Chapter 24: The Fool's Errand
Solim ate mechanically, shoveling food into his mouth without tasting it. His mind was a world away, consumed by Sylna's parting question before they had sat down to eat: "What if someone had all three?"
The legend claimed that uniting all three Deathly Hallows would make one the "Master of Death," though the precise meaning of that title was lost to time. But if his earlier, chilling suspicion was correct—that each Hallow locked its owner into a specific manner of death—then possessing all three would, in theory, preclude homicide, suicide, and natural death. What did that leave?
He wasn't sure if this line of reasoning was valid, but given that wizards of Dumbledore and Grindelwald's caliber had dedicated years to hunting the Hallows, it couldn't be entirely dismissed as childish fantasy.
He decided to table the thought until after dinner. If his conjecture held any water, he wanted nothing to do with the Resurrection Stone. But that complicated his promise to Snape immensely. His head throbbed. He hadn't expected his sister's innocent musings to unravel such a complex and dangerous thread. He glanced at her, this quiet girl who saw patterns others missed.
It was a story every magical child read, himself included. But no one looked for hidden truths within it. Or almost no one—Dumbledore and Grindelwald had sought them, and Dumbledore had, at different times, possessed all three, though never simultaneously.
Dumbledore was going to give the Cloak to Potter this holiday. He currently held two Hallows. If he hadn't decided to pass the Cloak on, who knew what would happen when he finally retrieved the Stone from its hiding place?
The thought of the Stone brought another realization. Before Voldemort, its owners were his grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt, and his uncle, Morfin. Marvolo, released from Azkaban, returned to find his daughter, Merope, gone. He subsequently starved to death—a death of neglect that could, in a broad sense, be seen as a form of passive suicide. Morfin died in Azkaban after Voldemort stole the ring, the circumstances unclear.
Solim couldn't recall all the details, but if this pattern held... He suddenly lost his appetite. He needed to be in the basement library, now. He needed to research, to verify if this terrifying pattern was real or a product of an overactive imagination.
"Boy, what's on your mind?" Elrond's voice cut through his reverie.
Solim remained lost in thought, unresponsive.
"Boy! I asked you a question!" Elrond's voice sharpened.
Still, Solim didn't hear him, his mental gears spinning too fast.
Elrond's face darkened. His wand was in his hand in an instant. "Crucio!"
Solim convulsed violently, crying out as he fell from his chair, his body seizing with the familiar, excruciating pain.
Sylna gasped, scrambling down from her high chair to help him.
"Leave him," Elrond commanded, his voice cold. "He'll get up on his own." He picked up his knife and fork and resumed cutting his steak, watching dispassionately as his grandson writhed on the floor.
When Solim finally staggered to his feet, his muscles still twitching, the ghost of the pain lingered. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in months, a brutal reminder of Scuol.
"Was the Cruciatus really necessary, Grandfather?" Solim asked, his voice shaky as he slumped back into his chair.
"Hmph! You were falling into some kind of trance! I called your name twice," Elrond said, setting his utensils down again. "Besides, you're getting slow. Thirty seconds to recover. If this were Scuol... tch." He didn't need to finish the sentence.
Solim was silent. He was right. His recovery was slow. At Scuol, that performance would have earned him an "extra lesson" with the curse.
"Now, explain yourself," Elrond demanded.
Solim hesitated. It was better to keep this to himself until he had more than a half-baked theory.
"I... I'll tell you when I've sorted it out," he said, avoiding Elrond's gaze. "I'll come to you if I need help." Feeling mostly recovered, he stood to return to the basement.
Elrond watched him go, his eyes narrowed. Once Solim had disappeared, he turned to Sylna. "What did you say to your brother before dinner?"
Sylna recounted their conversation about the Tale of the Three Brothers and her theories.
Elrond listened, his expression thoughtful. "From now on," he said after a moment, "you'll move into the room next to your brother's in the basement. It's safer there. Away from... distractions."
Solim was buried in the basement library, levitating a small mountain of books behind him. He needed everything on the Gaunt family, everything on the Deathly Hallows, everything that could prove or disprove his mounting dread.
When he entered his room, the floating stack of books trailing behind him, Elrond was already there, waiting. He frowned at the towering pile. "Well? What grand revelation has you raiding the archives?"
"I have a theory," Solim said, starting to sort the books on his desk. "A troubling one. We all read 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' as children, but we never looked deeper. Sylna's questions made me think. What if it's not just a story?"
"Continue."
"We know the objects are real: the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, the Cloak of Invisibility. The Master of the Wand is murdered. The Master of the Stone takes his own life. The Master of the Cloak dies of old age." Solim met his grandfather's gaze. "I want to research the historical owners of these artifacts. I want to see if their deaths match the pattern."
"And why does this concern you?" Elrond asked, crossing his arms. "Unless... you've gotten your hands on one of them?"
"Do you have any idea what you're dealing with? The Wand is with Dumbledore. The others are lost. Don't tell me you're foolish enough to covet the Elder Wand?" Elrond's tone was scathing.
The words sounded eerily familiar. They were the same arguments Solim had used on Harry Potter just days before. The irony was not lost on him.
"I'm not that reckless," Solim assured him with a weak smile. "I wouldn't dare challenge Dumbledore."
"Then I don't understand this sudden obsession..." Elrond's eyes bore into him. "Unless... you know where the others are."
Solim sighed. The old man was too sharp. He nodded reluctantly. "I know where all three are. That trip to Little Hangleton I mentioned? The Resurrection Stone is there. But if acquiring it means I'm destined for suicide... I'm having second thoughts. I need to prove my theory wrong."
"Little Hangleton..." Elrond mused, stroking his chin. "That name is familiar..."
"It's the old Gaunt—"
"Ah! That inbred clan of lunatics, I remember now," Elrond's eyes widened in sudden, sharp understanding. "So that means... Riddle's folly..." He stared at Solim, a spark of intense excitement in his eyes. "A Horcrux! The Resurrection Stone is that fool's Horcrux!"
Solim could only stare, speechless.
"Grandfather... how did you know the Stone was a Horcrux?"
"Everyone who matters knows Riddle made Horcruxes," Elrond said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "When the witch, Evans, used a blood protection and survived the Killing Curse, the Council's Spell Management Committee investigated. The case was closed, but the knowledge remained. Riddle is a problem Dumbledore is content to handle, so the Council lets him. But the moment we knew he wasn't truly dead, we surmised he'd created Horcruxes. It's the only logical explanation."
Solim was reminded, not for the first time, of the vast gulf in knowledge between the ancient families and the common wizarding world. While most celebrated the end of a dark era, these people knew the Dark Lord still existed and had deduced the method of his immortality.
"Besides," Elrond continued with a dismissive wave, "his heritage is no secret to us. Who doesn't know he's Marvolo's grandson? The Resurrection Stone was the most likely candidate for a Horcrux."
Solim could only laugh weakly. With a few pieces of information, his grandfather had pinpointed one of Voldemort's deepest secrets.
"Yes, the Stone is his Horcrux. But why do you call him a 'fool' for it?"
Elrond snorted. "Isn't it the act of a fool to make a Horcrux? And to do so of his own volition? It's the height of stupidity." Seeing Solim's confusion, he launched into an explanation.