In a seaside cottage near the sea, it was a windy day. The wind blew from the northwest and clouds in the distance suggested that later in the night there might be a bit of rain. The weather was largely cold and dry with a bit of rain now and again. It's been so far a largely dry, cold winter thus far.
The waves in the nearby distance crash onto the sandy beach as seagulls cry out from their nests. The few birds that were flying whirl about as the air currents take them swiftly through the air. The shadows were growing long as the sun hid behind the clouds. The warmth of the day vanished as it quickly grew dark and gloomy. It'd be dark soon given that the sun was now covered by the clouds.
From inside the cottage a tall, hunched over figure emerges. The elder man would not be recognizable if not for his dark gaze. Morfin's Gaunt had lost most of his pallor thanks to the sun and looked far better than he ever had at the end of his life. He'd actually astonished the healers by outliving their prognosis of one year.
Morfin Gaunt's footsteps creak loudly on the wooden porch as he walks off the steps and into the sand. His neatly trimmed hair and beard flutter behind him as he makes his way down near to the beach. He simply stands there enjoying the salty scent as tiny sand particles whirl about him. And yet for some reason, none of them end up in his eyes or face.
Morfin Gaunt simply waits on the beach as he felt that his time was near nigh. He'd made peace with himself at long last. And now he was simply waiting for that brat to come.
The wind abruptly ceases to fiercely blow to a soft breeze. The loud crashing of the waves can be heard that much clearer as the gray sky is silent. Even the birds can't be seen crying out nor riding on the breeze.
A popping like sound can be heard in the nearby distance followed by the echoes of others. Morfin Gaunt smiles to himself revealing a yellow smile with missing teeth. It was time.
Leading the group of Death Eaters is a man with deathly pale skin and sharp cheekbones. His pale skin is as pale as ever with ear-length hair now thinner than before. His crimson eye pupil seemed more oval than ever even more elongated than before.
Morfin Gaunt did not turn his head to face his nephew as he simply stared at the swelling and falling waves before him. He'd never known just how beautiful the world could be. But then again, he'd never left his home until by force. And now, he so desperately wished he'd been brave enough to do so before. What a fool he'd been.
"Ah, so ya've come," Morfin loudly said as the figures surrounded him from behind and at his side. "And wat can I do for ye nephew?" The Death Eater's visibly blink but don't react beyond keeping a firm hold on their wands.
Lord Voldemort's face visible twitches in anger and narrows his crimson eyes. "A word, Gaunt," Voldemort coldly said.
"Aye, wat?" Morfin asked as he turned to gaze at the monstrous creature his nephew was becoming. If his stupid sister could see the product of her love, he wondered if she'd even feel the least bit guilty. But then again, she'd always been a lovestruck fool.
Voldemort icily says, "What do you know of the Chalice?"
Morfin bursts out into laughter, before jeering back, "A child's tale. Nuthing more."
Morfin's lips turn into a triumphant sneer at seeing the anger flash in his nephew's eyes. "Aye, da Holy Grail is merely a children's tale. No more real den da muggles AL-IE-NS."
"Don't lie to me!" Voldemort spat out.
Morfin chuckled and shook his head. "Tis no lie. I know not anything about it."
Voldemort presses his lips into a thin line and says, "Then you are of no further use to me."
Morfin's lips twitch with evil glee as he says, "Ah, yes, ever trying to prove yerself, eh, boy? Not a filthy half-blood, eh? Or is it that ye can't get it up?"
Voldemort's scarlet eyes gleam in rage as he raises his wand, but suddenly, Morfin goes so very still. Morfin Gaunt blinks in disappointment as he slowly slumps to the ground if he'd fainted. Morfin Gaunt was dead.
Voldemort clearly doesn't believe that is the case and screams, "Crucio!" But the corpse of Morfin Gaunt doesn't even twitch. And it wouldn't for the curse was for the living and not the dead.
"No!" Voldemort growled in fury unable to have had his revenge. His rightful vengeance had been stolen away! Pointing his wand at the corpse, he shouts again and again, "Crucio!" But nothing happens.
The Death Eaters had wisely stepped away lest they be struck by one of the curses. Gasping with nostrils flaring, Voldemort whirls around and hisses, "Take the body and burn the cottage!"
The Death Eater's immediately moved to obey, when a haughty domineering man stepped forward. "Dark Lord, if you will, might I speak?" Corban Yaxley said.
"Go on, Yaxley," Lord Voldemort hissed as he turned his crimson eyes onto the haughty hard-featured Death Eater.
Corban Yaxley proudly raised his pale face causing his blond hair tied back in a ponytail to swing lightly against his lower back. "Thank you, Milord. But I fear that our burning the cottage and taking the corpse with us will only serve to waste all our hard-earned efforts. We'll have lost the element of surprise. Please give me until December, Dark Lord. I promise you that you will have the answers that you seek."
Lord Voldemort narrows his eyes and says, "And how would that come about, Yaxley? What power do you possess that would enable you to acquire such information?"
"I do not have any such power, Dark Lord," Yaxley honestly said. "But I do know where I might acquire some answers. I know a few historians or two. They'll be he hard to find, but I promise if there is anything written about the Holy Grail, they will know. Please Dark Lord grant me said time."
"Very well," Voldemort finally consented. "But I expect your other tasks to be completed as well."
An unpleasant smile appears on Yaxley's face as he says, "It will be done, Dark Lord."
Leading the way, Lord Voldemort apparated away along with the rest of the Death Eaters. The corpse of Morfin Gaunt wouldn't be discovered until the next morning by the housekeeper. His death would be declared as a result of the dark masses within him. Moring Gaunt would be quietly buried in the Gaunt cemetery. Nary a soul would attend except for Stephen Flint, who saw to it that he be properly buried and the housekeeper. She'd grown fond of Morfin Gaunt in his last months. But still, with his death, the Gaunt line officially ended.