AN: Welcome to the next chapter!
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It seems like you guys enjoy reading the story just as much as I enjoy writing it.
Keep it up and always let me know what you think.
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The recognizable sections belong to JKR
Chapter 92
March 19th, 1997 (Two Days before Malfoy's death)
He had gotten used to the feeling by now, but no matter how impressive the ward scheme might be, Harry would always feel vulnerable without his magic. Almost as if he was back in his seven-year-old body on the school's playground, with his fat cousin and his friend ganging up on him.
"Harry! I am glad to see you again. It has been so boring the past two weeks without you. The guards are not nearly as fun to tease as you..." Grindelwald smiled and his grey-blue eyes danced with amusement.
"I am glad I bring you so much entertainment" Harry's lips tucked upwards: "Actually, today marks the first time that Dumbledore allows me to visit you by myself. I guess I have finally proven myself incorruptible in his eyes."
Grindelwald's head shook with laughter: "Albus has always been a bit naive and quick to trust people. You might never be a true Dark Lord, but I am sure I can still convince you to become a bit more ruthless..."
"Well, perhaps my time spent with you has already left its Mark." Harry mused while pulling a chair closer and regarding the man in front of him with a calculated look.
Grindelwald looked decades younger than the first time Harry had laid eyes on him. Apparently, the guards had finally given in to his pleas of being allowed to shave. With his hair cut rather short and the beard shaven off, one would never think that he was the same age as Dumbledore.
Perhaps there was some truth to it that the more magically powerful you were, the slower you would age... Then again, Harry would not outright dismiss the idea that Grindelwald might have performed some rituals in his youth that could have a similar effect on his physical appearance...
"Do tell!" Grindelwald edged him: "Did you and pretty Frenchie rid yourself of some Death Eaters?"
"I would appreciate it if you could just call her Fleur, you know..." Harry rolled his eyes: "And no, we have not killed anyone new yet, however, the house of Malfoy will soon be extinct thanks to our work..."
"I knew a Septimus Malfoy back in my time and the disgrace of a son he raised, one Abraxus Malfoy... Slimy gits, all of them." Grindelwald mused.
"Well, that has not changed much then." Harry laughed: "Abraxus Malfoy died a few years ago of the Dragon Pox. His son Lucius was a Death Eater and was killed by my godfather. The current Malfoy heir, Draco, will not survive the next encounter with his master, that much is sure..."
"You have my curiosity..." The former Dark Lord chuckled: "How did you manage that?"
Harry shared what happened a few days ago and about their last encounter with Malfoy. How he had implanted a fake memory and obliviated the boy of ever meeting him. He doubted that Voldemort would take the time to dig around in Malfoy's mind after watching the destruction of his own Horcrux. The man had been acting rather impulsive on emotional outburst
"I am impressed." Grindelwald nodded: "That is quite a delicate piece of magic. However, I am still left in dark as to why you came all the way here to tell me about it. I understand that Albus would not exactly praise your approach, still, that does not seem good enough reason to travel so far..."
"I have a plan..." Harry grinned: "Just imagine the current situation... Where do you think Voldemort will go, once he discovered that his first Horcrux is destroyed?"
"Naturally he will immediately check the others..." Grindelwald's eyes beamed: "You want to lay a trap?"
Harry shook his head: "The trap is already laid, it's just a matter of turning it against its creator."
"Sounds promising... Well, what does the trap consist of?" Grindelwald asked curiously.
"I know the defenses of one of them pretty well, the other one not so much. However, what I am certain about is that they both make heavy use of Inferi... I need to know everything there is about them... my current resources are not enough. I need to know how to reprogram what they had been intended for..."
"You came to the right cell." Grindelwald chuckled: "I have a mastery in Necromancy. I know all about them, though I rarely used them myself."
"Where in Merlin's name do you complete a Mastery in Necromancy?" Harry asked bewildered. He had never heard that such a dark branch of magic was even offered as a study.
"In Russia of course." The man beamed: "Now, listen up... This is what you are going to do..."
Little Hangleton, March 20th, 1997 (One Day before Malfoy's death)
"I do not like this place, Harry. It is creepy," Fleur pouted next to him: "I cannot believe you went there by yourself when you were barely fifteen years old..."
The couple was strolling up the hill towards the Gaunt Shack in Little Hangleton. They had passed the old Riddle Manor already and were both on the lookout for the hidden entrance towards their destination.
Harry playfully rolled his eyes: "You are rather rude you know... I used to have distant relatives living here..."
"I don't care, Harry." Fleur wrinkles her cute nose: "Let's finish what we came for and get out of here. Are you even sure that he will check here first?"
Harry nodded while holding out his wand in an attempt to recognize and take down the strong notice-me-not charm that he knew had been placed somewhere here: "It makes the most sense. If anyone could have found his relations with the Gaunts, it would have been Dumbledore. He is also one of the few people, who would have the resources and magical power to find this shack. It would take a lot longer for anyone to find the cave, in comparison."
Fleur nodded thoughtfully. The rosewood wand was in her hand and she was muttering an incantation in French: "I think I found something, Harry." She piped up with pride.
"Not bad..." Harry nodded appreciatively. He himself had only recognized the spot a few seconds ago. It had taken him considerably longer on his own first try than the Veela. But then again, Fleur was a prodigy when it came to sensing magic.
"I assume it's cast in Parseltongue?" Fleur mused, with her eyes still closest and waving her wand in intrinsic pattern: "If so, then I will allow you to take over for now... After all, you hold the advantage here." She pouted.
"Dry your tears, my flower." Harry chuckled while dispelling the notice-me-not ward: "If I could have shared the ability with you, I would have done so a long time ago..."
"I will find a way sooner than later..." Fleur huffed and added quietly: "You best belief there won't be a way to secretly communicate in our family with only me being left out..."
Harry laughed. It was true... He was likely to pass on the ability to any of his children... He could imagine how irritating Fleur would find it if she found her children conversing with him in a language she could never decipher.
He finally managed to overpower the ward and they revealed the familiar gap in the hedges: "You know the plan." Harry looked over his shoulder to his girlfriend and received a nod in confirmation: "Let's work quickly and efficiently. Time for a small surprise for the Dark Lord..."
Little Hangleton, March 22nd, 1997 (One Day after Malfoy's death)
Without making a single sound, the Dark Lord appeared on the lonely pathway leading to the house of his ancestors. After learning of the destruction of another Horcrux last night, he had spent considerable time planning their relocation and what additional protective measures one might add.
The Dark Lord was furious with himself. In hindsight, he should have interrogated the Malfoy brat and found out how exactly he had discovered what the Diadem truly was and why he decided to follow such a treacherous path. Instead, his rage and anger had taken over. Something that had occurred more and more often since his rebirth.
The Dark Lord knew not what the reasons behind those sudden mood changes might be and why he acted less and less rational. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that his recent decisions had all been based on strong emotional outbursts that were so unlike him.
Why was that? The ritual to get back his own body had worked perfectly. His magic was fully intact as well and on par with where it had been before his fall. Why was it then, that his brilliant and rational mind disappointed him more and more often?
Did the effects of his countless dangerous rituals finally catch up to him? He could not deny that he was concerned that splitting his soul, his very essence, might be the reason for these changes. Back then, he had ignored the few warnings on how these acts against nature might change his personality. A few of them had explicitly mentioned that one might be become less human after creating a single Horcrux already. To his knowledge, no one had ever dared to split his soul into more than two pieces...
Nevertheless, he was Lord Voldemort and any object in his path had been overcome so far. This would not change now. He continued his route up the road thinking about the item he came to secure. How likely was it that either Dumbledore or Potter had found this place? The headmaster held the advantage of having more time to research anything he could about Tom Riddle. It was not unlikely that he found his connection to the Gaunts via his middle name, Marvolo...
In addition, he had never expected Potter to survive their encounter in the graveyard. He could curse himself for sharing that his mother had been a witch and lived here in Little Hangleton. He should have never shared such valuable information, no matter how sure of his victory he might be. After all, Potter has proven that Fortuna had favored him as a babe already... It was a lesson he would learn from...
He found the location of the concealed gap and made quick work of his own notice-me-not charm. So far, everything seemed fine. He could not detect any manipulation on the ward. Besides, only a Parselmouth would have an easy time dismantling it. It was truly unfortunate that the boy carried the gift.
The Dark Lord knew not how Harry Potter ended up speaking the noble tongue of the serpent. The only thing he found after skimming through dozens of books in the Malfoy library was a very faint blood relation with the boy over a family that had long gone extinct. The Peverells...
To his knowledge, the family had been powerful, but very secretive. In addition, there were some strange rumors connected with them, but the Dark Lord did not have time for rumors at this point. Once Potter was dealt with, he had all the time in the world to deepen his understanding of magic even further and uncover any mysteries and secrets left unchecked.
The ruins of his ancestors' shack appeared in the distance behind some thick trees. So far, nothing seemed to have changed. Not that he would have expected so. He was Lord Voldemort. It was unlikely that anyone would be able to break through his enchantments, let alone survive what followed after.
He approached the shack, knowing that he would trigger the first ward soon. As expected, he heard the familiar hissing sounds from ahead of him and a flock of large, thick black serpents slithered towards him.
"It is I, Lord Voldemort, who returns to the sacred place of his noble ancestry." He hissed the words, fully expecting the snakes to stop their attack.
The Dark Lord's eyes widened. To his surprise, the snakes did not halter. Instead, their hissing grew even more aggressive. By now, they were so close that the Dark Lord could swear he made out a single distinctive word that was repeated over and over again.
"Tom... Tom... Tom..."
"I order you to stop!" The Dark Lord growled threateningly: "Lord Voldemort, the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin, orders you to stop!"
The snake did not even pause for a second, the first one was only a few meters away from him.
"Tom... Tom... Tom..."
"What magic is this?" The Dark Lord roared and slashed his wand through the air. The deadly serpents closest to him vanished into a puff of smoke. Relentlessly, he fought his way through the incoming aggressive reptiles, banishing them out of his way, burning them in a stream of hot white fire, or simply vaporizing them with a flick of his wand.
The obstacle was overcome but the hissing seemed to be repeated by every piece of wood, every stone, every broken roof tile all around him. It was mocking him... Echoing from all around him...
"Tom... Tom... Tom..."
"Potter!" The Dark Lord screamed in rage and a devastating fireball burst from the tip of his wand, blasting a sizable hole into the wall of the shack for him to enter.
Inside, it was finally silent and the mocking hisses had stopped. The Dark Lord frantically walked straight to the center of the former living room, where he had hidden his ancestors' Ring. A long slash of his wand splintered the wood of the floor and revealed the familiar small box.
It was still there... Could it be?
Could it be that Potter had found the Shack but not the priceless artifact that was hidden within it? The Dark Lord reached out with his long pale fingers to seize the box and open the lid.
His crimson red eyes stared inside it and found something almost equal in color. He stared at a flower. But not just any flower: A small, bright red Lily greeted him. More surprising, however, was the smell that spread from it. He recognized the coppery taste in the air. The Lily smelled of blood... It smelled of death.
He noticed the small note attached to the palm of the flower and glanced over the words written in thick red letters:
Vol - De - Mort,
A Fleur For Your Soul,
Death Will Always Have Its Due
There Is No Theft From Death
He reread the message a second time when a sound behind him made him spin around. Sharp nails were scratching on wood... Bony white hands were digging their way throw the broken floorboard. Dead, hollow eyes were staring at him as if he was the intruder in his own kingdom.
"Back!" Voldemort hissed: "I am your creator. You follow my orders!"
None of the Inferi seemed to listen to him as they approached him with outstretched thin arms. In their open palms, each of them held a single bright red Lily.
The Dark Lord took a glance back at the note. Never in his life had he felt anger comparable to right now. He felt the magic rushing through his body as the first Inferi were only meters away from him. Then with a roar, he released everything that had built up inside him. The immense hatred only amplified his power and he felt it tingle in his fingertips and toes. It was time to unleash it all upon those that stood in his way.
The shockwave that he created vaporized his surrounding attackers in an instant. In addition, he leveled the entire ruined shack and any of the nearby trees. With a flick of his wand, he settled the dust, smoke, and debris and found himself standing in a small crater, of roughly the size one would have expected a bomb to create.
The note in his hand turned into ash as he looked up into the clear sky:
"You will pay!"
He screamed in uncontrollable rage and agony:
"HARRY POTTER, YOU WILL PAY!"
His red eyes took in the scene around him. There was destruction everywhere, but it was simply not enough. He needed more... The Dark Lord craved for blood, for death, and despair.
With a soft snap, he disapparated from the ruins of the shack and reappeared right in the middle of the village next to a crowd of people. Shrieks and yells could be heard from everywhere around him, as the filthy muggle started pointing their finger at him. Their eyes showed disgust and fear at his sudden appearance.
Voldemort sneered and let the magic rush through him. None of these Muggles were Harry Potter or his halfbreed girlfriend but they would do for now. With a roar, he slashed his wand through the air, unleashing his power once more. The group of a dozen muggles that stood closest to him were engulfed in bright flames, as a fiery serpent poured over them, leaving nothing but ash in its place.
High shrieks could be heard everywhere around him as chaos erupted. Voldemort slashed his wand through the air, again and again, burying the entire village in cursed flames, which ravished everything in their path. He killed anyone he could reach, not caring if he caught men, women, or even the smallest children. They all would die to satisfy his hunger for blood. They deserved it... For the muggles in this very village had laughed and made fun of his ancestors.
Somehow in his twisted mind, the destruction of the Ring and his ancestors' Shack called for the death of anyone in this village. To the Dark Lord, it made perfect sense, even though he never needed a reason to convince himself that killing muggles was nothing but sport.
The heat surrounding him became unbearable, as the flames grew in size and hunger. No house was left standing, no street would be recognized, and nobody would be found here today. There was nothing left besides grey and black ash and the unmistakable smell of death.
He allowed the demon's fire to fully satisfy its hunger, until, with a flick of his wand, he took back control and vanished their remains. Standing in the middle of the village square that had been full of life only moments ago, he panted heavily. It had been quite some time since he had exhausted himself like that.
He had to leave soon. The ministry, no doubt, was already sending their forces. But there was another place he needed to check today. Another item that needed to be kept safe and secure. This one was far more unlikely to have ever been discovered. The image of a lonely rock in the wild sea, in front of a sharp cliff, stirred in his mind. He turned on the spot and vanished a second later.
The Dark Lord could smell salt and hear rushing waves. He had not been here ever since first depositing his Horcrux over 18 years ago; He was standing upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below him. A towering cliff stood behind him, a sheer drop, black and faceless. Even when he had been a small boy, the few large chunks of rock looked as though they had broken away from the cliff face at some point.
Back then, he and the other orphans were brought to a village close by. He had always been a curious boy. And even the sharp high cliffs had never stopped him from exploring this area. Effortlessly, he rose into the air and floated over to the entrance of the dark cave. He felt his own protections as soon as he approached the area.
He flicked his wand at the rock where the concealed entrance was hidden and for a moment, an arched outline appeared there, blazing white as though there was a powerful light behind the crack.
Flicking the wand once again along his forearm, the rock face was peppered with dark, glistening drops. Even he himself, as the creator of this obstacle, would only be able to cross by paying the price. The blazing silver outline of an arch had appeared in the wall once more, and this time it did not fade away: This time, he could also analyze if someone has ever passed this threshold before him.
He ran his wand along the archway and hissed in Parseltongue. A minute later he was certain. The entrance had only ever accepted blood twice. The first time when he created it 18 years ago and the second time, when he just revealed it a minute earlier.
Not even Merlin himself could have bypassed this obstacle without paying the price. Still, the Dark Lord would not take any risks today. He had to know if the locket, his perhaps most meaningful Horcrux was secure.
After entering, he was standing on the edge of the great black lake. The misty greenish light shone far away in the middle of the lake, just as he remembered. He walked along the rough cavern wall to the very next obstacle simply to ensure that it had not been found.
He ran his hand through the thin air and caught what he had been looking for. The Dark Lord raised the pale yew wand with the other hand and tapped his fist with the point. Immediately a thick coppery green chain appeared out of thin air, extending from the depths of the water into his clenched white hand. There was no need to pull out the boat. He simply ran his hand along the chain and listened intently.
Again, he came to the same conclusion... The boat has not been pulled out of the lake ever since he first deposited the Horcrux here. Nevertheless, one last check would need to be performed. Ignoring the provided means of transportation, Voldemort rose into the air once again and flew, like dark smoke in the wind, over to his destination.
Soon enough, the greenish light seemed to be growing larger at last, and within another minute he had reached the small island of smooth rock in the center of the lake. On the expanse of flat dark stone, stood nothing but the source of that greenish light, which looked much brighter when viewed close. The Dark Lord floated up to the millennia-old stone basin, which was set on top of a pedestal.
An evil grin tucked the corner of his thin lips upwards in triumph. The basin was still full of an emerald liquid emitting that phosphorescent glow. It would cause unimaginably painful hallucination, rendering anyone would have found the cave in no condition to escape unharmed. In addition, the clenching thirst could only be satisfied by the water from the dark lake underneath him. If the person were so foolish to follow that instinct he would die soon after.
What to do now? Naturally, he could order for a follower to drink the potion, but he did not want to risk exposing this secret location to anyone. Killing said follower would be problematic as well and risk losing any future support. He did not intend on drinking the foul mixture himself, so instead, he simply performed a few revealing charms and stared intently into the depths of the basin.
A shimmer of gold flicked up to him at some point, which was more than enough to ensure the Dark Lord that this secret had not been discovered. The Horcrux would remain right here, where it was secure. Instead, he would add an extra layer of protection to this cave. A blood ward that would notify him as soon as his own blood entered the location. After all, he and Harry Potter shared the same blood by now...
Dumbledore could not hope to capture his safeguard by himself. He would surely bring his golden boy, Harry Potter, with him... And as soon as the boy entered the cave, Voldemort would know and trap them right here... The Dark Lord smiled coldly at imagining the scene.
The old fool and the lucky child wanted to hunt his Horcruxes... They would soon become the hunted themselves...
March 23rd, 1997
Village of Little Hangleton Destroyed
Death Eaters Strike Again
By Rita Skeeter
Yesterday afternoon, the terrorist organization that plagues our nation, known as Death Eaters, performed another barbaric attack on a Muggle settlement. The Village of Little Hangleton, a few miles north of Great Hangleton was completely destroyed during the attack. The DMLE has confirmed that there were no survivors among the over 500 muggles living there. In fact, the entire village was burned to the ground by what the Unspeakables assumed to have been Fiendfyre.
Since it requires enormous magical power and an intuitive understanding of such a devasting spell, the DMLE assumes that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has accompanied his servants to the village and took part in the distraction himself. As for his motivation behind the attack, we are very thankful to have Harry Potter shed some light on what he thinks this horrible incident was about:
Reporter:
Harry, why do you think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named decided to attack Little Hangleton specifically?
Harry Potter:
His reasons are quite simple, Rita. Little Hangleton, as inconspicuous as it might seem, is the birth plays of Voldemort's parents.
Reporter:
I am not sure I have heard you correctly, Harry. No magicals have lived in Little Hangleton for decades.
Harry Potter:
And even before that, there was only one more or less prominent family that lived there, Rita. The Gaunts were residents in Little Hangleton for centuries. The last of them, Marvolo Gaunt and his son Morfin and Merope are Voldemort's maternal relatives. Merope Gaunt was his mother.
Reporter:
Is that why he claims to be the last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin? The Gaunts were notorious for their Parseltmouth ability and their tradition to intermarry their cousin to keep the ability strictly within the family.
Harry Potter:
Very well researched, Rita. Indeed, the massive amounts of inbreeding and incest might also explain the deranged personality of our Dark Lord. It is also a shame that the blood that had been kept 'pure' for centuries was diluted with his birth...
Reporter:
What do you mean by that, Harry? Surely the leader of the pureblood movement must be a pureblood himself?
Harry Potter:
Well, that's the irony, isn't it? I mentioned that both of Voldemort's parents stem from Little Hangleton. However, there had only been one magical family living there for generations. In conclusion, his father must have been a muggle. Tom Riddle Sr. was the son of a wealthy muggle and dosed with love potions by Merope Gaunt. Voldemort is the bastard that was conceived during this affair. When the potions lost their effectiveness, Tom Riddle Sr. left the mother of his unborn child and went back home. Merope died shortly after childbirth, but not before naming her own son after his father and her own father. Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Reporter:
Harry, this story sounds almost too incredible to be true. Do you perhaps have any proof for my readers?
Harry Potter:
Of course, Rita. I would not make such claims without proof that will be more than satisfactory. Any Hogwarts student may look through the register of Prefects and Headboys. Tom Marvolo Riddle was Prefect for House Slytherin from 1942 onwards and was made Headboy in his seventh year. He also earned achievements for special services to the school in his sixth year. The trophy can still be found in the Hogwarts Trophy Room.
He left the castle with the best NEWT results since Albus Dumbledore, only to never be heard of again. Those NEWT results had been so astonishing, that they are public records as well. There is even a Daily Prophet article by one of your predecessors about it. It was only decades later, that he returned to the country of his birth, with a new, made-up name and a desire for power. Lord Voldemort is simply an Anagram for Tom Marvolo Riddle. Rearrange the letters and see for yourself.
Reporter:
You have convinced me, Harry, no doubt. But why do so many people still follow a hypocrite like him? Surely, they must have asked themselves about their Lord's mysterious origin?
Harry Potter:
Most of them have, Rita. Which only proves one thing. Neither Voldemort nor his followers truly care for blood purity and protecting pureblood culture and norms. It's all a farce to attract a larger following under false promises. They only care about influence, power, and getting rid of anyone who disagrees with them, no matter what kind of blood flows through their veins.
Reporter:
Thank you very much, Harry. I am sure my readers will agree with me when I say this was certainly illuminating.
Harry smirked. He was rather satisfied with the interview and seemed to be well received by the students around him too, according to the noise in the Great Hall. If Voldemort would make it so easy for him to expose the man, by attacking the village his parents grew up in, then he would take him up on that offer. He did feel a tiny stab of guilt when thinking about all the innocent muggles who had lost their lives in the Dark Lord's outburst.
Was it his and Fleur's fault, for provoking him until he tipped over the edge, or would he have taken his revenge anyway, as soon as he discovered that the Horcrux was taken? In the end, no one could tell. It was in the past and he had more important things to worry about.
He looked up at the head table to see how Dumbledore would take the interview. Harry never understood why Dumbledore decided against making the information on Voldemort's heritage public. If it only convinced a single recruit not to join him, it would have already been a success during the first war.
At least the headmaster did not seem disappointed with him. His eyes twinkled and he shot Harry a short wink after finishing the article himself. Naturally, Dumbledore knew what else had been the reason for Voldemort's outburst in Little Hangleton... The headmaster had known that it would only be a matter of time before the Dark Lord would discover that his Horcruxes are being hunted down, one by one.
In fact, that was exactly the reason, why Harry and Fleur had ultimately decided against visiting the cave in the first place. According to Kreacher, an almost perfect replica had been put there in exchange for the real Locket by Regulus Black. If Voldemort went to the cave to check, then there was always the chance that he would simply leave it there and continued believing that at least one of his Horcruxes was still safe and intact.
There was no reason to convince the Dark Lord otherwise... Harry would allow the man to enjoy the false sense of security... Everything was slowly starting to move together now... The only obstacle that was left before the man could be defeated was the snake... If only there was a way for them to get into Malfoy Manor...