Chapter 73: The Broken Badger Courtyard Gold Cup
The boy stopped in front of the stone gargoyle in the third-floor corridor.
He shook his wand and seemed to say something silently, and his face suddenly became calm.
The gargoyle monster was snoring softly, but when it sensed someone coming, it opened its eyes, looked at him, and pricked up its ears, as if waiting for something.
"A huge cockroach pile," he said expressionlessly - and the gargoyles immediately jumped aside with a wicked grin.
Draco stepped up and as the stairs spiraled around and around, rising higher and higher, he finally arrived at the door of the principal's office on the eighth floor.
He knocked on the brass doorknob, and a kind voice came from inside.
"Come in."
"Good afternoon, sir." Draco walked in.
The clock in the principal's office struck four.
"Extremely punctual, Draco. Take a seat," Dumbledore said with a smile.
Draco sat down and looked around, trying to guess why Dumbledore had called him here.
The circular office looked much the same as it had last been. A collection of delicate silverware, puffing finely, sat on a spindly table. The Sorting Hat sat listlessly on a shelf to the other side. Portraits of former headmasters lay dozing in their frames. Fawkes the phoenix stood on a perch behind the door, his expression similar to Draco's.
"My child," said Professor Dumbledore in a serious tone, "I think you must be wondering why I sent for you."
"Yes, sir."
"Any guesses?" His gray beard hung down to his waist, and Draco noticed that he had tied a rope around the end of it.
"If you're here to comfort me and tell me not to worry about the fugitive Peter Pettigrew, or if you think I'm too fragile to face the Dementors, don't worry..." Draco said disapprovingly.
"Oh, honestly, I don't mind either of those things too much," Professor Dumbledore said cheerfully. "You've coped well, haven't you? But I do need to warn you not to take risks beyond your ability."
His blue eyes looked at him inquiringly, as if hinting at something.
Draco shrugged, trying to look the innocent third year. Was Dumbledore referring to the possible existence of more Horcruxes, or to his own half-baked Patronus Charm?
"We had a conversation in this office last semester, and we talked about Horcruxes at that time." Seeing Draco's unyielding attitude, Professor Dumbledore did not dwell on it any further and quickly changed the subject.
A moment's pause.
"You said you wanted to do some research," Draco said.
"That's right. I've spent a few months doing some research, and I believe I've come to some conclusions." Dumbledore opened the drawer of his desk and placed a blackened, twisted, broken cup in front of the desk.
Draco vaguely recognized that it should be a golden cup, but for some reason, it had been so damaged.
"This is—" He looked at Professor Dumbledore in confusion. An idea suddenly flashed into his mind.
"Yes, I believe it was another Horcrux, and it has been destroyed," Professor Dumbledore said calmly.
"Another one?" Draco said incredulously.
Even though he had realized that the Dark Lord was a madman and had a mental expectation of his evil, he would still be shocked when he saw the evidence with his own eyes.
——How many Horcruxes did he create?
"Where did you find it? How did you destroy it?" Draco stared at the broken and deformed cup, a rare eagerness in his tone.
"Let me answer your second question first," said Professor Dumbledore. "It was destroyed by the Sword of Gryffindor. The person holding the sword was not me, but Sirius Black. The night before last, Fawkes suddenly flew away with the Sorting Hat in his mouth. Not long after, Sirius found me with Fawkes, the Sorting Hat, the Sword, and this golden cup."
The phoenix next to it cried out triumphantly and showed off its beautiful tail feathers on the branch it was perched on.
"Sirius undoubtedly had a battle with the evil spirit in the golden cup. From his appearance at the time, one can imagine how tragic the scene was. Fortunately, he did not suffer any irreversible damage. I have arranged for him to recuperate in the school hospital, and he will recover in a while." Professor Dumbledore said with a smile, "I have already informed Harry, and he may be visiting his godfather now."
"What a tearful scene!" Draco sighed hypocritically. "I don't understand what this has to do with me."
"That all starts with the origin of the golden cup." Dumbledore said calmly with his blue eyes, "I heard that Sirius got the golden cup from your mother."
"Impossible! I've never seen this at home..." Draco blurted out in shock.
"I am sure that this thing is indeed not the Malfoy family's. I heard that she took this golden cup from the Lestrange family's vault." Professor Dumbledore said.
Draco fell silent for a moment.
The image of his mother walking out of the Lestrange family vault carrying a small package suddenly appeared in his mind.
Given how familiar my mother was with my crazy aunt Bellatrix, it wasn't impossible for her to just "dispose" of a few gold items in the vault for her.
"When did it happen?" he asked coldly.
"I don't know the exact time, probably after Sirius was released from prison." Professor Dumbledore said lightly.
"Oh..." Draco's face turned pale. "I think I know when it is."
As far as he knew, Narcissa had little communication with her cousin Sirius Black.
There was only one time they had met face to face, and that was when they went to the Black house. Draco thought his mother was just discussing the Dementors' weaknesses with this cousin, but he didn't expect they might discuss something else.
No wonder his mother left that day. When she came back to pick him up, she looked a little bad.
Draco originally thought that her unhappiness was due to some conflicts of interest within the Black family; now it seems that there is another hidden story.
"He must have deceived her. My mother probably didn't know what she got for him." Draco narrowed his eyes and said in an unhappy tone.
"I guess so." Dumbledore's tone was very relaxed, as if he was discussing what to eat for dinner tonight. "So I want to remind you that the Malfoy family is already involved in this matter. Your parents, whether intentionally or unintentionally, have contributed to the destruction of the Horcruxes and stood on the opposite side of Voldemort."
"You don't seem to care about my family's safety." Draco looked at him coldly with his gray eyes. "I did all this to protect my family, not to drag them down. Have you ever thought about how Bellatrix would treat my mother if she knew?"
"I'm very sorry about this. The only consolation is that Bellatrix has been imprisoned in Azkaban." Dumbledore looked at him with his blue eyes.
"That doesn't mean she won't come out." Draco sneered, "Sir, have you forgotten Peter Pettigrew who is still on the loose?"
"That is another topic," said Dumbledore.
"I didn't expect a great wizard like you to have the common problem of bureaucratic wizards who evade the subject. Is there anything else you can say about this broken golden cup?" Draco said impatiently. He had already stood up and was about to leave.
Dumbledore smiled faintly, not minding the boy's sudden temper. He pushed the cup toward Draco. "Please look at the pattern on this cup. Look closely."
Draco leaned over to look.
He could vaguely make out the exquisite carving that once existed on the golden cup; it seemed to be a badger.
"This is—" he said softly, a hint of unexpected emotion in his tone.
"Yes, the Hufflepuff cup," Dumbledore continued. "One of the relics of the founders of the four Hogwarts houses. I've asked the oldest house-elves in the school to identify it. When the elf saw the cup in such a state, he cried so hard that he almost fainted... This must be Helga Hufflepuff's cup."
Draco nodded slightly.
Earlier, he had read in a series of legends that the golden cup was the first vessel used by the house-elves to transport magical food at Hogwarts. It was no surprise that the house-elves could recognize it. They were naturally able to accurately sense such magical instruments. There should be no mistake.
"You may have noticed that Voldemort is very interested in the history and relics of the four founders. For example, Hufflepuff's gold cup, and Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets. I believe that the four treasures of the four founders must have a great appeal to Voldemort. I can't be sure whether he has found Slytherin and Ravenclaw's things, but I am sure that Gryffindor's only known relic is safe and sound." Dumbledore nodded at the sword of Gryffindor displayed on the side of the headmaster's office.
"I agree with your thinking on this point. At least, Slytherin's relics have always been very attractive to Slytherins," said Draco.
The Dark Lord was like a country bumpkin who had never seen the world. He collected souvenirs every time he went to the city, and in such an uncivilized way, he destroyed the common treasure of the wizarding world that should have been well preserved. He thought with disdain.
If the four founders knew about this, their anger towards the Dark Lord would probably overflow the entire Black Lake of Hogwarts.
Putting your dirty soul on someone else's belongings is no different from a dog running into someone else's house and urinating and defecating everywhere. It can be seen as a very cheap behavior.
No wonder Lady Grey was so eager to destroy the Ravenclaw Diadem! Who would appreciate someone tampering with their precious heritage? It's a blasphemy.
Now, the Ravenclaw diadem has been secretly destroyed by him; where is the Slytherin relic? Draco frowned in thought.
"I called you here because I need your help. Since you are a student of Slytherin College, I hope you can ask around within the college and try to find out the current ownership of Slytherin's relics and confirm whether they are still safe." Dumbledore broke the silence in the headmaster's office and said solemnly to Draco.
Draco almost laughed out loud.
"You just shamelessly admitted to taking advantage of my poor mother, and now you're brazenly taking advantage of me again?"
"There's no one more suitable than you. The fewer people who know about this, the better," Dumbledore said calmly. "Even Sirius only thought he had destroyed a Dark Artifact. I didn't tell him about the Horcruxes. He still doesn't know what it was he destroyed."
"You trust me very much." Draco said with a forced smile.
Professor Dumbledore said calmly, "What you have done has proved to me that you are worthy of my trust."
Draco looked into his calm and wise eyes, and suddenly sat back in his chair as if deflated. He couldn't vent the anger in his heart.
"Even so, even if I really wanted to look for it, I don't know the specific details of Slytherin's relics. There are too many forgeries and a lot of false copies - after all, they are just legends." Draco said dejectedly, his mood inexplicably low.
Dumbledore smiled. He stood up, walked around the table, and passed Draco. From the cabinet in front of the door he pulled a shallow stone basin inscribed with strange charms.
Draco recognized it as a Pensieve. There was a similar one in the corner of his grandfather's study, but Abraxas had never been a fan of using one.
Most wizards who could use the Pensieve were masters of Legilimency. Draco studied the Pensieve and was once again thankful that he had used Occlumency before coming here.
At this moment, Dumbledore was unable to get Draco to let down his guard and tell everything.
"Let's take a walk down Bob Ogden's memory lane," Professor Dumbledore said briskly, not knowing Draco's thoughts. He was busy pouring a silver substance from a bottle into the Pensieve. "You can clearly see what the Slytherin relic looked like in his memories."
Draco looked towards the Pensieve, took a deep breath, and dove into the silver substance.
(For memories of Bob Ogden, please go back to the chapter "Gaunt's House" in the sixth Half-Blood Prince. I will not repeat the original content here.)
After a long time, Draco stood back on the floor of Dumbledore's office. The sunlight outside the window had dimmed, and the sky was filled with sunset glow.
But Draco was completely oblivious to the changes in the scenery outside the window. The sheer amount of information flooded his chaotic brain, occupying his entire attention.
That poor girl named Merope... and the golden locket hanging from her neck... the House of Gaunt... the dead snake nailed to the door... the black stone ring... that fleeting glimpse of the Peverell crest...
"Those two things, the black gem ring and the gold locket, are both Slytherin's relics..." Draco muttered.
"That's right. Those are the last two relics of the Gaunt family. Marvolo values them very much, as much as his son Morfin and much more than his daughter Merope." said Professor Dumbledore.
"Marvolo, is—" Draco said with some doubt in his tone.
"Voldemort's grandfather."
"He speaks Parseltongue too?" Draco confirmed again with certainty.
"I suppose they all are."
"Unfortunately, I don't understand what they are saying." Draco asked curiously, "Why can you understand and translate for me? You are also -"
"No. I can only understand a little," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I don't speak Parseltongue."
"Can Parseltongue be learned?"
"Yes, but it would be very difficult." Dumbledore shrugged. "In my opinion, even the language of mermen is easier than Parseltongue."
Draco was silent for a moment, then began to ask again, "Is the girl in the cottage—Merope—his mother?"
"Very clever," said Dumbledore, with a glint of approval in his eyes.
"As we all know, the last male descendant of the Gaunt family is Morfin, and we have never heard of him having any descendants," said Draco.
Besides, he had guessed it pretty close last school year based on the Dark Lord's middle name, "Marvolo".
The only reason he was called "Tom Marvolo Riddle" and didn't have "Gaunt" in his last name was because he was Marvolo's grandson, not his grandson.
"Oh, wait, Merope's husband, isn't that the Muggle outside the window?" Draco asked with a frown.
During the holidays, he had searched the Malfoy family library and had never found a prominent family with the wizarding surname "Riddle".
"I have to admit that your divergent thinking is quite impressive. That Muggle, old Tom Riddle, is very handsome, isn't he?" Dumbledore said with a smile.
"So... the Dark Lord is a half-blood wizard." Draco said softly, feeling a chill down his spine at the shock of this conclusion.
"Very perceptive," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "You seem quite shocked by this."
Draco was of course shocked.
The Dark Lord, who always clamours about "restoring the glory of pure-blood wizards", is actually a half-blood wizard himself.
Is there anything more ironic than this?
Do those die-hard supporters know?
Did he know that his father had been such a fanatical supporter of the Dark Lord?
What about her mother? Did she know about this? Did her sister, Bellacrite, know about her close relationship with the Dark Lord?
Draco screamed in his mind.
He had long felt that something was amiss with the Dark Lord! He had long felt that the Dark Lord showed no regard for the bloodlines of pure-blood wizards and was extremely cruel. Those murders against pure-blood wizards were all trampling on the bottom line that pure-blood wizards adhered to.
In the past, pure-blood wizards never killed each other even if they had conflicts in their positions.
How precious and rare is wizard blood! Even if they are not of the same kind, there is a basic respect between each other. Protecting, preserving, and passing on the wizard bloodline was once the basic consensus of all wizards.
The Dark Lord, however, never abided by the boundaries. He disregarded this basic understanding. He killed wantonly, squandering human life.
Now, everything has an answer.
A half-blood wizard!
How could the Dark Lord truly want to restore the glory of pure-bloods when he himself was not a pure-blood?
"I think he's exploiting pure-blood wizards," Draco said bitterly, "using their hearts to achieve his own goals. Whatever those goals are, they're definitely not what he claims."
"I must say, I'm surprised." Dumbledore gave him a long look. "I didn't expect you to see that. Few people would realize that, especially since you're a teenager."
"That's just an educated guess on my part," Draco said, not meeting Dumbledore's gaze.
Not good. He had meant a little too much to say that, and Dumbledore noticed.
This wouldn't do. He couldn't reveal too much of his true thoughts.
What happened today? Why did he keep losing control of his emotions?
Draco took a deep breath, regained his composure, and changed the subject.
"That Muggle man, he didn't look like he liked her. I guess she used some tricks." Draco thought of the love potion made by Professor Slughorn.
"A reasonable guess." Dumbledore's eyes flickered slightly, and he let him go and continued to introduce him, "I guess she did use some means, but it obviously didn't last. Here I need to introduce you to a little background information - only a year later, old Tom Riddle left her pregnant and returned to Little Hangleton, claiming that he had been deceived."
Poor guy, Draco scoffed.
I really don't know which is more tragic: being forced to fall in love with someone you don't love, or falling in love with someone who will never love you back.
"But I remember Harry told me that the Tom Riddle in the diary grew up in an orphanage. What about Merope? Is she dead?" Draco asked.
"I suppose so," said Dumbledore quietly.
"So, the locket disappeared with her?" Draco asked pointedly.
Dumbledore poured some new memories into the Pensieve and shook it.
The figure of an old man emerged from the silvery-white substance. His hair was so thick that it completely covered his eyes.
"Yes, we got it under very special circumstances... a young witch just before Christmas... ragged, haggard, and pregnant... I looked closely and saw that the locket really had the mark of Slytherin on it... It was priceless... I bought it for only ten Galleons..."
"It was Caractacus Burke's memory," Dumbledore sighed. "Merope sold it when he was destitute. Burke tells me that he later sold the locket to Hepzibah Smith, a very old, very wealthy witch and a very discerning collector."
"She? She died a long time ago, didn't she?" Draco interrupted.
Dumbledore nodded.
"After she died, Burke wanted to buy the locket back, but he didn't see it at the sale of her belongings," he said flatly.
"Isn't Hepzibah Smith a distant descendant of Hufflepuff?" Draco returned to his chair, looked out the window at the dusky sky, and said casually, "I've seen that branch in some wizard family trees."
"Yes, that's worth investigating." Dumbledore tapped the table intermittently, staring at the broken gold cup. "I think there may be some connection."
"Where's the black gem ring? Is it still in Morfin's hands?" Draco asked again.
"To be honest, I went to Azkaban to see Morfin some time ago. Due to time constraints, I won't show you his memories. In short, after he was released from prison after his last attack on Muggles, he has been living alone in that shed, wearing the ring on his hand all the time - until young Tom Riddle visited him." Dumbledore said patiently.
"what happened?"
"None of us knew that Morfin's memory had been severely tampered with. When he regained consciousness, he had been arrested and imprisoned in Azkaban on charges of murdering old Tom Riddle and his family of three. The ring on his finger was missing." Dumbledore glanced out the window and tried to tell him the most important things.
"He killed his Muggle father?" Draco asked, not at all surprised.
This is very much like something a heartless madman like the Dark Lord would do.
"I'm afraid it is," said Dumbledore slowly.
"And then made a Horcrux..." he whispered, feeling a wave of fatigue creeping into his heart.
"Very likely."
"Indeed, it is more likely that he chose the black gem ring as his Horcrux. We have not yet found any direct connection between him and the locket..." Draco chose his words carefully.
"There's something strange about the disappearance of the locket. I smell a conspiracy," Professor Dumbledore said gravely. "Draco, try to use your imagination. Why not... both of them...?"
"Both of them? Turned into Horcruxes? This is too evil." Draco could no longer maintain his composure.
"In this matter, we must prepare for the worst." Dumbledore said seriously, with a sharp light flashing in his eyes.
"But, apart from their style, I have no idea as to their current whereabouts," Draco said bluntly to Dumbledore.
"It's not entirely impossible. Hepzibah Smith is a good starting point," said Dumbledore.
"But she's dead. It's a waste of effort to look for these people. Wherever they were before, once they were in the Dark Lord's hands, where they were hidden is another story." Draco said bluntly.
"I hold the opposite opinion on this point." Dumbledore regained his smiling expression. "I think it is necessary to trace his past. This will allow me to understand his way of thinking more clearly."
"If he really cared about the past, he should have hidden it in an orphanage, or in the Gaunt family's dilapidated house..." Draco asked angrily, "Have you looked for it? Did you find it?"
"The orphanage is full of Muggles. I can't sense any magical fluctuations." Dumbledore said, "As for the old Gaunt house, it has become a ruin many years ago. There is nothing there."
"Maybe he's not a nostalgic person. I bet he would use a lot of evil black magic to hide those things in a hidden place, and curse anyone who could find them..." Draco said thoughtfully.
"Of course he would do that. Even if they hadn't become Horcruxes, the magic on those objects themselves was powerful enough. Salazar Slytherin must have had his reasons for choosing those objects as the treasures of the school. Listen, Draco, I just hope you can ask among your Slytherin classmates if anyone has seen anything similar. Once you have any clues, find out the whereabouts of these things and don't touch them casually; tell me and let me deal with them, okay?" Dumbledore looked at Draco solemnly.
Draco dropped his fake smile.
He recalled the diary from his second year. It had the power to influence people's minds and suck their souls, causing unrest at Hogwarts. It could even take on a human form, speak, and control the basilisk. Harry had only managed to destroy it by accident, thanks to the power of the phoenix and the sword of Gryffindor, and the use of the basilisk's fangs.
He thought of the Ravenclaw Diadem in the Room of Requirement. Before he pierced it with his fangs, he'd heard whispers of bewitching incantations. If it weren't for the Grey Lady, a ghost who'd suffered so much, reminding him, he might have put it on. If that had been the case, he might have died. Thinking back on the destruction of the diadem, he often broke into a cold sweat, thinking he should have been more cautious.
Hufflepuff's golden cup must be quite something. It could have severely injured Sirius Black, a wizard of such magical talent—even with Madam Pomfrey's skill, he still needed to recuperate for "a while." Draco's broken bones healed in just one night.
Dumbledore was right. Draco softened his tone. "Professor Dumbledore, you are right. I also think that Horcruxes are very dangerous things. It is not easy to destroy them. Perhaps when you investigate these things, you should also consider finding a helper and not fight alone."
"Oh, I'll think about it," Dumbledore said gently. "But it's very late now. Draco, I have to ask you to leave, or you'll be late for dinner."
Draco stood up, feeling exhausted.
He had received too much information today and felt a burning pain in his temples.
"etc--"
Draco turned around and saw Dumbledore standing there, his face showing obvious fatigue and a hint of genuine apology. "I'm sorry about your mother. Sirius didn't realize the danger he had put you in. If anything happens in the future that endangers your parents' safety, I will do everything I can to help."
"I hope you'll keep your word," Draco said calmly, "and stop taking advantage of them."
"As you wish," said Dumbledore.
"And don't tell anyone else what I'm doing," he said coldly, reverting to the expressionless Draco Malfoy he had been when he entered the office.
"What happens in this office stays in this office," Dumbledore said after a long pause.
Draco gave him a reluctant nod and left the office.
The sky over Hogwarts had fallen completely dark. Looking out from the window of the eighth-floor corridor, the pitch-black castle looked like a man-eating beast revived in the night. Outside, the shadows of Dementors hovered, glaring and eager, ready to burst in for a feast at any moment.
All this made Draco feel tired.
He was not in the mood to eat dinner. Instead, he walked down the stairs, through the bustling and noisy students, and returned to his single dormitory with a pale face.
The vague fears he had been having since the holidays were coming true - the Horcruxes were becoming more and more numerous, and the loose threads were becoming more and more numerous.
Dumbledore, that old fox! Originally, he thought that if he handed this matter over to him, Draco could breathe a sigh of relief.
Unexpectedly, this was just the beginning of another nightmare. Locket, locket, where should I start with these things?
Draco lay in his bed, his mind in turmoil.
The small golden locket kept appearing in his mind - the gorgeous snake-shaped S made it feel strangely familiar.
He must have seen it somewhere.