Disclaimer: Harry Potter will never belong to me. I can only wish.
I really want to thank every single person who has reviewed, and those who followed me through the story. My writing was absolutely dreadful at the beginning, but I like to think that I have improved.
IMPORTANT NOTICE: THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER OF ICE CRUX. THIS STORY HAS ENDED, BUT ANOTHER ONE WILL BEGIN, A SEQUEL BY THE NAME OF DAWN CRUX.
I hope those of you who are interested in how this will proceed with bear with me for the next story too. The last chapter will answer many questions, but some will be left unanswered until Dawn Crux.
As if on cue, there was a deafening crack and the bedroom door was forced open. Voldemort stood in the doorway with Daphne Greengrass trailing not far behind.
The danger in the Dark Lord's posture screamed at Harry to flee. Red ink spilled into his irises. Anger was etched on his handsome features. His lips twisted into an eerie smile that resembled a snarl. "Back so soon from the trip to Germany, Harry?"
As Voldemort strode in, rage flooded into every crack of the room. A few steps and a brandished wand had Harry cornered and cringing. He staggered as Voldemort physically dealt him a sharp blow to his right cheek.
"You have disappointed me, Harry. This time, your betrayal has cost me Dumbledore. In setting him free, you will pay in his place."
The burning sting immediately blossomed, spreading across his entire face as a mark of Voldemort's wrath. Harry could only shrink back and stare in thunderstruck disbelief. "How did you –?"
"How did I know?" Voldemort mocked. "How can anyone ever guess? You had been so secretive and cunning."
"No," Harry protested weakly, his lips as dry as sandpaper. "No, I didn't. You made a mistake... I swear, I didn't! Please, I'm sorry, I didn't do anything!" He realised how feeble he appeared, but he couldn't bring himself to care; not when the Dark Lord was livid to this extent.
Voldemort was a truly terrifying sight to behold, a red insane rage leaking into his eyes and consuming the cold blue. His pale, spidery fingers twirled his wand in a disturbing way, afflicting a crushing, instinctual terror upon Harry. His face was maintained as a blank mask – a spine chilling facade – but the violent emotions swimming behind it were too intense even for Voldemort to hide.
"I made no mistake." Every twitch, every movement, every sigh was an indication of precisely how furious Voldemort was. He was, literally, on the warpath. Harry's vocabulary lacked an adequate word to describe a raw emotion of such power.
Without needing to be told, Harry knew that there was no chance he would come out of this unscathed. A tragedy would befall him this night. But he had to at least try and claw his way out. "No…I promise…I didn't free Dumbledore! I didn't go to Germany, I…" He outright denied everything.
"Harry, you will not ever lie to me," Voldemort hissed. "Next time, I will cut your tongue out."
"But –!" Harry took a hasty step back as the Dark Lord moved lithely forward, halting in midsentence. "It's not a lie!" He flinched as a Cutting Hex sliced into his shoulder. After bringing his hand up to touch the gash, he found his fingers thickly coated in blood.
"Tell me another falsehood, and I will make sure you regret the day you were born. You may spare yourself some grief by coming clean. Perhaps I will even be forgiving." Voldemort deliberately drew out the last word. "Make your decision, Harry. Do not keep me waiting. Will you confess?"
In a state of insecurity, Harry debated over the Dark Lord's words. Ought he to plead guilty? The games were already up…but perhaps if he continued denying his part in the release of Dumbledore he may find a way out…
This turn of events was impossible. Where had he gone wrong? He had handled everything perfectly and played all the right cards. Tom Riddle had helped craft an ingenious, fool proof plan that proceeded as smoothly as hoped; McGonagall, Dumbledore and Grindelwald had all been liberated without Voldemort's stoppage.
Today, with Voldemort supposedly unwell and Harry's cancelled classes, it was unlikely he would be missed. And even if he was, the Dark Lord should never have suspected him – him, an eleven year old child of all people – who could not apparate, let alone cheat the powerful wards surrounding both the manor and the prison.
Tom Riddle's new freedom was a secret to all but Harry himself, so how could Voldemort ever have realised Harry's involvement without the knowledge that Harry had the actual means to free the prisoners?
Even as Harry found his mind shrouded by these countless incredulous questions, he noted that Voldemort was becoming more impatient with every passing second. "I vow I was telling the truth. I know nothing about Dumbledore's escape," he said, with as much composure as he could gather.
The next responding backhand caught Harry on the exact spot where Voldemort had lashed down before – on his bruised right cheek – and sent him sprawling on the floor, causing him to bang his head harshly on the wall. Harry promptly understood the meaning of 'seeing stars'.
Breathing heavily out of shock and soreness, he lugged himself onto his elbows and recoiled away from Voldemort, whose eyes had, by this time, taken on a sinister red shade. "It's impossible," Harry panted. "…how did you discover…?"
"Ah?" Voldemort moved forward and forcibly dragged Harry to his feet by the scruff of his neck. "So you do confess?"
"I –" he hesitated. "I…do." Further pretence would only make the Dark Lord angrier.
Voldemort smiled humourlessly. "Your plan was good…but not perfect. Harry, do you honestly think you will not be suspected if you were discovered to be missing during the time which the prisoners were freed?" He paced with a serpentine grace about the room.
"If you are interested, it was Daphne who reported your absence to me. Knowing this was the day McGonagall was arrested, she doubted you."
Harry noticed Daphne Greengrass for the first time; she remained in the doorway with a triumphant sneer drawn across her face. A feeling of intense hatred enveloped him. So it was Daphne who exposed him.
"When I first received news of your disappearance, I thought nothing of it. In a manor so big it should not be uncommon for you to go 'missing'… However, when the news of Dumbledore's flight reached my ears, I knew you were the culprit. Somehow, you had overcome the odds of your inability and managed the feat," Voldemort said. "Who else can it be?"
Harry's eyes flicked to Daphne Greengrass again. He desperately wanted to curse the smug expression off her face. What had he ever done to her? He had never been so tempted to lunge at someone and knock them clean off their feet.
"You! How dare you –!" The words erupted from Harry's lips unthinkingly; he couldn't have stopped them if he had wanted.
Voldemort, however, stopped them effortlessly. "Harry, do not forget who has the upper hand. Daphne, aside from being more accomplished in magic, has not yet betrayed me." The threat hovered forebodingly in the air.
"My Lord," Daphne suddenly said, her face dark with aggression, "excuse me for asking…but I was wondering if I could correct Potter's impertinence."
Hackles immediately rising, Harry let out a faint growl, half aware that Voldemort's face had split into an evil smile. "Splendid suggestion, Daphne. After Harry and I have settled our business, you may do your part."
With a start, Harry realised he had just been given to Daphne – or would be handed to her cruelties once Voldemort was finished with him. A shudder ripped through his body. Would he be tortured? Killed? The Dark Lord seemed furious enough to do both.
Daphne sent another provoking smirk in Harry's direction. It drove him to daringly retort, "Sniffing around in hopes of uncovering the faintest scent of treachery? Reminds me of a female dog." He didn't regret saying what he did.
The true power was in Voldemort's hands; if he wanted to pardon Harry, he would. If he wished to punish him, he would. He didn't necessarily need Daphne to do it.
Harry felt a malicious sense of victory at Daphne's savage snarl. And even more so when Daphne took a small, threatening step his way.
"Daphne, leave," Voldemort said curtly.
"My Lord?" Daphne stopped in her tracks and blinked, not comprehending. "Leave now," Voldemort repeated impatiently. "Inform Bellatrix, Severus and Lucius to wait for me in the meeting room."
"Of course, my Lord." Daphne bowed hastily and after throwing a glare at Harry, left the room.
When the door slipped shut, Harry and Voldemort were alone together. The intensity of the Dark Lord's glare singed Harry's flesh, but he could not find the courage within him to meet those eyes.
"Such a rash decision you made, to free Dumbledore," Voldemort spat. "You have only brought trouble upon yourself."
"My choice may have been quick, but it wasn't rash," Harry said, his voice almost a whisper. "If I get another chance, I would do it all over again."
"Brave words, Harry, and I want to hear you say them again when I am over and done with you," sneered Voldemort. "I do not think you grasp the true meaning of torture. Did I mention that Bellatrix's favourite sport revolves around pain? The Cruciatus Curse is her speciality… but even so…her excellence at wielding the spell is nothing in comparison to mine."
Harry steadfastly fixed his gaze on the ground, keeping his mouth securely shut. He hoped his tenseness did not show on his face.
"In a single syllable, your skin will feel like it is being feasted upon by a thousand wasps, stabbed by countless knives, stripped from your flesh, burned by an endless fire," Voldemort continued. "You will writhe on the ground, howling for forgiveness, but you will receive none. The Dark Lord does not forgive nor forget."
If it was even possible, Harry's stiff muscles tensed further. Wiping his face clean of all emotions – or at least trying to – he said bravely to Voldemort, "What are you going to do to me?"
This simple question brought a bitter smile from Voldemort's pale lips. "I only wish to be repaid." He turned slightly, so that he faced the window, and sighed delicately. "Seven years of studying dark magic, decades of hard work, forty years of preparation to requite followers and to build a force powerful enough to rival Dumbledore's, followed by restless plotting, scheming and a near defeat. Regardless of the overwhelming opposition, ironically like a phoenix rising out of the ashes, I have led the Death Eaters to victory."
Wrath, once more, weaved into Voldemort's expression. "At the height of my power, I made my goal to duel Albus Dumbledore, come out as the conqueror, shatter his perfect world, and to replace it with mine. This new generation is the fruit of my struggles."
Harry suddenly felt cold, strong fingers gripping his chin, and forcing his head up so that he was staring the Dark Lord in the eye.
"I have won, and I imprisoned Dumbledore in Nurmengard as a trophy, a constant reminder of the completion of my ambitions…" There was a deadly silence. "However, I have only enjoyed three years of triumph; even you must know how painful it is for the work you dedicated your entire life to to be ruined all in one hour by a disobedient little boy."
The message finally sunk in, and Harry's eyes widened. He would not get out of this alive. He had singlehandedly (or so Voldemort thought) reduced all of the dark wizard's work to rubble.
His status as Voldemort's apprentice would only protect him from so many crimes; his latest transgression – being as severe as it could possibly get – was not going to go unpaid.
"You have unknowingly destroyed everything I had attained. I offered you success and a place by my side as an apprentice, and this is how you rewarded me." Voldemort's eyes hardened. "What do you think, Harry, I will do to you? I only wish to be compensated for my loss, but it seems that the request is beyond your abilities. All that is left for me to do is to repay you."
Harry took a step back, shaking slightly.
"Coming back was not the cleverest idea, Harry," Voldemort hissed. "But then…you did not know your actions will be found."
Harry took another step back, and he hit the wall. His composure was only kept up with the maximum effort on his part.
"I am going to strip the apprenticeship from you, Harry. After tainting the title with such filth, the least I can do is withdraw it. You are no longer my apprentice or ward, thus you are no longer under my protection."
He had not expected this. Shocked, was the word to describe it. He had wished for the apprenticeship and guardianship to be removed for so long… but now, he couldn't help but feel naked, exposed. Somehow, he had never thought of it as being under the Dark Lord's 'protection' – he protected no one.
"It seems, Harry, that a punishment is long overdue. How shall we go about it?" Voldemort asked softly. "What is a fitting chastisement for such a crime?"
"Look, I apologise for your loss, but I did what was right. I never pretended that I liked being dark," Harry daringly muttered.
"A betrayal is a betrayal, Harry, and all betrayals must be penalized."
Suddenly, Harry felt icy tentacles of Voldemort's magic wrapping around him and hoisting him flailing into the air. "Let us see what Bellatrix, Lucius and Severus have to say about this, shall we?" the Dark Lord said from down below. Just before they left the room, Harry caught a glimpse of the empty portrait. It appeared that Tom Riddle had deserted him.
—0O0—
The sight of Lord Voldemort storming into the meeting room, levitating Harry Potter above his head was enough to render all three Death Eaters and Daphne Greengrass speechless.
As usual, Snape was the first to recover. "My Lord," he greeted tersely, bowing low, with the other three hastily following his example. With the Dark Lord's temper out of control, no one was safe.
"Enough dawdling! Rise!" Voldemort snapped. "Lucius, have your men recovered my prisoners?"
There was the slightest hint of a quake in the blonde aristocrat's shoulders, and as he stood, he looked everywhere but the Dark Lord's eyes. "My Lord…" he began, "Dumbledore is sly. Your Death Eaters have searched far and wide without finding a sign of their location… However, I believe that with time –"
"Time? Time is one luxury we do not have! With every second that passes, they get further away. You are telling me that my Death Eaters are not capable of capturing one woman and two old men?"
"Please, my Lord, we have sent two hundred men on the case –"
"Only two hundred wizards?" The power in Voldemort's voice crackled with dangerous magic. "Order all the Death Eaters to seek out Dumbledore! Lucius, you are to go with them, and do not come back until you have found the prisoners!"
Still hanging in mid-air, Harry watched Lucius Malfoy retreat as fast as he could. He prayed to whatever god who was listening that Dumbledore, McGonagall and Grindelwald wouldn't be recaptured.
"Bellatrix, you are to go to the Ministry immediately and ensure that news of Dumbledore does not leak into the wizarding world," Voldemort commanded. He was instantly obeyed, and Bellatrix, too, left.
The Dark Lord turned towards Harry again, with a face the colour of thunder. "Harry Potter… Do you now see the full extent of trouble your actions caused me?" He clicked his fingers, and Harry landed embarrassingly on the floor.
"Do you now see the mess you created? Crucio!"
Nothing could have prepared Harry for this pain; it dug into him with claws and rolled onto him in exploding waves. It tossed him off his feet and proceeded to burn him alive from the inside. Voldemort had been right – nothing, nothing could equal the power of this curse – it combined the stinging of a thousand wasps, the stabs of countless knives, and beyond.
For Harry, who had never been properly under the Cruciatus, it made even the worst of pain he had experienced before feel like sinking into a soft pillow.
Once, in Diagon Alley, when Harry had watched Voldemort torture Ollivander, he had thought that observing the victim was worst than being the victim. The Dark Lord, in only a few seconds, had proved him outrageously wrong.
Everything hurt. He couldn't think. His head was bursting…
The Cruciatus sliced through his determination and self-restraint. He let out a scream. He screamed louder than he had ever screamed in his whole life.
And then… it was over. Harry gasped heavily for air, and he crawled onto his knees. He was shaking, trembling from head to toe due the aftereffects.
Voldemort knelt down over him sadistically. "How did it feel, Harry? That was only a taster of what you will endure."
Harry tried to cringe away when the Dark Lord's hand settled on the curve of his back. "Quiet, you shriek rather loudly. Now that you have got your breath back, let us try again. Do not be afraid… this will only hurt a little."
There was nothing to shield himself with, and as a result, the curse struck his ankle. Harry heard a terrible crack as a bone shattered.
At first, there was no pain, only numbness and shock. But then, it came shooting up his leg. Pale and clammy, Harry gritted his teeth to stop the screams. Voldemort was finally showing his true colours; there was nothing merciful about the man.
"Oh, dear," came the velvety apology. "Let me see…" A hand clamped down brutally on his broken ankle. The agony became hard to bear.
"Let…go…" Harry said, through a haze of pain. Voldemort did eventually let go, but as soon as he did so, Harry collapsed on the floor – his ankle had been twisted in an unnatural angle.
He wondered faintly whether he had been permanently maimed. Lying on his back, from the corner of his eye, he saw the pleased look on Daphne's face. She basked in his suffering.
"My Lord…" Voldemort turned towards Snape, who had a blank expression in place. "My Lord, Potter has never been particularly adapted to pain. If you intend on keeping him alive, perhaps he will be of more use healthy than half dead."
"Are you becoming attached to the boy, Severus? If I intend on keeping him alive, there is a chance I will take your advice – unfortunately, I do not, at least not for long."
Harry had predicted this… And yet when it finally came hurtling at him, it left him so shocked. He was going to die at the hands of Voldemort.
"I do not spare any fondness for Potter, my Lord, but the quickest decisions are not always the accurate ones."
"Are you saying I am wrong, Severus?" Voldemort asked, silkily.
"Of course not, my Lord," Snape amended, "I am merely suggesting reconsideration."
Harry, meanwhile, was dazed at the attempt to reduce his punishment on Snape's part. It was nothing short of shocking.
"Severus, are you questioning my authority already?" Voldemort said. "And over something so trivial?"
"No, my Lord," the Potions Master respectfully lowered his head. "Regardless of the happenings, Potter is useful to some extent –"
"That's enough!" Voldemort interrupted sharply. "My inadequate decision is final."
"Forgive me, I forget my place," Snape said. "I respect your judgement, my Lord."
That was when Harry resigned himself to his fate. Today, he knew, he would die and Harry Potter would exist no more; it was a wretched ending but at least it was for a good cause. If Snape couldn't help him, then who could? Voldemort certainly had the means, but he was the one condemning Harry.
"You have had plenty of rest, Harry. It is time for us to resume," the Dark Lord said, with visible irritation in his tone – which didn't bode very well for Harry. "Crucio."
Anguish yet again enveloped Harry in an excruciating caress. He was degraded into a small, writhing form on the floor.
...
An hour later, he was feeble and drained of energy, not responding anymore to the taunts of Voldemort. Lying in a pool of blood and with a throat raw from screaming, Harry had been the victim of numerous Cruciatus Curses, other Dark Arts, and Cutting Hexes, all of them calculated to make him squeal for mercy… which he had yet to do.
All he could feel was ache and tiredness. He was so tired. His heavy eyelids were half closed. A low humming continued in his ear, luring him into the blessed realm of unconsciousness. Harry had fallen unconscious once previously, in the middle of these torture sessions, and had been kicked awake.
"Get up, Harry." Voldemort's harsh voice jolted him from his peace. "Get up."
He tried, he really did, but the strength in his arms gave out and he crumpled. He attempted a second time without success. On the third try, Harry managed to heave himself from his side on to his elbows.
"Good boy," the Dark Lord said, mockingly. "Very obedient. But it's too late now." With that, Harry was booted down again.
A wave of resentment swept over Harry, even in his uncaring state. How could anyone be so cruel? He had done as Voldemort ordered. The slight pressure against his torso reminded him of the forgotten wand tucked safely in his pocket. He could use it. Since the dark wizard was going to murder him anyway.
With a speediness Harry didn't know he still possessed, he whipped out the wand and muttered the first curse he could think of at Voldemort. "Sectumsempra!" Miraculously, it struck Voldemort – who had been caught completely off guard – directly on the chest.
In Harry's weak state, it did little more than cause Voldemort a few mild cuts. On the other hand, it served very well to arouse the dark wizard's fury.
Harry was hurled thirteen feet into the air and slammed ferociously against one of the walls. The sudden pain blinded him. "You dare attack me, Harry?" Voldemort asked. The force pinning him against the wall was lifted and he came hurtling down. The collision with the ground probably broke one of his ribs. Everything was hazy, and something wet was flowing from his forehead.
"No," Harry gasped, wholly incapable of moving from his position.
"This drama is starting to bore me," Voldemort declared, his gaze burning hole into Harry's head. "Let us not worry about why you attacked me. I wish to know how you managed to free Dumbledore."
Harry's eyes widened. "Myself," he croaked.
"I suppose you mean you are the only person involved. Do not take me for a fool, Harry, I am well aware of your abilities… and apparating through my strongest wards without alerting any of the alarms is beyond your skills,' Voldemort retorted. "I ask you again: who aided you?"
For a moment, Harry was tempted to give the information away; after all, Tom Riddle had forsaken him but he had made a promise. "No one."
"Such naivety," Voldemort sighed. "I am can muster Legilimency. Legilimens."
A swift, silent force abruptly broke through the dense, rich layers of Harry's mind. Delving beneath the deepest secrets in Harry's entire life, the force ripped out the memories of the events Harry attempted most to hide.
Pictures flashed past Harry's eyes. He saw himself standing in front of the portrait of Tom Riddle and offering blood, he saw Tom Riddle walking elegantly through the room, Tom Riddle agreeing to apparate him to Nurmengard, he saw Dumbledore, McGonagall and Grindelwald, he saw other passing fleets of memories… and then, finally, a memory he didn't recognise… he was together with Daphne in the flower garden.
The silent force lifted from him and he was jerked back to reality. Additional memories came gushing back. He remembered the happenings between him and Daphne. He remembered everything. Voldemort must have seen it too, but his face was impassive. It just didn't seem so important anymore – not when he was about to die.
"Riddle, Tom Riddle," Voldemort snarled. "I may as well have guessed. The little…" He whirled to face Harry. "You have been tricked. Foolish boy, you do not even know your little friend's true identity. I will give you a clue: the last name of my father was Riddle."
Coldness gripped Harry's heart. Riddle. This couldn't be possible. "He is related to you," Harry whispered.
A chilling smile snaked across Voldemort's lips. "Tom Riddle was my past and my present. Not only do we share the same blood, but we are one. I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he is me. Do you not understand how he can break down the wards that even the great Albus Dumbledore cannot? Do you not know how he managed to deceive the wards around this manor? Only I know how to control these wards."
Harry choked. "You were his enemy," he said weakly.
"I am," Voldemort agreed. "Tom Riddle possesses my cunning; in helping you free Dumbledore, he had set both Dumbledore and Grindelwald against me. The irony…"
Closing his eyes tightly, Harry almost wished he was dead. Although he could not figure out the complexity, he knew clearly that he had been used by Tom, or by Voldemort.
"The only puzzling thing is how your blood set him free. By rights, only I have the ability to liberate him. Unless…but you cannot be, that much is obvious… Severus!" Voldemort ordered.
Professor Snape stepped forward, undoubtedly shaken by the information revealed from the conversation.
"Take Harry away and lock him in the dungeons. I need to experiment with him before I cast him away."
And then, he was levitated out again, this time by Professor Snape.
—0O0—
The cell was unlocked, and Snape let Harry down on the straw inside. "The only crime you committed, Potter, was the crime of ignorance," he said, glancing at the dried blood on Harry's robes.
Harry managed a weak grin. "Let the invalid rest."
"I have business to attend to, other than you, Potter," Snape commented dryly. "Make sure you survive, until morning at least." His voice lacked its usual bite.
"I'll…try. Broken bones can't kill, right?" The forced joke sounded more phony than anything else. The door closed in reply.
When Harry was sure Snape had left, he curled into a ball and sunk into welcome oblivion. And the pain was left behind.
—0O0—
Above Muggle London, in the opaque sky, a black silhouette flew with ease through the clouds – without any support. The Dark Lord flew, with tremendous speed, past the insignificant towns and cities, past the forests, mountains, and streams.
In his hand, a yew wand was grasped tightly, and in his eyes, a dangerous gleam shone. He would recapture Dumbledore tonight; in the old man's weakened state, he would hardly be Voldemort's competition.
Dumbledore's stealth, nevertheless, would enable him to swiftly travel out of Germany and to an isolated area where he would be veiled from Voldemort's sight.
The Dark Lord changed his tracks and marked Vatican City, the world's smallest state with a population of only seven hundred and seventy, as his new target.
—0O0—
Harry was woken in the middle of the night by icy draughts that blew in through the little window of the cell. He shivered in the darkness. All his muscles hurt in a reminder of Voldemort's punishment.
He wanted – needed – to get out of here. By the next morning, he would become a human test subject, a guinea pig, for Lord Voldemort. If he survived the experiments, he would be killed. It was hopeless; it would take a miracle for Harry to escape.
Harry stored his hands into his robe pockets, in hopes of claiming warmth, but froze when his fingers brushed against something cool. Fumbling slightly, he took the petite object out and examined it. Glass, flask, a glass flask from potions. They had been making the Animagus Revelare Draft, and Harry had cast a spell to keep the glass from shattering before stowing it away in his pocket.
He glanced up at the window in excitement. If only his Animagus was small enough to fit through the window. Feeling a faint stir of hope, Harry downed the contents of the flask in one gulp.
The transformation began quickly, and ended just as fast. Harry's skin had been replaced by damp feathers and his legs had turned into scaly talons. Testing his new form, he clacked his beak together. It made an odd, stiff type of sound.
He had no idea whether he was an eagle, a hawk, a falcon, a kite, a vulture or something entirely different. All he knew was that he had to squeeze through the little window and obtain his freedom. Stretching his wings, Harry realised with horror that his left wing drenched in blood. It appeared the injuries remained with him even when he had transformed into a bird.
Praying the damage wasn't heavy enough to influence his flight, Harry successfully hovered with a few flaps. His balance wasn't exceedingly bad, even with the left wing dangling slightly. Cramming himself into the gap of the window was harder, and for a moment, Harry feared he was stuck; trapped between freedom and the prison. But with one violent twist, he was free.
Letting out a shrill screech of celebration, he launched himself at the sky. He was free. As an animal, perhaps he would get past the wards.
...
The wards proved to be little of a challenge, not recognising Animagus from an ordinary bird. Nonetheless, with a body painted in heavy injuries, Harry tired quickly. He barely managed to make it into a secluded forest before his wing gave way and he collided head-first with the ground.
Blackness followed immediately. He didn't even wake when a pair of gentle, cold hands cupped him in a frosty embrace.
Ice Crux has ended. And Dawn Crux will begin. Tom Riddle plans to overthrow Voldemort. Will he succeed? The next one revolves a lot around Harry and Tom, but Voldemort, Dumbledore and Grindelwald get parts almost exactly as big! Thanks!