MTLNOVEL Chapter 74: Parseltongue
Mr. Ogden did not head toward the grand manor house, but instead turned right along the narrow path, slipping through a gap in the hedge.
Beyond the break stretched a rutted, uneven dirt track, flanked by overgrown hedgerows that grew taller and wilder with every step.
A few paces onward, the Gaunt shack revealed itself, half-hidden in the gnarled thickets. Nailed prominently above the front door was a dead snake, limp and mottled.
Moss clung to every stone of the dilapidated cottage, and large portions of the roof had lost their tiles, exposing the rafters beneath. Around the house, nettles grew in choking abundance, towering nearly to the sills of the narrow, grimy windows.
From one window, propped slightly open, a thin trail of steam—or perhaps smoke—curled outward. Someone was cooking inside.
A rustling noise. Then a man, ragged and barefoot, dropped down from a tree just ahead, landing squarely in front of Ogden.
"You're not welcome." He brandished a wand in one hand and clutched a blood-streaked knife in the other. His small, black eyes pointed in opposite directions like cursed marbles.
Snape's mouth fell open in surprise. He understood the man—despite the fact he should have been speaking Parseltongue.
"Er—I'm sorry—I don't understand you," Ogden replied, uneasy, clearly shaken.
"He said you're not welcome here," Dumbledore explained softly, noticing Snape's expression. "He's speaking Parseltongue."
Snape closed his eyes, shook his head slowly. He didn't respond, allowing Dumbledore to continue translating the Gaunt's hissing words in a low voice.
He had no intention of revealing this to Dumbledore yet—but it was far from a disadvantage. Quite the opposite. If needed, he could gain entry to the Chamber of Secrets alone. Of course, he'd need to be fully prepared before attempting it. A goblin-wrought weapon would be wise.
With a loud crack, Ogden was knocked off his feet by Morfin's attack. Ogden clutched his bleeding nose, a thick, yellowish sludge oozing between his fingers, pungent and repulsive.
"Morfin!" a harsh voice bellowed.
An old man stormed from the shack, small and wiry, with the face of a furious, mangy monkey.
"Ministry man, are you? Should've sent an owl first, eh? This here's private land…" Marvolo Gaunt sneered, his voice nasal and imperious.
"Inside. No lip," he snapped at Morfin, who shuffled back toward the cottage, lurching like a drunkard.
Once through the door, Morfin slammed it hard, rattling the dead snake nailed above.
"I am here," Ogden said sharply, "because of a serious violation of wizarding law that occurred early this morning. I came to speak with your son. Perhaps we should discuss this indoors?"
"Fine, fine!" Marvolo barked. "Have it your way. Sit in that bloody ruin, if it pleases you."
"Let's go in," Snape murmured, nodding toward the entrance as Ogden stepped cautiously over the worn threshold.
Inside, the air was thick with acrid smoke. Morfin slouched in a filthy armchair by the hearth, thick fingers idly stroking a writhing little viper. He hummed softly in Parseltongue:
Hiss hiss, little snake,
Slither 'cross the floor to me,
Be good for Morfin, or else I'll see—
You're nailed outside for all to see.
In the far corner, near the open window, stood a girl in a torn grey dress, poking listlessly at jars on a rickety shelf.
Merope. Her hair hung limp and lifeless, her skin pale, features unremarkable, but shadowed with a deep, enduring sorrow. Her eyes, like Morfin's, looked in different directions.
When Ogden accused Morfin of hexing a Muggle—causing him to erupt in blistering nettle rashes—Merope's hand trembled. A jar slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor.
"Pick it up!" Marvolo roared. "What, gonna crawl around like some filthy Muggle? You've got a wand, haven't you—what's it for?"
Merope fumbled to retrieve the jar. Marvolo's insults ringing in her ears, she dropped it again.
She raised her wand, trembling. A weak spark. The jar cracked in two.
"Useless little squib!" Marvolo shrieked.
"She's pitiful," Snape muttered. "Trapped in a hell like this. Don't you think, Professor? The world would be better off without families this rotten."
Ogden silently repaired the broken jar with his wand, then turned back to Marvolo.
"As I said before, I'm here because—"
"So what? Morfin gave a Muggle what he deserved—so what?" Marvolo spat, arms flailing.
"Morfin broke wizarding law," Ogden said firmly.
"'Morfin broke wizarding law,'" Marvolo mocked him with a high-pitched whine, dragging the words out with deliberate scorn.
"He's to be summoned before the Ministry for questioning—" Ogden's voice rose.
"Do you even know who you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood?" Marvolo thundered, jabbing a yellow fingernail into Ogden's chest.
"I believe I'm addressing Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said coolly, standing his ground.
"Damn right!" Marvolo shouted.
He thrust his hand out, waving a black-stoned ring under Ogden's nose.
"See this? Been in our family for centuries! We're pureblood, oldest line around—engraved with the Peverell coat of arms!"
Snape and Dumbledore stepped closer, their eyes drawn to the strange symbol etched into the onyx: a vertical line within a circle, all enclosed in a triangle.
Then Marvolo seized the chain around Merope's neck and yanked her forward. Dangling from it was a heavy gold locket. Snape recognized it—he had seen it in Hokey the house-elf's memory, clenched in Tom Riddle's white-knuckled grip.
"Look at this! Slytherin's!" Marvolo bellowed. "Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants! What've you got to say to that, eh?"
Merope coughed violently, the chain biting into her throat, her breath cut off.
"I see it—I see it!" Ogden cried, panicked. "Please—your daughter!"