An elderly man strolled into town, his beard a little too long to be respectful. He had purpose to his stride, and he seemed as if he’d do anything to achieve that purpose. He had an emerald green traveling cloak overtop a dark green tee-shirt and he wore old, stress-worn jeans. Apart from the long beard he had tossed over his shoulder, he seemed like a completely normal senior citizen when he walked into “Jerry’s Diner,” the center of social life in Great Hangleton. But if you looked past the care-free look on the man’s face, you would be shocked to see a fierce intelligence in his eyes, coupled with a look that said he’d seen it all. And if you looked into an inner pocket of his traveling cloak, you would see a thin rod of wood, worn from years of use. If you looked past this muggle disguise, you would see Albus Dumbledore.
Albus shortened his stride and added a limp to his gait. He wanted to appear the least as intimidating that he could. He pushed open the left glass door to the diner, noting how the window was streaked from a recent, hasty, cleaning. The headmaster limped to the counter, where a young man was standing at the cash register. He wore a stud in his ear, and had a goatee, with a military cut. He smirked as Dumbledore leaned against the counter, seemingly tired, then asked, “Yes, we offer the senior citizen discount. Anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, there is something else. Would you happen to know whether the old Gaunt shack is still standing?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“Mr. Gaunt was my father. When he died, the ownership of the house passed from him, to me.”
“Remind me again why I should care.”
Dumbledore’s intense blue eyes changed. Instead of seeing the glazed eyes of a senile old man, the cashier now saw eyes that shone. Eyes that have seen death, that know much. He backed up against the wall, his sneer changing to surprise, when“
“Jake, move.” A woman is her mid-twenties shoved the teen out of the way, then smiled at Dumbledore. “Sorry. My brother can be a real jerk sometimes. How can I help you? Would you like a menu?”
“No, as I told your charming brother, I would just like to know what became of the old Gaunt shack. Is it still standing?”
“Yeah. Actually, there were plans to bulldoze it a few years back. But the bulldozers just broke down when they got near the house. Mechanics couldn’t figure out what was wrong with them. The local newspaper made a big stink about it. Said that the ghosts wouldn’t let the place be destroyed.”
“Leave it to the press.” She laughed. “And thank you. You don’t realize how much you helped me. Good day.” He bent down and kissed her hand.
She watched the man leave, all traces of his limp gone. As soon as the glass doors swung shut behind him, he stepped behind a row of high hedges. In about the time it would have taken the man to spin around in a circle once, she heard a loud pop.
So I’m right. This confirms it. The bulldozers couldn’t get close? Yes, the shack must be the resting place of a Horcrux.
Dumbledore stood in front of a decrypt wooden door. The wood was rotting, and several chunks had fallen out where knots had once been. He tentatively stepped foward, unsure if the same magic that affected the bulldozers would stop him. It didn’t. While reaching for the wooden handle, he stopped. The sun beat down on his wrinkled four head. It filled him up, as only a sunny July day can. He knew he had a minimal chance of survival, because he had a minimal knowledge of the Horcrux. Sometimes having an immense intelligence was a curse. Even while he told Minerva and Severus that this was a routine trip, he stressed to them the importance of being ready with medical magic and potions when he returned. It was a good thing he did.
Dumbledore pushed open the door with two fingers, of his left hand, his right was wrapped tightly around his wand. On the floor of the shack was a clear inch of dust, and the room was conspicuously empty, save for the three doors on the wall. These three doors stood in complete contrast of the rest of the room. For one, they looked new. The rest of the house fell apart while these doors had an ornate snake pattern on the door. Dumbledore reached to open the middle door, but the handle promptly scalded his hand. He healed it with a wave of his wand, and began to inspect the doors.
The one on the left and the right were exactly the same, but the one he had reached for, in the middle, had the snake indented into the door, while the other two had the snake raised on the door. He ran his finger through the snake indent on the middle door, muttering as he did so. Twirling his wand, he caught the newly conjured snake below it’s head. He forced it into the indent; it fit perfectly. The snake sank into the door, leaving it as it was.
Dumbledore tensed as he heard a magical “pop,” but it was a piece of paper floating down from the ceiling. Dumbledore caught it in mid-fall. Suddenly, the three doors began to shake, began to multiply, three, six, nine! Now nine doors stood in place of three; Dumbledore was sure that behind one of them, the Horcrux was held. With trembling fingers, he began to unfold the sheet of paper. It read:
Eight doors death will bring,
One harbors a piece of the Lord,
First on the left’s not the thing,
Fourth and Last right, choose to be gored,
Magic number on either’s not for the kin of Salazar,
Opposites of death are equally far,
Now all that’s left are choices two,
If a death wish you have, the left is for you.
Dumbledore frowned and reread the poem. After a full minute of silence, he knew what door should lead to the Horcrux. Still, he hesitated; it isn’t above Voldemort to lie, and Dumbledore know’s it. So when he touched the correct door, he flinched. Instead of the rush of death, the door opened, and another piece of parchment floated down from the ceiling. This one said:
Warning: Wands combust is Merope’s room!
He again couldn’t be sure of Tom Riddle’s honesty, or that this room in front of him was indeed Merope’s. Nevertheless, he set his wand on the ground in front of the doorway; he couldn’t afford to let it “combust.” When he through the doorway, the wind was knocked out of him. It was deathly cold inside. There, on the ground, in a room forever lit by green torches, was a ring. The gold was of very high quality, but lazily forged, and the black stone in the center had pinpricks of light. Like the night sky. Dumbledore bent down to scoop up the ring and...
Horrible pain. God no. Please don’t take me this way. My back is breaking, no, I’m on fire, help me, someone, please. Anyone.
Then the pain ended. His fingertips had turned black where the ring had touched, and were becoming numb. The feeling of nothingness spread. He tried to apparate out, but the building obviously had the same wards that protected Hogwarts. He crawled through the door, the ring was welded to his hand, and the feeling of numbness was partially up his palm. Eyes watering, he grabbed his wand, and a pebble on the ground.
“P-Portus.”
The stone began to drag him back to Hogwarts before it had returned to it’s natural color.
Luckily, Severus and Minerva had heeded the headmaster’s orders, and were waiting for him. Dumbledore, upon his recovery, destroyed a part of the Dark Lord’s soul with a killing curse. He then began to wear the ring, on his killed hand, to remind himself of the long road ahead, and what may be needed to be sacrificed, so Harry can destroy Voldemort.
Salazar's Ring by fencehitter
Chapter Notes: This is just a guess on how Dumbledore found and destroyed Voldemorts first-made Horcrux. Definately spoilers to the sixth book. Hope you enjoy it!