Unspoken Truths
The chilly wind bit at Harry’s face as he stepped out of the alley and made his way toward the imposing gates of the Goyle estate. The grounds were overgrown and unkempt, a stark contrast to the other pristine wizarding manors that lined the street. Thick hedges, once carefully trimmed, now sprawled wildly, and ivy twisted like gnarled fingers up the tall iron gates. Harry paused outside, glancing up at the old stone house that loomed beyond.
The Goyles had never been a family of prestige or power, but their wealth was old, and the mansion had stood in Wiltshire for generations. The house itself seemed to sag, its dark windows staring blankly out at the world. It was a place that seemed to echo with forgotten secrets and long-buried regrets—a perfect reflection of the family’s decline.
Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself before he reached out and tapped his wand against the gates. They creaked open slowly, the sound grating against the silence of the empty grounds. He stepped through, his footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path as he approached the front door. He knew he probably should have sent an owl first, requested an official meeting, but something about Goyle’s sudden reappearance demanded a more direct approach.
After a few moments, the door swung open with a faint groan. Mrs. Goyle stood there, peering out at him through narrowed eyes. Her face was drawn and pale, her black hair streaked with gray and pulled back in a severe knot. She wore a simple set of dark green robes, but there was a nervous energy in the way she held herself—a skittishness that made Harry tense.
“Mrs. Goyle,” Harry said politely, inclining his head. “I’m sorry to drop by unannounced, but I was hoping to have a word.”
Her eyes widened slightly, flicking around as if she expected someone else to be lurking nearby. “Auror Potter,” she murmured, her voice thin and strained. “What—what brings you here? Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly,” Harry replied, keeping his tone gentle. “I just had a few questions. It’s about your son.”
The color drained from her face. “Gregory?” she whispered, clutching the edge of the door so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “Why—why would you—?”
“I saw him,” Harry said softly, watching her reaction closely. “In London, a few days ago. He looked… well. Better than he was, at least. I thought he was still at St. Mungo’s, in the Spell Damage Ward.”
Mrs. Goyle blinked rapidly, shaking her head. “No, no, you must be mistaken,” she said quickly, her voice rising a pitch. “Gregory is still—he’s not well. I—I moved him to a specialized facility in Norway. He—he hasn’t been in England for a year.”
Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, stepping forward. “A facility in Norway?” he repeated. “Do you have any paperwork or documentation for that?”
“I—well, no,” she stammered, glancing away. “They—they don’t—he’s very ill, you see. They don’t usually—”
“Mrs. Goyle,” Harry interrupted softly, his gaze steady. “If Gregory really is in Norway, then I’ll need to see official records confirming his transfer. Otherwise, I’ll have to bring this to the Auror department and open an investigation. You understand, don’t you?”
Her eyes widened in terror, and she took a step back, shaking her head frantically. “No!” she cried, clutching at the doorframe as if it were a lifeline. “No, you can’t—I—I can’t—!”
Harry felt a chill settle over him. “What do you mean?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Mrs. Goyle, if something’s happened to your son, if someone’s forcing you—”
“I can’t tell you!” she wailed, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head violently, her entire body trembling. “I can’t, I can’t, I—”
“Please,” Harry pleaded, stepping closer, his heart pounding. “If he’s in danger—”
“I took an Unbreakable Vow!” she screamed, cutting him off. “If I speak of it, if I so much as hint—” She choked, covering her mouth with her hand as tears streamed down her face. “I’ll die. Don’t you understand? I’ll die.”
Harry froze, shock rippling through him. An Unbreakable Vow? His mind raced, the implications hitting him like a blow to the chest. What could be so dangerous, so damning, that Mrs. Goyle would take such a vow to keep it hidden? His mouth went dry, and he took a slow step back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Alright,” he murmured gently. “Alright. I won’t push you. I’m sorry—I didn’t know.”
She sobbed, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face in her hands. “Please,” she whispered, her voice muffled. “Please, just… just go.”
Harry hesitated, his chest tightening painfully. He should insist, demand to know who had forced her into this, but… what good would it do? He couldn’t risk her life. Whatever this was, it was bigger than he’d thought.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. Then, with a heavy heart, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway, weeping silently into her hands.
But as he stepped back out onto the gravel path and the cold wind bit at his face once more, a grim determination settled over him. Mrs. Goyle might be trapped by an Unbreakable Vow, but he wasn’t. If she couldn’t tell him the truth, then he’d find it out on his own.
He glanced back at the dark, crumbling manor one last time before Disapparating with a sharp crack, the icy resolve in his chest hardening like steel.
If Mrs. Goyle wouldn’t—or couldn’t—talk, then there was only one thing left to do.
Find Gregory Goyle.
-
The comforting aroma of roasted chicken and freshly baked bread filled the small, cozy kitchen of Ron and Hermione’s house. The warm glow of candlelight flickered softly against the wooden walls, casting dancing shadows across the room. It was a modest place, not as grand as Grimmauld Place or the Burrow, but it had a homey charm that made Harry relax every time he visited.
Harry leaned back in his chair, glancing around at the cluttered shelves and mismatched furniture that gave the room its character. A small stack of books—Hermione’s, no doubt—sat on the counter, precariously close to toppling over, and a collection of Quidditch magazines spilled out from under the coffee table in the adjoining living room. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, but tonight, a cloud of tension hung over the three of them.
“Wait, slow down,” Hermione said, setting down her fork and staring at Harry intently. “You’re telling us you saw Goyle—actually saw him—wandering around Muggle London, perfectly fine?”
Harry nodded, pushing his half-eaten dinner away. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m sure it was him.”
Ron’s eyebrows shot up as he glanced between Harry and Hermione, a look of disbelief on his freckled face. “Goyle? Like, Goyle who’s been in St. Mungo’s for years? That Goyle?”
“Yes, that Goyle,” Harry said firmly, frustration simmering under his calm tone. “And he wasn’t just fine—he looked completely normal. Like nothing ever happened to him.”
Ron leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “That’s… well, that’s mad, isn’t it? I mean, we heard about what happened to him. After that attack—he wasn’t supposed to be able to walk or talk properly again, let alone stroll around doing his shopping.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Harry insisted, leaning forward. “And when I went to see his mother, she said he was in Norway, being treated at some specialized facility.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Norway? That doesn’t sound right at all. Why move him to Norway without informing anyone? He was a victim of a violent attack—he should still be under our jurisdiction.”
Harry nodded grimly. “That’s what I thought. But when I pushed her for more details, she broke down. Said she couldn’t tell me because she’d made an Unbreakable Vow.”
Ron’s mouth fell open. “An Unbreakable Vow? To keep her son’s condition a secret? That’s—bloody hell, Harry, that’s serious.”
Hermione’s expression tightened, concern and curiosity warring in her eyes. “What would be so important that she’d be forced into an Unbreakable Vow?” she murmured, half to herself. “And why now, after all these years?”
Harry shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. But there’s something going on, and it’s big enough to make her terrified to even hint at the truth.”
Hermione fell silent, her gaze distant as she turned the possibilities over in her mind. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet but intense. “If Goyle’s been cured—if whatever happened to him could be reversed—” She hesitated, glancing at Ron before continuing. “Then… then there might be a way to help others. Maybe even—”
She trailed off, but Harry understood. Her parents. She’d spent years trying to restore their memories and help them recover after the Obliviation. Even though they remembered her now, the emotional disconnect remained, leaving them distant and depressed. It was like a barrier that no spell or potion could break.
“It’s not the same, Hermione,” Harry said gently, reaching across the table to place a comforting hand over hers. “This is something different. Goyle wasn’t Obliviated—he was cursed and attacked. It’s not—”
“I know,” Hermione whispered, her eyes shining with unspoken hope. “But if there’s even a chance… if there’s something—anything—that could help bridge that gap…” She shook her head, blinking back the emotion. “I just—I can’t ignore that, Harry.”
Ron shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting between them. “We all want to help, Hermione,” he said softly. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is Goyle we’re talking about. And if there’s something sketchy going on, then Harry’s right to be cautious.”
“I’m not saying we should rush in blindly,” Hermione countered, her voice steadying. “But this could be an opportunity. If there’s a way to understand what happened to Goyle, it could open up so many doors—”
“I know,” Harry interrupted gently. “But right now, I don’t have anything solid to go on. I’ve been watching the Goyle estate for three days straight, and there’s been no sign of him.”
“Nothing at all?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowing.
“Not a single movement,” Harry confirmed, leaning back in his chair. “That house might as well be empty. Either Goyle’s somewhere else, or they’re keeping him hidden somehow.”
“So what’s your next move?” Ron asked, glancing at Harry curiously.
Harry took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to start following Malfoy.”
Ron’s eyes widened. “Malfoy? What for?”
Harry glanced between them, choosing his words carefully. “Because Malfoy and Goyle were close—back at Hogwarts and even after the war. If Goyle really is back, then Malfoy has to know something. And… well, there’s something off about him, too.”
“Off?” Hermione echoed, tilting her head. “In what way?”
Harry hesitated, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “He’s been hanging around the Ministry more than usual. I keep seeing him in the halls, just… lingering. And then there’s the pen.”
Ron rolled his eyes, groaning theatrically. “Oh, here we go again with the pen. Harry, mate, you’re obsessing over this. It’s just a fancy pen!”
“It’s not just a pen!” Harry snapped, his frustration flaring. “It’s—look, you know how he is. Malfoy never gives anything without a reason. And this time, it wasn’t just some weird prank or something stupid. It was… personal. Normal.”
“And that’s supposed to be suspicious?” Ron shot back, crossing his arms. “What if he’s just—oh, I don’t know—finally stopped being a prat? What if he’s just giving you a decent present because he’s tired of the whole rivalry thing?”
Harry shook his head stubbornly. “No. It’s more than that. There’s something else going on here, and I need to find out what it is.”
Hermione exchanged a worried look with Ron. “Harry… are you sure this is a good idea? Following Malfoy around the Ministry? If there’s nothing to find, you’re just going to look—well, a bit—”
“Obsessed?” Harry finished for her, his jaw clenched. “Yeah, I know. But I’m telling you, something’s wrong. And until I can figure out what it is, I can’t just let it go.”
Silence fell over the table, the weight of Harry’s words hanging between them. Finally, Ron sighed, throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Alright, fine,” he muttered. “Go ahead and play detective, but just… be careful, yeah? Don’t start skulking around like you did in sixth year, or someone’s going to catch on.”
Harry managed a small smile. “I’ll be careful.”
“Good,” Ron said gruffly. “Because if you get yourself sacked for stalking Malfoy, I’m not going to stop Hermione from hexing you into next week.”
Hermione shot Ron a look, but there was a trace of a smile on her lips. “Just… promise me you’ll come to us if you find anything. No going off on your own.”
“I promise,” Harry said softly. “But I have to do this.”
They nodded, though the concern in their eyes didn’t fade. Harry pushed back his chair and stood, his resolve hardening with every passing second. Whatever was going on with Goyle—and Malfoy—he would get to the bottom of it.