Chapter 12: Gaunt

Charles Gaunt POV

The walk to the Headmaster's Office was silent, Snape's presence kept it that way. Charles was happy to oblige and did his best to stay quiet, going as far as to match his footsteps with the Professor's, resulting in it sounding as though only one person was walking through the narrow and long corridors. He found it funny when a portrait of a noble looking man jumped in surprise as he turned the corner.

The school was rather empty, most likely due to all the students being in their dorms, allowing the tall Professor Snape to walk quickly, with long strides, that Charles did his best to pretend he had no issues keeping up with. Soon, they reached their destination, a gargoyle statue, which stepped aside after Snape muttered a password, revealing a hidden passage.

They walked up the newly opened up staircase and Charles was met with the sight of a curved, circular room, full of odd-looking items and gadgets, many of which sounded out funny little noises. Instruments, golden, silver or both, laid atop spindle-legged tables, whirring and shooting out tiny puffs of smoke and self-important looking portraits kept their watchful eyes on the two as they entered. But Charles ignored them, far more interested in the man who summoned him.

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his enormous claw-footed desk, quill in hand, focused on his work before him. It seemed he had yet to notice them, something which Charles found odd, considering he was supposedly the greatest wizard alive. Fortunately, Snape called out to him and the Headmaster greeted them.

The old man was dressed in red and purple velvety garments and was no longer wearing the pointed hat he had on during the banquet. His piercing eyes shot through his half-moon glasses yet maintained a soft and friendly air to them. Something Snape didn't reciprocate as he left hurriedly soon after.

What followed was an odd conversation about sour sweets and swooning girls as the Headmaster continuingly beat around the bush as to why he had called for Charles to come.

"You see, in our world, the magical world, the name Gaunt carries a great deal of importance…" he paused, "or at least, it did."

"Did?" Charles questioned, itching for answers. After an entire day of holding back questions, he was beginning to lose his patience. Unfortunately, the Headmaster seemed determined to stay off point. 'He's not what I expected.' On the train, Ron had spoken about the man's fame and skill as a dualist and how he was the strongest wizard in the world. As such, Charles had pictured a less subdued and more stronger looking than Dumbledore was in reality.

"In time, Charles," Dumbledore told him, his voice having a sort of calming effect. "First I believe it would be better if I explained a few things about the Wizarding Community."

'I don't really have a choice here, I hope he doesn't drag this all out. The quicker we get through his speech, the quicker I get what I want.'

Dumbledore continued on, "Have you heard the term muggleborn?" Charles nodded. "Well then I'm sure you know that a muggleborn is simply a witch or wizard born from a muggle family. So then, thinking along those lines, that must mean there are those who come from wizarding families, correct?"

'Obviously,' Charles thought annoyedly inside his head, but all he said was, "Yes, that makes sense." Charles knew it would be more beneficial if the Headmaster liked him and he didn't want to make a bad impression and come off as rude or disrespectful.

"You are right, Charles. Wizarding families do exist, and it is from those families that the majority of magical folk come from." Charles had figured that out already, he suspected that he himself was from one. He wanted to know whether he was right and at the moment he was finding it hard to care about anything else.

For a boy who grew up with nothing, be that family, friends or gifts, Charles couldn't help but be anxious about the prospects of getting those things. Recently, things had changed so suddenly for him. He had been given his own wand, and while they had only just met, Charles had a good feeling about his new housemates and was optimistic about befriending them. Just by learning of Hogwarts he had been able to obtain two of the things he had never had before. He was on a high and the feeling that he could even have a family was a something he hadn't experienced for a long time.

A part of Charles felt like he had returned to the small boy that used to paint pictures on the wall, full of hope. But he knew he couldn't go back. If life had taught him one thing so far, it was that hope couldn't be trusted. The more hopeful you were, the more disappointed you would feel when it was all for nothing. So Charles kept it sealed within himself, even now when it was fighting to break free.

Charles grabbed a sweet from the bowl on the table to distract himself from his thoughts as Dumbledore talked. He winced the moment it touched his tongue, 'Sour!'

"There are many wizarding families in the world and the ones with no muggle ancestry, refer to themselves as pure-bloods. That means that at the very least, no one has knowledge of someone from that family having a child with a muggle, muggleborn or half-blood." Dumbledore informed him with a sagely voice.

'A half-blood must be someone born from a person who is a pure-blood and a person who is not.'

"Are you a pure-blood, Headmaster," Charles asked politely. He had to admit, this topic was quite interesting.

Dumbledore shook his head, "I myself am a half-blood, my mother was muggleborn."

A sudden thought crossed Charles's mind, and he grew worried, "Are pure-bloods better at magic than everyone else?" He would hate it if it were true. Charles wanted to be the best student in his year, and it would be quite disheartening if he was doomed to be inferior to every pure-blooded student in his year.

"Heavens no, Charles," Dumbledore said quickly. "It is my belief that talent is separate from ones family history and much more dependent on one's own hard work." His words were a relief to hear.

"Unfortunately, not all other see things this way. There are pure-blood families look down on those who are not. Part of the reason I called you here was to explain that there are many children from such families in your year, particularly within Slytherin."

Dumbledore's words sent alarm bells off within Charles's head. He was in Slytherin, and chances were that he was not a pure-blood. He didn't want to be targeted by those that stupidly thought they were better than him. But then he thought about it again, it didn't quite add up. His mind went back to before the banquet, to his sorting. He remembered the faces he saw staring at him, he remembered how they looked at him, there was no good will from them. The problem was, those stares were from the other Houses, never Slytherin. The Slytherin students on the other hand, had shown him nothing but good will. 'Other than that idiot Malfoy.'

He voiced his concern, "Are you saying that I should be careful around my housemates?"

"Yes and no. It is true that for a muggleborn, and sometimes a half-blood, Slytherin cannot always be the most welcoming of places," Dumbledore sighed, "The issue you will be facing is more complicated."

'Complicated?'

"You see, even for pure-bloods, there is a distinction, the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Sacred Twenty-Eight are a group of families who are known to have the 'purest' lineages and held quite the esteem within the wizarding community. This is where you come into all this." The headmaster finished.

"Me?" Charles asked.

"Yes, Charles. You are a member of the Gaunt family. One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families in Britain." Dumbledore said, far more serious than Charles had seen him thus far.

Charles was surprised to find out his name carried such importance. It was strange to think that there were only twenty-seven other names within the entirety of Britain that were held on the same level.

"Then I'm a pure-blood?"

"That is where things get more complicated," Dumbledore sighed out. "The Gaunt family line was believed to have ended decades ago. The last known member of the Gaunt family was sentenced to Azkaban forty-eight years ago. As far as the world knew, he had no heirs."

Charles didn't know what Azkaban was but by the context it was used, he assumed it was something akin to prison. 'So the only family I have, is a criminal…' Charles was glad he hadn't let himself feel to much hope. Whatever was left of it was gone now, smothered out by reality. He had very little interest in whoever this old relative was. It would do him better to consider the other meaning of the Headmaster's words.

"I see, so because you don't have any knowledge of whether the Gaunt lineage was kept pure, you cannot confirm if I'm a pure-blood or not." Charles surmised.

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "It is not something within my range of capabilities."

"So there is a way then," Charles stated.

"Your very clever I see," the man chuckled. "There is indeed a way, but it would involve leaving Hogwarts and is best left for another day." Charles was fine to leave it at that for now, he had a lot to think about already. He wanted to have some time to himself, some time to digest everything he had learned.

"Is there anything else you need to tell me, Headmaster?" he made no effort to hide his intent, hoping it would make the man speed things up a little.

Dumbledore nodded, "There is. I'm assuming you don't know of the founders of Hogwarts."

Charles shook his head, "Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin. Their names are in the History coursebooks, they're who the Houses are named after."

"Already ahead in your studies, indeed you are clever." Dumbledore looked at him intently, an odd twinkle within his piercing blue eyes. It was only then that Charles noticed the Headmaster hadn't looked him straight on since he entered. "Well that certainly makes explaining things simpler, yes. The Gaunt family are last known descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself and because of such, hold a level of importance above even the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

"I see."

"I see?" Dumbledore chuckled. "Cat got your tongue?" Although Charles didn't like how amused Dumbledore seemed to be at his lack of response, he had to admit he was right, the cat most certainly had gotten his tongue. He didn't know what to say about all this new information. Because that's all it was, the Founder's? the Sacred-Twenty-Eight? they were nothing but words to him. Some of it was interesting, yes, but none of it connected with him. It couldn't.

Of course he understood that these terms meant something to the wizarding world he had come into, but even knowing that wasn't enough for him to understand their importance. It had only been a little over a month since he was nothing but an orphan after all.

Charles needed time, and more than that knowledge, to truly understand the weight of his name. Unfortunately, Charles had a feeling he wouldn't be allowed that. 'Better get started then.'

"If the Gaunt family are the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin, then what of the other Founder's. Did they not have children?" Charles asked, his tone expectant. He lacked the knowledge he wanted, the knowledge he needed but with the Headmaster right in front of him, there was no better chance to get it.

Dumbledore on the other hand, was surprised by his new students immediate questions. Still, he let nothing show on his face and answered swiftly. "They did, I'm sure. They lived so long ago now that many pure-blood families may carry traces of the memory. But no family other than the Gaunt's can prove their relation. That is why he name carries such prestige."

Dumbledore paused so he could gauge Charles's reaction, or his lack of one. "Now that all that complicated stuff is out of the way, why don't we talk about something lighter," he continued on and judging by the man's smile, Charles knew he wouldn't be leaving the Headmaster's Office anytime soon. "The train journey faired you well I hope?"

"It was longer than I expected it to be. I've never travelled this far before," Charles told him, unsure of what else he should say. Dumbledore encouraged him to continue, 'What does he want to hear?'

"Um, I also made a few friends." That must have been the right answer because the Headmaster smiled widely, though it faltered a touch at his next words. "Though none of them were sorted into my House."

The old man forced a laugh. "Already calling it 'your' House?"

'Well it is my House. Actually, its my family's House!' Charles couldn't help but feel a bit of pride flow through him at the thought. It was surprising to him how quickly the prospect sowed itself into his mind, already influencing how he viewed things.

"May I ask who these new friends of yours are?" Dumbledore asked cheerfully. "Both you and Miss Clark come from the same home, so I suppose the two of you shared a compartment with them together."

'Why is he asking about all this?'

"No need to worry so much, Charles. I'd just like to make sure my students are settling in nicely," Dumbledore chuffed out humorously.

'Did he just read my mind!' Charles panicked. He really hated the idea of someone going through his head.

Dumbledore laughed heartily. "I assure you, though I could, I haven't been gazing at your thoughts," there was a hint of mischief in his twinkling eyes as he looked Charles's way. Charles didn't exactly feel relieved at his words. "I believe I'm getting better at reading your expressions," he hummed sagely.

Charles was reminded of the Headmaster's conversation with Professor Snape. 'This man enjoys teasing people far too much. Maybe that's why the Professor's face is so hardened.' Embarrassed about being read so easily, Charles moved the conversation along.

"We shared one for a while, but then I left to find another compartment."

"Oh, why was that?" Dumbledore asked, sounding genuinely curious. Charles knew the man would tease him for his response, but he didn't want to lie. He had no reason to, it wouldn't benefit him in this situation. In fact, it seemed that the Headmaster was getting a more favourable opinion of him the more he got to tease him. Charles didn't like it, but making a good impression came first.

"There were too many girls in there," he sighed out and as expected, Dumbledore made his amusement known.

"I see," Dumbledore laughed gleefully, showing off his aged teeth. "Yes, I understand completely. Even I sometimes run away when the female staff come to my office together."

"Right…" Charles said slowly, considering how he would word his next question. "By the way I heard something strange on the train today." Charles tried to sound curious. An effort he wasn't sure was needed, as he genuinely was interested.

"Oh? And that is? Surely you'll tell this old man," the Headmaster responded keenly. His blue eyes focused on Charles, eager to hear what had caught the young Gaunt's ear. However, his smile fell when he found out.

"You-Know-Who."

There was a moment of silence. And in that moment, Charles studied the Headmaster's expressions, attentively taking in every movement of his wrinkled face. Dumbledore looked more wore down than before, though Charles couldn't tell why. The old man's face hadn't moved a muscle, other than closing his eyes for a short second.

Dumbledore opened his eyes. "Voldemort," he sighed.

'Voldemort? What's a Voldemort? Sounds like a fungus.'

"Is that a name?" Charles asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, and it's a name many would wish to forget…" He said, his tone sorrowful seemingly full of regret. But Charles didn't care.

"Who is he?" he urged on.

"Voldemort was a dark wizard. He was powerful, he could have done so much good, but his misguided views threw our world into chaos. Years he spent, building up his strength, gathering up supporters for his cause. Hated muggles, wanted them gone, muggleborns too. And he killed anyone who opposed him. Of course he failed in the end, but even so, nowadays magic folk are too afraid to even mutter his name."

Dumbledore took a sweet from his sweet bowl and went silent, allowing Charles to think about his words without interruption.

Charles hadn't expected such a dark tale, so far from the impression magic had given him thus far. His first thought was that he, as a so-called descendant of Slytherin and was at least a half-blood, wouldn't have had anything to worry about. But then he thought about Sam, his caretaker for the last six months, and had to wonder if Voldemort had gotten his way, would she already be dead?

As much as he tried to not get attached, Sam had only ever been kind to him and he would never, could never, wish harm to her. And then there was Hermione. Hadn't she mentioned being a muggleborn? What about Emily? She was an orphan like him except she didn't have any proof she wasn't a muggleborn. Would Voldemort have killed her without even bothering to find out? Charles didn't know. How he hated not knowing.

If Voldemort had succeeded, what kind of world would he have grown up in? While he was enjoying everything he had gotten since entering the wizarding world, he had still grown up as muggles would. That world had shaped who he was, for better or worse.

Thankfully he didn't need to worry about such things. You-Know-Who had been defeated, Neville had said so himself. But that thought led to another. One that didn't make any sense to him.

"Sir," Charles called, unable to keep his thoughts to himself. He continued once he was sure he had the Headmaster's attention. "I heard that You-Know-Who was defeated by Harry Potter. I don't want to be rude, but I've talked to Harry, and nice as he is, I just don't see how he could defeat such a supposedly dark and powerful wizard as Voldemort."

For whatever reason, Dumbledore smiled. "Talked to Harry, you say?"

"I sat with him on the train," Charles said simply.

Dumbledore shook his head, "I'm I can't give you the definite answer you seek. You see no one other than Harry is alive was there to see it. And Harry was nought but a baby, too young to remember."

"Then why do people say it was Harry who defeated him. How would anyone know?" Charles asked, believing there to be more to it than that.

"What is known is that on that night, nearly ten years ago, Voldemort entered the Potter's home and murdered both Lily and James Potter. He cast an evil spell to do it. A forbidden curse, one that had never failed to end a life before, no matter who's it was. That was until he tried to use the spell on Harry. When the curse hit him, it rebounded destroying Voldemort in its backlash." Dumbledore spoke solemnly, a look of sorrowful reminiscence on his face.

"The curse left a mark. A scar on his forehead where it hit him. From then on, the magical world celebrated and praised his name, crowning him with the title and name – 'The Boy-who-lived'."