The Thestrals' long black tails swished back and forth as their hooves pawed lightly at the ground. They lowered their heads, greedily tearing at the raw meat.
"Let them eat their fill first," Dumbledore said gently. "It will be quite a long journey this time."
"Had to choose these troublesome and terrifying creatures, didn't we," Snape muttered under his breath, arms crossed, leaning against a nearby tree trunk.
"Tekross should have told you," said Dumbledore, "a wizard must have a very clear understanding of the Apparition destination, must visualize it precisely. That's why it's safest to Apparate only to places one has been before."
"I know, Professor," Snape said. "It's just that this method is really inefficient. Couldn't we have used the Floo Network instead?"
But Dumbledore merely smiled at him and did not answer.
They waited patiently until only gleaming bones remained on the ground. Then Dumbledore called softly twice.
Two Thestrals stepped slowly toward them.
Snape took a deep breath, reached out, and gripped the mane of the one approaching him. It took considerable effort to haul himself onto its sleek, satin-smooth back. He swung one leg over and settled it behind the creature's wings.
The Thestral stood calmly, cooperating with his movements. It didn't twitch, only exhaled puffs of white vapor from its nostrils.
"Ready?" Dumbledore asked. When Snape nodded, Dumbledore spoke to the Thestral, "Lancashire, the south bank of the River Ribble."
The Thestral remained motionless for a moment. Then its wings suddenly spread wide, slicing through the air with a sharp, metallic hiss.
It crouched low, and then in one powerful motion shot upward, soaring into the dark violet sky.
Snape felt the scenery blur and rush backward. He pressed his body tightly against the Thestral's back to keep from slipping off and falling to the Forbidden Forest below as mere fertilizer.
Thin branches lashed against him with snapping sounds as they broke through the treetops and ascended into the star-studded night.
"Professor!" Snape squinted into the icy wind, craning his neck to shout, "Can't we use a different way to travel?"
The wind shredded his words apart. Dumbledore gave no reply, his Thestral swiftly overtook Snape's, and his long, silvery beard fluttered gracefully behind him as he rose higher toward the heavens.
It was, beyond question, not an enjoyable way to fly. Snape couldn't help but wonder if he had unknowingly offended the Headmaster somehow. Why else would he be subjected to this? But no, he was always courteous and composed; surely he hadn't done anything so rude to the elderly.
The Thestral sped over forests, villages, and mountain ranges. The howling cold air bit into Snape, making his whole body tremble. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, but he couldn't spare a hand to draw his wand and conjure a Shield Charm. He gritted his teeth and endured silently.
As night deepened, they passed over patches of glowing lights, bridges, and winding roads.
At last, in the dim light of dawn, the Thestral glided over Morecambe Bay. The vast sea below was dyed with hazy orange and red hues, and the Thestral's black wings shimmered faintly with a warm glow from the sunrise.
"We're nearly there!" Snape dimly heard Dumbledore's voice call from somewhere behind him.
As daylight broke, they descended upon a lush green pasture along the river valley.
Snape slid awkwardly off the Thestral's back.
"Professor, how did you know that Bob Ogden had dealings with the Gaunt family?" he asked, drawing his wand to cast a warming charm on himself.
"Where there is contact, traces remain," Dumbledore said evenly. "As it happens, when I went to report before the Wizengamot not long ago, I had a chat with Tiberius Ogden.
"In discussing the decline of the old pure-blood hardliners and the inevitability of their fall, Tiberius mentioned, quite by accident, that his cousin, Bob Ogden, once visited the Gaunt family on official business. That family's former glory has long since faded into history."
Dumbledore led Snape down a narrow path that wound along the riverbank. After a short distance, a patch of woodland appeared before them.
They walked several dozen more paces, and a dilapidated old house emerged among the roadside trees, its walls covered in weathered ivy.
In the garden before the house, a short, stout, bald old man was carefully trimming flower branches with a pair of gardening shears.
Hearing footsteps, he straightened up and looked over.
Bob Ogden wore a pair of glasses with lenses so thick they made his eyes appear as two tiny dots.
"Ah, Albus, it's you," he said in surprise. "I was just thinking Muggles shouldn't be able to get this close. What brings you here, and who's this?"
"Hello, Bob," Dumbledore said warmly. "Severus Snape, one of my outstanding students. Won't you invite us in for a chat? There's something small I'd like to ask you about."
"Of course, most welcome," said Ogden, setting down the shears and cleaning the dirt from his hands with a flick of his wand. "An old man like me enjoys fiddling with plants these days. Come in, come in."
Ogden used magic to direct the teapot, which poured out steaming cups of tea. He also set out a plate of small pastries.
"I wonder if you still remember the time when you worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dumbledore said, lifting his cup and taking a gentle sip.
"I remember most of it, I suppose," Ogden said, glancing at Dumbledore in confusion. "What is it you want to know?"
"The Gaunt family," Dumbledore said. "Tiberius mentioned you once went to their home on assignment. Could you tell me what happened back then?"
"The Gaunt family... let me think..." Ogden tilted his head slightly, squinting as he tried to recall. "That was many years ago, near Little Hangleton, if I remember correctly... apart from that girl, Merope, who was a bit better, the rest of them were... rather unwell, shall we say.
"Who exactly were they?" Dumbledore asked casually, picking up a lemon pudding.
"Old Marvolo, and his two children, Merope and Morfin." Ogden took a large gulp of tea and frowned. "Albus, a busy man like you, the greatest wizard of our age, why are you asking about them?"
Ogden tapped his knuckles lightly against the table, sinking into thought.
After a few seconds, he murmured under his breath, "Parseltongue... Parseltongue..."
Then his eyes widened. His body began to tremble slightly. He looked at Dumbledore in horror, fear and panic flooding his voice. "No... no... get out! I don't know anything!"
With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, the terror drained slowly from Ogden's face, replaced by a vacant, confused expression. His tiny eyes went dull and unfocused.
"Ah, always the same," Dumbledore sighed, swallowing the last of his lemon pudding. "So often, I wish people wouldn't be quite so clever."