I was confused on the simple reason that the woman in the shop told me that people were scared because fifty years ago, when the house was impressive, the maid entered the lounge to find all three dead. I took that to mean that 50 years ago Tom Marvolo Riddle killed his father Tom Riddle and his grandparents. I wouldn’t have put it past him. I had recently learnt about him framing Hagrid and killing Moaning Myrtle. It seemed nothing would surprise me.

“They said that the maid ran screaming down the hill into the village and woke everyone up.” Said the lady, “Lying there with her eyes wide open! Cold as ice! Still in her dinner things!” It was as though this was a well-rehearsed speech that she quite enjoyed doing. We tried to look shocked but I doubt we carried it off very well. Clearly cursed. All four of them.

“Course,” she continued, “nobody liked the Riddles much anyway”

“Oh?” I said, I was far more interested in this fact than anything else she had said.

“Rich snobs. And so rude! The son was even worse, no idea why that Gaunt girl liked him”

“Did you know her? The Gaunt girl?”

“Merope? No not really. Strange family, kept to themselves a lot.”

It was a very strange feeling to know that so much has happened to people that you share a tie to. It is also odd knowing that it happened in the house you are staying in and yet it doesn’t seem to bother you. The name Frank Bryce was mentioned many times but after a while I stopped listening. These people were Muggles. They did not understand our ways and I was young; I knew from my studies that there was no way I could put myself in a situation on fifty years ago. All I knew was that an innocent man was charged with a murder he never committed. I heard later that this Frank Bryce, who lived in the gardens of the house, died some time after we stayed there.