A Dark Lord in the Making

The Collector

As Harry had predicted, the man came walking toward them, a grim twitch around his mouth. Harry could see that the man had lived in the village all his life, the way he walked- his whole way told him so. That and the fact that he waved at literally every person, while simultaneously turning his nose at the unwashed car outside the door.

The man had an excited gait, his buttocks seemed to be pressed together, making the man walk like a huge penguin. The layer of perspiration beading on his forehead indicated that the man had been out for some time, another clue to Harry's prophecy- maybe he should be taking Divination at Hogwarts next year after all?

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the man began in a shaky voice full of excitement. "Not often that we see new faces in our beautiful village."

Harry rolled his eyes when he saw Marvolo's charming face. He looked through the facade himself and saw a flicker of impatience in his eyes, but had to admit that the caricature was perfectly appropriate for the moment.

"Good afternoon, it is a shame for this picturesque village that it attracts few visitors. I'd really like to call it an English rose, and by that, I don't mean the beautiful English women," Marvolo said with a wink.

The man seemed to agree with Marvolo's description and nodded vigorously. "It is truly as beautiful and endearing here as Her Majesty the Queen's gardens! It is also for this reason that we are so protective of our home."

Harry smiled serenely, his face the perfect mask of polite boredom. However, he had to try his best not to have a teasing grin on his face as he made eye contact with the man. "And where is here, exactly? My... father is not very familiar with the local topography."

The look Marvolo sent to Harry was as all-encompassing as it was withering. The look was so intense that Harry had almost missed the indignation in the older Muggle's eyes. Marvolo, however, acted quickly and looked at the man apologetically.

"What my cheeky son meant," he began with a stern look, "is that I was drawn to this place like sunflowers to the sun. On a day like this, I don't concern myself with street names, but I completely enjoy the environment."

Harry gasped, his suppressed laugh bursting into the foreground, and he had to shed a tear at Marvolo's reaction. After all, the man hadn't paid any attention to his surroundings and seemed to have his full attention on a house at the end of the street, which seemed to be half-eaten by the ivy growing against the wall.

"My apologies, my father can appreciate picturesque villages in his many walks. I'd like to call him a real outdoorsman," Harry said, making sure his voice was no longer trembling with laughter.

Where old Muggle had previously been suspicious of the smartly dressed young men, his eyebrows now seemed to shoot even higher. The dull eyes still seemed sharp despite his age, and Marvolo took another look from head to toe. "Walking, you say?"

Marvolo clenched his teeth but squeezed a small smile. "Everything to be able to take in the beauty of this beautiful village."

"On those shoes, you say?"

Harry looked at the shoes and grinned broadly when he saw Marvolo's black patent leather shoes. Decent footwear, yes, but more suitable for an evening at the opera than a brisk walk through the English countryside.

"Is there something wrong with my shoes?"

The old Muggle man shook his head slowly. "Not really suitable for soggy surfaces."

Marvolo raised his top lip impatiently and had to do his very best not to walk away angry, or to practice his repertoire of dark curses on the poor man. "We like to follow the beaten track."