68 Gaunt Shack

The dreary grey sky hung low over the rolling hills and dense forests, casting a muted melancholy over the landscape. In a series of muffled pops, Lucas apparated multiple times in rapid succession with his movements concealed by an invisible barrier of wind that dampened the telltale noise.

Each time he rematerialized, he found himself perched high in the air, balanced atop an unseen flying carpet that hovered silently, defying gravity. A stolen wand rested in his grip, and its polished wood was warm against his palm. With a deft spin on his heel, he disappeared again, only to reappear moments later in a different location, the scenery shifting with each apparition.

One moment, he soared above a quaint farmhouse nestled amidst green fields, the thatched roof and whitewashed walls a picture of rural serenity. The next, he found himself hovering over a winding river that cut through the lush landscape, its waters glinting dully beneath the overcast sky.

Despite the constant change of scenery, Lucas's focus remained firm and his eyes scanned the horizon with a sharp, predatory gaze. This was no leisurely jaunt through the countryside – he was on a mission.

After a series of rapid apparitions, each one propelling him ever closer to his destination, Lucas finally caught sight of a small village nestled between two steep hills. Even from his vantage point high above, he could make out the weathered rooftops and wandering streets that marked the settlement as Little Hangleton.

A subtle change in posture from Lucas urged the invisible flying carpet forward, propelling him towards the village at a steady pace. As he drew nearer, his gaze zeroed in on the graveyard situated at the edge of the settlement that was full of weathered headstones standing like silent sentinels amidst the overgrown grass.

Descending gracefully, the flying carpet touched down in the heart of the graveyard with its movements as silent as a whisper on the wind. Without uttering a word or making a gesture, the enchanted carpet responded to Lucas's mental command, folding itself neatly into a compact bundle before slipping into the depths of his expanded pouch, which had opened seamlessly to accommodate it.

Taking a moment to inspect his surroundings, Lucas murmured under his breath in a low and contemplative voice, "Let's see where Tom Riddle Senior is..."

His eyes swept over the headstones, searching for the familiar name etched into the weathered marble. After a minute of careful scrutiny, he came to a halt before a tall grave marker, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he read the engraved inscription:

TOM RIDDLE

This is it, he thought, mental voice tinged with a touch of dark amusement. The final resting place of the man who unwillingly sired the Dark Lord Voldemort. How fitting that I should be the one to disturb his eternal slumber.

Lucas concentrated his will, directing his magic into the earth before the headstone. As he did, the soil responded with a soft rumbling, surging upward like a giant hand sweeping it aside. The earthy scent of freshly turned soil filled the air, mingling with the musty odour of decay that clung to the disturbed ground.

Within seconds, a wooden casket emerged, its surface caked with layers of dirt and grime that crumbled under the slightest touch, releasing a pungent aroma of mold and dampness. The wood, discoloured and weathered, bore the marks of time's relentless passage, and it was clear it had spent decades buried beneath the earth.

A low chuckle escaped Lucas's lips, the sound breaking the eerie silence of the graveyard. "This will be my first time grave robbing," he whispered, his tone laced with a hint of morbid humour.

With a mere glance, the casket's lid creaked open, the sound echoing through the stillness like a mournful groan. A musty, stale odour wafted out, the scent of decay and age. Revealed within were the skeletal remains of Tom Riddle Senior himself. The bones were clothed in tattered remnants of fabric, the material rough and brittle to the touch, but the ravages of time had reduced the garments to little more than scraps clinging to the yellowed bones.

Turning his attention to the opposite side of the graveyard, Lucas located another grave and repeated the process, summoning forth a second casket from beneath the earth with a casual wave of his hand. This time, he levitated the skeletal occupant out of its resting place, causing the bones to hover eerily in the air beside him, suspended by his will alone.

Returning to Tom Riddle's grave, Lucas extracted the remains of Voldemort's father from the casket and carefully replaced them with the anonymous skeleton he had procured. With a subtle gesture, the wooden lid swung shut, and the surrounding earth shifted back into place, leaving no trace of disturbance.

Regarding the skeletal remains of Tom Riddle Senior, Lucas's expression grew pensive, his forehead creasing slightly as he contemplated his next course of action. The skeletal remains could potentially serve a purpose, given the existence of certain rituals. If Voldemort wasn't already deceased by then, perhaps these bones could be leveraged against the Dark Lord?

With a wave of his hand, razor-sharp blades of wind materialized, slicing through the joints of the skeleton and swiftly disassembling it into individual bones. From his expanded pouch, several containers emerged, and the bones were carefully sorted and stored away, each piece separated from the others.

"This should ensure that if someone ever tries to resurrect Voldemort through this method, they'll experience some... issues with using the 'bones of the father,'" Lucas murmured as he examined his handiwork.

With the remains of Tom Riddle Senior securely stored away, Lucas turned his attention to erasing any trace of his presence within the graveyard. His emerald eyes scanned the area with a critical gaze, ensuring that every detail was accounted for.

I can't afford to leave any clues behind, he thought, brow furrowing slightly. Nobody should think anybody visited this place.

Extending his hand, Lucas summoned a gentle breeze that swept through the graveyard, erasing his footprints from the soft earth and scattering any displaced soil back into place. The air currents danced around the headstones, removing any lingering traces of disturbance with a careful touch.

Satisfied that the graveyard had been restored to its original state, Lucas turned and made his way back towards the centre of the burial ground, where his flying carpet awaited. With a mere thought, the enchanted rug unfurled itself, hovering silently a few inches above the ground.

"Well, that was a productive little excursion," Lucas whispered with a chuckle. "Though I can't say grave robbing will become a regular hobby of mine."

Stepping onto the carpet, Lucas felt the familiar thrum of magic beneath his feet as it rose into the air, carrying him aloft. He guided the invisible conveyance along the edges of Little Hangleton, his sharp gaze scanning the surrounding woods for any sign of his next target.

It didn't take long before a decrepit shack came into view, its walls covered in moss and its roof missing so many tiles that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew unchecked around the structure with their tips reaching towards the tiny, grime-encrusted windows.

There it is, Lucas thought, eyeing the dilapidated building warily. The Gaunt shack, and the location of another Horcrux – the ring.

He guided the flying carpet closer, bringing it to a gentle stop just a few yards from the shack's weathered door. After a moment's hesitation, Lucas stepped off the enchanted rug, and his boots sank into the soft earth with a muffled crunch.

I'm not going to risk entering that shack and potentially triggering any curses or traps, he decided. Brute force will have to do in this case.

Reaching into his pouch, Lucas withdrew the Elemental Sphere, cradling the flawless orb in his upturned palms. Closing his eyes, he focused his intent, guiding a portion of his Will into the visualization of the Misty Breeze spell.

A veil of mist began to form around the Gaunt shack, covering it completely except for a small gap near the roof. Through this opening, a tiny ember blinked into existence, a weak fireball that drifted lazily towards the old building.

As the fireball passed through the gap in the Misty Breeze, Lucas willed the veil to seal itself, trapping the growing inferno within its confines. Concentrating his efforts, he poured more power into the flames, rapidly escalating their intensity.

"Let's get this over with," Lucas muttered under his breath.

The fireball swelled quickly, its flames hungrily devouring the entire shack. The roar of the blaze was muffled by the obscuring mist, but Lucas could still hear the crackle of burning wood and the occasional pop as the intense heat shattered glass.

He maintained the inferno for several seconds, ensuring that every inch of the Gaunt shack was reduced to fiery ash. Only once he was certain the job was complete did he finally release his grip on the spell, allowing the Misty Breeze to dissipate.

A casual wave of his hand summoned a gust of wind that gathered the ashes into a small, concentrated pile some distance away from the shack's original location. When the whirlwind settled, Lucas's gaze was immediately drawn to a glint of gold amidst the grey remains – the ring, its black stone still intact.

With a subtle gesture, a vial of potent basilisk venom drifted forth from his pouch, positioning itself above the ring. A single, viscous drop fell upon the pristine metal, and Lucas watched with grim satisfaction as the venom began to eat away at the Horcrux's vessel.

Just like the diadem, a piercing, banshee-like screech rent the air as the ring rapidly corroded, the agonized wail of Voldemort's fractured soul echoing through the trees. But within seconds, the noise faded to silence once more, the Horcrux destroyed.

Lucas's gaze fell upon the remains – a misshapen lump of metal surrounding the unharmed black stone. The Resurrection Stone, one of the fabled Deathly Hallows, a relic of immense power according to what he knew. His expression turned contemplative as he considered the artifact's potential.

Part of him was intensely curious about the artifact's true capabilities. The ability to summon the shades of the departed, to converse with those who had passed beyond the veil – the potential knowledge and insights such an ability could grant were staggering.

However, a nagging voice of caution whispered in the back of his mind, conjuring memories of the scar Horcrux's influence and the dark impulses that had nearly consumed him in those early days. He had vowed to be smarter, more cautious about taking risks.

Did he truly need the power of the Resurrection Stone right now? The potential benefits, while alluring, were hardly essential to his current goals and endeavours. And the risks of carelessly wielding such a potent relic were far too great.

Perhaps if I can find a way to study the Stone's effects from a safe distance, Lucas mused. If I can capture some expendable test subjects – dark wizards, perhaps – and force them to wield the Stone under controlled conditions, I could observe its full range of abilities without exposing myself to any potential dangers.

Nodding to himself, Lucas made up his mind. With a sweep of his hand, the earth around the Resurrection Stone surged upwards, enveloping the relic in a cocoon of tightly packed soil. Another gesture compressed the earthen sphere even further, until it was no larger than a clenched fist.

The condensed orb drifted obediently into Lucas's pouch as he turned his attention back towards the area where the Gaunt shack had once stood. With a focused exertion of his Will, the ashes began to gather, rapidly reforming into rotted wooden beams, shattered glass, and cracked tiles.

Within seconds, the structure had been fully restored to its previous ramshackle state, leaving no trace of Lucas's actions behind.

The familiar sights of Cambridge greeted Lucas as he apparated twice in rapid succession, the muffled pops barely audible through the swirling barrier of wind that surrounded him. In the blink of an eye, he found himself standing on the neatly manicured lawn of his home.

A cursory sweep of his senses confirmed that the Dursleys – Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley – were all present within the house, their unique thermal signatures easily discernible through his Thermal Currents of the Vast Sea sensory spell. For a brief moment, Lucas considered announcing his presence, if only to witness their reactions to his sudden appearance after having left a week ago.

However, the thought was quickly dismissed with a shake of his head. No, best not to disturb them unnecessarily, he reasoned. I'm merely here to collect Nyx and be on my way.

With that decision made, Lucas focused his intent once more, and the world compressed around him as he apparated directly into his bedroom. The familiar surroundings materialized in an instant – the large bed tucked against the wall, the desk occupied by his computer, and the filled bookshelves.

And there, coiled atop the rumpled bedsheets, was Nyx, his loyal grass snake companion. At the sudden disturbance, her slender body rose from its resting position, swaying back and forth as her tongue flicked out, tasting the air.

"Lucas!" she exclaimed in a soft hiss that only he could comprehend through his innate ability to speak Parseltongue. "You've returned!"

A warm smile curved Lucas's lips as he regarded the serpent with his emerald eyes gleaming in affection. "Hello, Nyx," he greeted in a low murmur. "I trust you've been well in my absence?"

Nyx bobbed her head in an unmistakable nod. "As well as can be expected, given the dull company," she replied dryly. "But now that you're back, does this mean I can finally accompany you once more?"

Lucas's smile widened at her eagerness. "Of course," he assured her. "I wouldn't dream of leaving you behind any longer. We have much to do, and I'll need your assistance in the days ahead."

Nyx seemed to preen at his words, and her scales glistened as she coiled herself into a neat spiral. "Excellent! I've missed you."

Chuckling softly, Lucas extended his arm, allowing Nyx to slither up and drape herself comfortably around his wrist and forearm. Her cool, smooth scales brushed against his skin as she settled into place, her small head rising to meet his gaze.

"Then let us depart, my friend," Lucas murmured.

With Nyx securely in place, Lucas turned his focus inward, visualizing their intended destination within the tranquil depths of his Vast Sea mindscape. The world compressed around them once more, and they disappeared from the bedroom with a muffled pop, leaving no trace of their presence behind.