Beyond the doors they found bed after bed containing elderly wizards and witches who were no longer able to take care of themselves.
They weren't old; they were ancient, even by wizarding standards. Every single one of them was bed ridden, unable to move, far less walk. Most were bordering on being comatose, others needed special spells on them to keep their bodies breathing.
Technically speaking, most of these patients were not ill. They were simply being kept alive long after they should have died of old age. Mostly this was done by rich families who were simply refusing to accept the fact that their older relatives' time had come.
Others, though, were simply holding on, almost as if they themselves were determined to not die. Caractacus Burke was this kind.
The Chief Healer led them to him bed, which was located right at the opposite end of the ward and then left them to it.
Cyrus looked at the man in the bed and had to admit that it did appear as though answers would not be easy to get out of this man. There had been no sign that the man had noticed them arriving. His blank eyes just stared right past them as if they were not there at all.
Once the Chief Healer had left the ward, Croaker began erecting a series of protective spells that were designed to prevent them from being either overheard or interrupted.
Cyrus took the time to observe the man in the bed. He was old, frail with liver spots marking his skin, particularly on his hands, and he was nearly completely bald but for a few long, white wisps of hair that stuck out at odd angles. It was clear that he had been tall in his younger years but had shrunk with age.
Croaker finished ensuring their privacy and pulled a stoppered ampoule out of his pocket.
"Are you certain that veritaserum will be of any help here?" asked Cyrus.
"He's senile, not brain damaged." replied Croaker as he pulled out the stopper from the top of the ampoule "He'll answer just as clearly as anyone else. Hold his head back please."
Cyrus moved around to the side of the bed and tilted Burke's head back slightly. The man did not offer any resistance.
Croaker opened Burke's mouth and allowed three drops of the truth serum to land on the man's tongue.
The effect as almost instantaneous. Where most people under the potion appeared to be less able to concentrate, with Burke it was the opposite. Immediately his eyes became focused and he almost seemed to come alive.
He blinked a few times as though attempting to clear dust from them before focusing his gaze upon the two men who were now standing at the foot of his bed.
He opened his old, toothless mouth and, in a voice that sounded like it had not been used properly for more than two decades, asked "Who are you?"
Croaker began the introductions "My name is Saul Croaker, and I am an unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries. This is my associate, Cyrus Greengrass, a specialist in dealing with dark artefacts."
Burke glowered at them.
"If it's at all possible, Mr Burke" began Cyrus "we would like to ask you a few questions about a former employee of yours. A young man by the name of Tom Riddle?"
For a moment the ancient wizard looked as though he wanted to object to being questioned, but at the mention of the name Tom Riddle, his face suddenly broke out into a wide, toothless smile.
"You want to take about him, do yeh?" he asked "I wondered how long it would take for someone to come asking."
He paused for a moment before speaking up again "I don't usually bother talking with people from the Ministry, but I think I can make an exception this time. What do you want to know?"
"Everything," replied Croaker "Anything that you can tell us."
Burke appeared to think this over for a few moments before giving a nod of his head and beginning his tale "I can't say much of his early life, mind. He kept all that stuff very quiet. What his truthful heritage was, I never found out. Sure as anything, mind, the name Riddle was not the name of an old pureblood family.
"The first I ever heard of Tom Riddle was when I received an owl one October evening, back in 1945. It was from some whelp fresh outta Hogwarts looking for employment. As I said, his family name certainly didn't ring any bells but for him to apply for a job at any location in Knockturn Alley I assumed that he was at least a third generation wizard.
"Well, I had a look over his results from school and I was most surprised. Outstanding grades in every subject he turned his hand to. He had written commendations from several members of staff, including Armando Dippet, the Headmaster at the time, and Horace Slughorn, the potions master and Head of Slytherin House. All full of praise for the lad they were, mind sharp as they come, skilled with a wand, very clever with potions, and all the rest.
"I was quite surprised actually. Normally the only applications we get are from third rate wizards who mucked about in class too much and have found themselves suddenly out in the real world. And usually the request comes from the parents. But here was a young lad looking for work off his own back who actually had good credentials. Too good, in fact, for someone who wanted to work in a shop. But in his letter he had mentioned getting all sorts of offers for positions within the Ministry but he had turned them all down, feeling that they would not be challenging enough for him.
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