikayla, rather cautiously giving her the hint that whoever they were about to meet may be dangerous. As the dark shadows of the trees slid over him, Ogden stopped again, staring at the front door, to which somebody had nailed a dead snake. Then there was a rustle and a crack and a man in rags dropped from the nearest tree, landing on his feet right in front of Ogden, who leapt backwards so fast that he stood on the tails of his frock-coat and stumbled.

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