. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue: Hissy, hissy,
louis vuitton handbags outlet, little snakey, Slither on the floor You be good to Morfin Or he'll nail you to the door. There was a scuffling noise in the corner beside the open window, and Harry realized that there was somebody else in the room, a girl whose ragged gray dress was the exact color of the dirty stone wall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove, and was fiddling around with the shelf of squalid-looking pots and pans above it. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plain, pale, rather heavy face. Her eyes, like her brother's, stared in opposite directions. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Harry thought he had never seen a more defeated-looking person. “M'daughter, Merope,” said Gaunt grudgingly, as Ogden looked inquiringly toward her. “Good morning,” said Ogden. She did not answer, but with a frightened glance at her father turned her back on the room and continued shifting the pots on the shelf behind her. “Well, Mr. Gaunt,” said Ogden, “to get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night.” There was a deafening clang. Merope had dropped one of the pots. “Pick it up!” Gaunt bellowed at her. “That's it, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle,
louis vuitton handbags, what's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?” “Mr. Gaunt, please!” said Ogden in a shocked voice, as Merope, who had already picked up the pot, flushed blotchily scarlet, lost her grip on the pot again, drew her wand shakily from her pocket, pointed it at the pot, and muttered a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her, hit the opposite wall, and crack in two. Morfin let out a mad cackle of laughter. Gaunt screamed, “Mend it, you pointless lump, mend it!” Merope stumbled across the room, but before she had time to raise her wand, Ogden had lifted his own and said firmly, “Reparo.” The pot mended itself instantly. Gaunt looked for a moment as though he was going to shout at Ogden, but seemed to think better of it: instead, he jeered at his daughter, “Lucky the nice man from the Ministry's here, isn't it? Perhaps he'll take you off my hands, perhaps he doesn't mind dirty Squibs...” Without looking at anybody or thanking Ogden, Merope picked up the pot and returned it, hands trembling, to its shelf. She then stood quite still, her back against the wall between the filthy window and the stove, as though she wished for nothing more than to sink into the stone and vanish. “Mr. Gaunt,” Ogden began again, “as I've said: the reason for my visit —” “I heard you the first time!” snapped Gaunt. “And so what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him—what about it, then?” “Morfin has broken Wizarding law,” said Ogden sternly. “'Morfin has broken Wizarding law.‘” Gaunt imitated Ogden's voice, making it pompous and singsong. Morfin cackled again. “He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson, that's illegal now, is it?” “Yes,” said Ogden. “I'm afraid it is.” He pulled from an inside pocket a small scroll of parchment and unrolled it. “What's that, then, his sentence?” said Gaunt, his voice rising angrily. “It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing —” “Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?” “I'm Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad,” said Ogden. “And you think we're scum, do you?” screamed Gaunt, advancing on Ogden now, with a dirty yellow-nailed finger pointing at his chest. “Scum who'll come running when the Ministry tells ‘em to? Do you know who you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?” “I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt,” said Ogden, looking wary, but standing his ground. “That's right!” roared Gaunt. For a moment, Harry thought Gaunt was making an obscene hand gesture, but then realized that he was showing Ogden the
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