A/N: A short chapter today. Short even by my standards. I just felt that the other stuff I wanted to include would flow better if was part of Ch.30.
Chapter 29
Ottery St. Catchpole, October 11th
The dual funeral of Molly and Bill Weasley was a somber and quiet affair. There was no sound except for the subdued crying of the remaining members of the Weasley family and the light tip tapping of rain against the tent they all sat under.
To find out about Bills passing only after coming together to mourn the loss of Molly shattered what little composure the members of the Weasley clan had managed to gather. The fact that they didn't even have his body to bury only made it even more painful. It was almost like the world was responding to their grief. Filling the day with rain and overcast skies.
Harry sat in a chair next to his father with his gaze firmly attached to the earth in front of him. He so desperately wished to be anywhere but here. He kept thinking how he should find something to go say to the Twins and Ginny but his words failed him. Whatever it was he wanted to convey died in his throat and he just sat there wallowing in the tragedy of it all alongside the rest of them.
Privately Harry had manged to speak to Mr. Weasley about his wife's final moments and give what few details he knew about Bills 'classified mission' that he had died on for Gringotts. When he was done speaking Arthur did not reply in any way. He simply stood up with a calm but sad smile and left to continue managing the funeral.
"Is this your first funeral Potter?" a gruff voice said to Harry's left.
Harry lazily moved his sights to look on the form of Alastor Moody. The grizzled old auror had both hands resting on top of his cane in front of him and his eye was closed with a serene expression on his face. He had even put on an eye patch instead of his usual magical eye in order to fit the mood.
"No." Harry answered barely above a murmur.
"Hmmm. It's the 57th for me. I know quite a number of dead people. Unfortunately that's the life we signed up for when we picked this job."
"What job is that?" Harry asked confused with a tired look in his eyes.
"The survivors." Moody answered while opening his one eye.
Harry almost opened is mouth to retort that that didn't make much sense but he just didn't have the energy to do it. He just continued to look at the old warrior next to him.
"This won't be the last funeral we attend Potter. Hell I've got another to go to in just under half an hour. Elphias Doge. Good man. Good soldier. Just remember that it's our job to keep surviving. Keep fighting. Keep attending these funerals. Until we win."
Neither spoke after that and they watched in silence as the silver casket containing Molly Weasley was gently lowered into the ground.
Harry felt a hand rest on his knee and he looked up into the sad face of his father. "Come on pup. Time to go. Your uncle's being discharged today."
Harry nodded silently and joined the rest of the crowd as they made their way to the exit.
Crabbe Family Second Home, October 15th
"DAMN IT WOMAN LEAVE THE JEWELRY WE DON'T HAVE TIME!" Vincent Crabbe Sr. screamed at his wife as he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away from her desk and towards the hall.
DUUUUNNGGG! DUUUUNNGGG! Sounds like a heavy gong being struck reverberated throughout the house as the wards protecting the building were continually bombarded.
"YOU SAID THIS PLACE WAS OFF THE BOOKS! HOW DID THEY FIND US HERE? AND WHY AREN'T THE ESCAPE PORTKEYS WORKING?" Mrs. Crabbe screeched back at her husband.
DUUUUNNGGG! DUUUUNNGGG!
"WE'LL WORRY ABOUT IT LATER! JUST GET TO THE CELLAR!" Mr. Crabbe yelled as he flipped over a carpet on the floor to reveal a trap door.
Mrs. Crabbe practically ripped the cellar door off its hinges in her haste and then descended into the darkness with her husband right behind her.
Just as he closed the entryway above him and cast a spell on the rug to disguise their hiding place the front door of the house was blown open in a storm of smoke and splinters.
A dozen hit wizards all wearing identical blue armbands rushed inside the building, each holding up a shield charm and having their wand in an attack position.
Entering in after them was a middle-aged Arabic man in a long brown coat, red bandana around his neck, a scar over one eye and a fresh cigarette in his mouth.
"Alright boys listen up. I want this place searched for every secret passageway, hidden door, or vermin hidey hole you can think to look for! They're in here somewhere and we aren't leaving until we smoke 'em out!"
The mercenary commander known only as Mustafa took a moment to take a long drag on his cigarette before speaking again.
"Madam Bones...our illustrious and most generous employer...says that if we find anything else valuable along the way then it's ours to keep. LOOT THE PLACE!"
Cheers of 'yes sir!' and 'you got it boss!' erupted from the mouths of the hit-wizards of 'Azure Mortum' and the professionals started to sweep through the house with purpose.
Mustafa stood in the center of the entry way and continued to smoke in silence. Above him crawling on top of a high cabinet was the Crabbe family house elf who was brandishing a large kitchen knife in his hands and staring daggers at the intruders.
The elf stood on his tiny legs and raised the knife higher. Preparing to jump off the cabinet with a war cry and jam the knife into the back of this enemy of his master.
Without even turning his head to look at the threat Mustafa made a 'finger-gun' with one hand and pointed it over his shoulder at the elf. He pushed his thumb down and whispered "Bang."
A tiny wandless red stunner shot out of the mans index finger and zapped the tiny elf in the center of his chest. The small creature dropped his knife and slipped off the cabinet and collided face down on the floor completely unconscious.
Mustafa audibly chuckled once and flicked the butt of his cigarette into the corner of the room. 'God I love doing that.' he laughed in his thoughts.
As he reached into his pocket to get another cigarette a ghostly silver patronus of a camel wandered in through the door.
"Hey boss." came a deep human voice from the patronus. "We just finished up the raid on that death eater Avery's place. He caught us unaware with some early alert system and jumped ship the moment he knew we were coming. Sorry 'bout that. We've taken all the valuables and everything else important from the home. What do you want us to do about the house?"
"Burn it. Leave nothing for him to come back to. Don't worry about him getting away. We'll get him eventually." Mustafa responded.
The camel turned around and trotted back out the door and into the sky to deliver the reply before the magic sustaining it dissipated.
'We always get them eventually. It's just good business.' Mustafa thought as he lit another match.
The Dark Lords Headquarters, October 19th
In what was sure to be an incredibly rare sight -that is if anyone was in the room to see it- Lord Voldemort was down on his hands and knees in the center of his chambers and sketching a very large runic diagram on the floor with chalk.
Voldemort stood up and brushed his hands together to dust them off as he looked over his work. It had taken him the better part of an hour to sketch it and he needed to be absolutely sure there were no errors. Even he could not predict what might happen if he made a mistake at this juncture. Only that it would be indescribably bad.
Over the past twelve days The Dark Lord had been researching endlessly on a number of issues in order to figure out what the right move was in relation to The Diadem horcrux.
To begin with he had carefully reviewed his own memories of the Gaunt shack in a pensieve in order to get a solid look at the artifact the Gringotts team were using in conjunction with The Locket.
It took five days of flipping through tomes and ruffling through his personal library before he found the answer.
If the book was correct then the ancient artifact in question would be able to track his soul anchors no matter where he hid them or what wards he put them behind. He could encase it in a block of ice under unplottable wards in the center of Antarctica and they'd still be able to track it down.
In the back of his mind Voldemort realized that it really was pointless to kill young Draco. At the time he was so sure that the Goblins would be limited in how they could track his horcruxes. If they could find it literally anywhere then it wouldn't have mattered even if Draco bragged to the entire castle about his mission. He wouldn't have known the significance of what he retrieved anyway.
In the face of such an annoying problem The Dark Lord came to only one inevitable conclusion.
For at least the time being...the only place where he could constantly protect his soul shard was if it was inside his own body. If he left it outside then he would be constantly paranoid about losing more of his magic. He'd rather temporarily give up a portion of his immortality then continue the descent into powerlessness.
So with great reluctance he began reviewing his old texts where he originally learned to create horcruxes and spent seven days designing a way to reverse the process.
There was a rather significant snag though.
In order for the ritual he designed to work he would have to use a number of soul pieces equal to a strong magical number. The smallest number available that fit that description was three.
Obviously The Diadem and himself would be the first two but since The Locket was beyond his reach that only left one alternative.
Voldemort moved his gaze to the corner of the room where his familiar was coiled up and sleeping peacefully.
"Nagini..." he breathed out softly.
Could he really do it? Nagini wasn't just a servant or a tool to be used up and thrown away. He was so...fond...of her. Not to mention that she was capable of protecting herself unlike The Diadem.
But he couldn't see an alternative. His soul was already unstable and attempting to split it again to make an additional horcrux for the ritual was far far more risk than it was reward.
He looked solemnly at his pet once again and resigned himself. "...sacrifices must be made." he muttered to himself.
He reached into his robes and set The Diadem inside of a circle on the right side of his runic array. He walked across the room and gently levitated Nagini's sleeping coiled form into an identical circle on the left side.
Voldemort sat down in the center of the ritual circle and began to funnel his magic out around him.
The great drawing on the floor began to shine and glow a fluorescent green.
Purple flames ignited under the two horcruxes and Nagini immediately awoke and writhed a fit of screams.
"MASSSTER WHAT ISSS THISSS? IT HURTSSS! WHY?" The snake shrieked as it tried to escape the circle which now held it in place through some invisible force.
Voldemort shut his eyes and ground his teeth together as he felt his soul literally try to stitch itself back together. Making horcruxes had always felt unpleasant but now it was magnified by a factor of ten. Maybe this really was a poor idea. He couldn't describe how he knew but he could tell his soul was having difficulty combining with the shards. Like trying to repair a broken bowl that you've shattered but you only have 40% of the pieces and you can't tell what connects with what.
Sweat poured off his face in a steady stream and he collapsed onto his side. Through half lidded eyelids he watched The Diadem being literally melted by the purple fire until it was nothing more than a twisted piece of scrap metal.
Then the pain stopped and Voldemort could breath again. He was fine. He was good. His magic was safe! His power was secure!
A grin broke out onto his face and he was about to make plans for another offensive when he glanced to his left and the grin abruptly fell.
Nagini's broken body lay unmoving on the chamber floor.
Voldemort crawled over to the corpse and caressed what remained of the snake.
A strange emotion welled up inside Lord Voldemort. At first he didn't recognize it. As he continued to stare at the dead serpent he realized it was an emotion he hadn't felt since he went by the name Tom Riddle.
Sorrow.
"I'm so sorry Nagini..." Tom Riddle said in a soft whisper as a lone tear rolled down one cheek.
This was necessary wasn't it? He had to preserve his power right? There was no alternative!
Although...
He wouldn't have needed to do this if his enemies hadn't forced him into this position.
Forcing him to kill the only thing in the world he cared about beyond himself.
The Order...The DMLE...Potter...The Goblins.
They would pay for this.
With fire, and blood, and even his final trump card if he needed it.
THEY WOULD FUCKING PAY!
Gringotts Bank Director Ragnok's Office, Same Time
Director Ragnok sat in his office scribbling furiously as he completed paperwork. He needed to get all the proper affairs in order before he left in the morning to go before the Goblin Elders and orally deliver his official report on the cleanup after the attack and offer his recommendations on what the next course of action should be in Magical Britain.
Activity in his peripheral vision drew his attention to the artifact containing The Locket sitting on the corner of his desk. A second assault team was currently in the process of being drafted so the hunt for Mr. Riddles soul pieces could begin anew.
Two of the three silvery wispy arrows that floated outside the orb began to dissolve into nothingness leaving only a single arrow behind which swelled in size.
Ragnok raised a single eyebrow.
'Oh? Well that's interesting.'
