Quiet and Unexpected Conquests

Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore walked purposefully through the ancient castle of Hogwarts, his expression determined and his mind ready. His brief absence had been necessary, as his clout and legend acted as a shield more powerful than any protection he could come up with for the Stone: but the magical protections had been bypassed, and where there was no ward capable of holding back Voldemort for long, the multitude of those he had personally littered the path to the Mirror of Erised with was enough of a nuisance that whoever was working for the Dark Lord would need time to dismantle.

Albus Dumbledore was many things: wizard extraordinaire, great bowling player, fan of wooly socks, capable alchemist, Chief Warlock, and much more stuff that he didn't need to recall at the moment.

Yet, he felt that there was something incredibly off about the whole situation: as he expected when he left the castle, Voldemort had tried to act and acquire the Stone, slugging through the many trials that the professors had designed with the express purpose of slowing down any perpetrator while acting as keys for a room that would otherwise keep out anyone.

Dumbledore moved with the silent purpose of the Hunter: a quick charm and the Cerberus was back asleep, another couple allowed him to fall unharmed through the Devil's Snare, and he simply walked through the door with its enchanted key already in the lock. A single tap of his wand over his own head made the chess pieces recognize him as a Queen of their own colour, while he didn't have to deal with the Troll: Quirinus' trial for the would-be intruder had already been dealt with, and rather violently at that.

A faint gleam of unabridged delight shone in his eyes as he observed the refilled potions that were necessary to allow passage to the final room: the riddle of course wasn't anything impossible to solve, but that the thief would be so desperate as to drink the contents of bottles that could all be rigged to permanently incapacitate or outright kill told a lot of things to the aged Headmaster.

From his own robes, Albus pulled a small vial, quickly downing the contents as he approached the wall of flames that separated him from the final room: and just as he entered, he heard an unholy scream of rage echoing in a tinkling rain of shattered glass.

The circular stone room should be unadorned if not for the unique Mirror of Erised standing in its center, holding the Stone within its countless, false desires. Only -and Dumbledore's eyes immediately took in the entirety of the situation- the priceless, ancient artifact hiding the greatest prize that any wizard could seek was completely obliterated.

With a sigh, Albus readied his wand: "Quirinus..." disappointment dropped heavily from his lips, "A curious place for an evening stroll, isn't it?"

The turban-wearing professor whirled on himself with a hissed: "Dumbledore!" escaping his lips.

A flurry of spells was unleashed by the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts while he shed the appearance of a stuttering incompetent: but each bright burning spark of hate, each sharp whip of fear, all of the magic that the Quirrel could bring to bear simply fell apart when it neared the much older, much more powerful, wizard.

"I should have guessed that you'd destroy the Stone if that kept it from my hands!"

"Your hands, Quirinus?" Albus' tone was unaffected by the situation, while his brain already seized the incongruence that it had been presented with: the thief thought that the Headmaster was the one responsible for destroying the mirror along with what it held. Of course, Dumbledore was well aware that the Mirror was far from being a frail artefact, as powerful magic had a way to warp the properties of objects.

A mocking, cold laughter rang across the stone chamber then, and the unconcerned visage of Dumbledore became suddenly stony.

"You didn't truly think that death could hold me back forever, Dumbledore?" there was an underlining hiss to those words, as if they were a poisonous whisper delivered from a snake, and another piece fell into place. The spells leaving the wand of Quirrel ceased then, and with a simple turn on himself, the turban came undone, revealing a horror that few could be able to conceive: sticking on the back of the Professor's head, there was an ashen grey face, one that seemed to be stretching the skin containing it with the unholy dark magic that allowed such an existence.

"I didn't think that there was enough left of you to die by the time you attacked the Potters, no." the tone of the aged wizard was calm, unconcerned by the revelation that Voldemort had just allowed him. "Possession." the blue eyes of the Headmaster hardened into chips of ice, "The Unicorns?"

"Always quick on the uptake, Dumbledore." the hiss speaking those words perfectly matched the snarling face on the back of Quirinus' head, "But I'll succeed another day."

The ash-colored skin shattered like the glass of the broken mirror at the wizard's feet as the dark smoke that was Voldemort shed its mortal coil.

A golden lasso of burning flames erupted immediately from Dumbledore's wand as he focused on the Dark Lord, who shrieked when he came in contact with the spell, but was otherwise unarmed as he flew as a shapeless darkness through the walls, fleeing the castle in a manner that the Headmaster couldn't track.

That left the old Headmaster to observe what little remained of the Mirror of Erised, and the bundle of cloth surrounding the corpse of Quirinus: a body that was burning into nothingness without flame, a person that had once laughed, dreamed, and loved as any other, only to be warped and destroyed by the Dark Lord, a creature that was as evil now as it had been in his youth, despite the much greater threat he now represented.

Still, now Albus had confirmed it: Voldemort was alive, and cognizant enough of the happenings in the wider world that he'd be able to possess a person needed to come to Hogwarts. And just as Harry Potter returned to the Magical World.

In Albus' experience, 'coincidence' was very rare when magic was involved: he could only be grateful that young Potter didn't end up face to face with Voldemort. A Voldemort that now knew the boy spoke Parseltongue, since Quirrel had been there the night when the Troll had casually ended up confronting the boy himself.

Dumbledore waved his wand, and while the fires around the stone chamber guttered and died, leaving only lit torches to shed light, the mirror repaired itself: or at least it tried to. As the pieces began coming together under the vastly overpowered repair charm, they took a different shape, and the Mirror of Erised wasn't the end result of the spellcasting of the Headmaster.

In front of him stood a three meters for one and half meter frame of bronze holding up a silvery reflective surface, there were random grooves etched into the frame that flowed one into another, while the reflection in itself was perfectly mundane: it showed back Dumbledore with all of his gaudy robes, and the deep blue eyes that weren't twinkling with merriment at the still unknown situation.

An all-purposes revealing charm softly flew from the Elder Wand, wrapping itself around the bronze mirror and lightly pulling at the magic it contained. Almost as in a mirage, the reflection that Dumbledore could see wavered, and behind it he spotted the hazy, red shape of a Philosopher Stone: "Or at least a very crude imitation, just enough to draw the attention of those desperate to retrieve it."

The enchantments layered on the mirror were rather crude in how they were arrayed and so simple they were mindboggling: it was surprising that Voldemort hadn't realized that it was a ruse. "Yet," the Headmaster could appreciate such a precise trick when he saw one, "there is something to be said about people only seeing what they wish to."

This however, left him with the question of whom had instead been able to succeed where the Quirrel had failed. Admittedly, he hadn't considered that someone would steal the entire Mirror when all the clues led to the Philosopher's Stone, which was much more valuable, and much easier to hide."

What an unexpected mystery.

The June sun shone cheerfully above the village of Hogsmeade, where there was little to none of the bustle seen during the Hogwarts weekends or the more open festivals that popped up from time to time. The grey roofs of slate gleamed merrily after the summer rain that had poured itself over the area during the night, leaving the grass lush with new life and a pleasant smell in the air.

"There he is." Cedric spoke with a distraced smile over his features as he pointed towards the lumbering form of Rubeus Hagrid, who waved back once he spotted the Diggory wizards waiting for him in one of the larger crossroads of the village.

Amos didn't bother hiding his surprise: "Ced, that is..."

"A good man." Cedric completed with none of his usually distracted attitude, firmly eyeing his father in the eye as the Ravenclaw wizard wanted to make his point: "A kind, gentle soul, who has been mistreated far too long only because of his appearances: his passion for Magical Creatures outshines your own, and his knowledge of the beasts, while not confirmed by O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s, is deeper than Grubby Plank's."

Amos was surprised by my vehemence to the point that he took a step backward, his eyebrows raised in momentary confusion at the son's seriousness, only for a proud smile to paint itself over his visage: "Very well, it does you honor, to be so open-minded."

Even if a light frown appeared on Cedric's brow, there was no time to address how 'being open-minded' was simply being a decent human being, as the half-giant whose presence had unknowingly revealed the deeply rooted distaste for all things 'different' had quickly reached the two.

"G'mornin, Cedric."

"Hullo, Hagrid." the Ravenclaw student smiled openly at the unnaturally tall man only to turn towards the middle-aged wizard by his side: "This is my father, Amos Diggory, an important member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, he's the one with the portkey for the reserve."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hagrid."

"Jus' Hagrid," the half-giant replied, "that's how every'ne calls meh."

I left the trance-like state that allowed me to review my own memories from an external point of view with a huff as I crested the small hill that allowed me to land my eyes on the infamous Burrow. With my broom slung over my shoulders, I started to make my way down, grateful for the breeze that cut the otherwise too hot July sun.

The visit at the small dragon reserve on the Hebrides Island, a place that focused on a small number of paradoxically huge Hebridean Black dragons, had been a genuinely entertaining experience: besides being able to observe the absolutely massive flying lizards capable of spewing a torrent of fire with one of the local dragon keepers basically giving us a private tour, I had also been informed of the economical side of things.

Since my next year at Hogwarts would see me take my O.W.L.s, my father had deemed it time for me to learn some of the side business that our family had going on. After my more or less legal retrieval of Norberta, Amos had signed a contract that basically allowed the local reserve to care for Norberta along with the rights to choose how to breed her by giving them the lion share of the eventual profits, while some selected parts of the rendering would be sold directly for the Diggory family. If the brand new program of crossbreeding between the local Hebridean Black and the Norwegian Ridgeback succeeded, then our family would get a fixed percentage of all the profits of the entire new species.

All in all, we took a ridiculously low income out of the actual sums that the beast would eventually deliver, but once the papers had been signed and the contract ratified at Gringotts, we had to do nothing at all to earn that money.

I approached the orchard of the Weasley family and took a minute to listen to the ever-present bluster that characterized such a humungous family while I slowed down under the shade that the trees cast, my mind still somewhat trailing behind my visit at the dragon reserve.

Of all the magnificent things that I had observed, Hagrid's shining eyes and beaming smile had been the most satisfying one: I knew that I owed nothing to the man even if I somewhat planned to exploit his knowledge to gain the O.W.L. in Care of Magical Creatures that my father wanted me to, but Hagrid was utterly incapable of being anything but earnest, and the thought that such a person had been screwed over by Riddle back when he was still in school sat ill with me.

A whole life unable to cast magic because Hagrid was the picture-perfect image of some brutish crook while Riddle had been the epitome of handsomeness, talent, and reliability. 50 years spent as a Groundskeeper, when with his passion Hagrid could have become an extraordinary magizoologist: after all, most wizards and witches tended to be extremely squishy when they miscalculated a creature's behavior.

Maybe Hagrid was too simple to rally against the deep injustice that marred his life, but a part of me felt like the world owed him something back. I sure as hell would have gone mad if they took my wand from me. Well, to be truthful, I would have found a way to steal one and spend my life hunted by the government before I gave up on magic, but that was beside the point.

I focused once more on the here and now as I emerged from the orchard next to a surprisingly muggle-looking -especially considering the unortodox, barely-keeping-it-together house- shed, which had the front shutter lifted completely to let in the refreshing breeze while a man that I only glimpsed from time to time tapped his wand thoughtfully at the open hood of a light blue Ford Anglia.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Weasley." I spoke with a bland smile on my face and no particular tone, my eyes blinking owlishly as the man himself spluttered in surprise and jumped to face me, his off-hand closing the hood with a serpentine motion.

"Good afternoon, uh..." the balding man frowned a bit in my direction, "Excuse me, but do we know each other young man?"

"I'm Cedric, sir, Cedric Diggory." I let my eyes roam outside the shed and onto the rest of the Burrow: "The twins roped me into some pick-ups games of Quidditch during the year to have some revenge because I more or less tricked them into actually studying, and they wrote a few days ago to have me over for a match... if that's okay?"

I hesitated when I noticed the blotched red cheeks of Arthur Weasley and his wide, wide eyes: "You... you're the one responsible for their marks?"

I rose my hands in the universal gesture of surrender once I leaned my broom against the shed's entrance: "Only if they got better..."

I didn't manage to defend myself before the man began energetically shaking my hand: "It's you who we have to thank! Fred and George refused to explain, but Molly was overjoyed and..."

I relaxed while Arthur went way over the line with thanks for something that as a parent was really his prerogative: I mean, if it was so important to you that your children had certain marks, why didn't you get off your ass and do something about it? That chance brought me to 'recruit' them was not a good parenting strategy, was it?

Even if, from what little I remembered: Bill, Charlie and Percy had all been extraordinary students on their own, with no need of any kind of prodding from their parents, which would explain the lack of incentive that would have pushed Fred and George to apply themselves. Not my problem anyway.

Hoping to stop the man from adopting me instantaneously only because I had revealed my connection to the Twins, I nodded towards the Ford Anglia: "Mr. Weasley, what were you doing to that car?"

Immediately, the man dropped my hand and took a step back: "Ah, w-w-well, you see, working for the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, I deal with all kinds of illegally cursed or enchanted objects, and I w-w-was..."

How can an adult be so utterly easy to fluster by a virtually nobody like me? Deciding that he had sweated enough terror in my immediate surroundings, I left him off the hook by asking something else: "Cars are very dangerous for Muggles, they don't have the charms that make obstacles jump out of the way, and if they get wrong their measures and the measure of the road, their vehicles don't shrink to pass like the Knight Bus."

Like he was a different person, Arthur smiled widely with a faint, worrying gleam in his eyes: "You are interested in Muggle tecnoscopy?"

"Tecnology." I corrected him distractedly, "And not really, but a muggle-born friend of mine was perplexed by a lot of things in the wizarding world, so we ended up comparing notes, so to speak."

I didn't have to hear the hopeful 'Oh?' uttered by the man to know that he was extremely interested in everything I could reveal, and I decided to take pity on him: it was absurd that neither Harry nor Hermione ever took a minute to explain the basics: "Well, muggles don't have magic, do they? But stuff happens all the time int their world too: I mean..."

I walked towards the nearest shelf and pushed off a random screwdriver: "Objects fell when they have nothing under them to lift them from the ground, yeah?"

Seeing as how Arthur nodded excitedly, I went ahead: "So, just like we have Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration and the Five Principal Exceptions -incidentally discovered by Gamp, who gave them his name- a muggle named Isaac Newton eventually explained why stuff falls, and there are several Laws that describe the why and how."

"And you understood them?" Arthur stepped closer with his arms folded behind his back and observed the fallen screwdriver like it was something completely novel, "I have so many questions..."

"I never dedicated much of my time to Muggle Studies, no." I glibly replied by stepping once more towards the entrance of the shed: "But my firend mentioned that the Muggles have learned that without magic there are Four Forces responsible for all that happens..."

To my dismay, Arthur jabbed his wand towards the nearest piece of random parchment, which multiplied itself as a pencil started to scribble notes on it.

"And they have disciplines that study each of those Forces: ultimately every object they produce, every piece of technology, like cars, airplanes, medicines, are clever combinations of little parts that exploit these Forces, using the Laws that the muggles understood to their benefit."

"How magnificent." the man smiled dreamily as he knelt beside the screwdriver, "How utterly admirable."

"Are the Twins those I hear?" I tilted my head while I hoisted my broom on my shoulders once more, a bit bored of having to translate basic 'how the world works' into something understandable by the odd wizard, "May I join them, sir?"

"My dear boy!" he smiled openly as he rightened himself, and in that moment I saw the same genuine love for the topic that I had seen in Hagrid while he was admiring the dragons at the reserve, "Call me Arthur, please! You gave me a lot to think about, go, go on, have fun, and thank you again for helping Fred and George!"

I somehow knew that I'd end up chatting again with the man about how 'science' worked sooner or later, but for the time being, I'd take my out as gracefully as I coud. An entire family like him.

As I walked towards the voices of Fred and George, I realized how utterly rare it was for a family to be entirely composed by people who followed their passion: Arthur and the muggles, Bill and cursebreaking, Charlie and dragons, the twins and their jokes, Percy and... bureocracy? What about Molly? A passion to be a stay-at-home-mum? There are worse things... And Ron and Ginny? Yeah, I'm drawing a blank.

I somewhat unknowingly befriended Arthur Weasley simply by being polite and not dismissing him as the next crazy person on my path. What would it be like to be sneered at for your whole life simply because you find a topic utterly fascinating? And how much ignorance seeped into the Magical World for people to not have a healthy respect for what muggles had accomplished? Christ, they walked on the moon!

I shook my head and forced myself to focus once more on the here and now: there were a lot of things that felt odd about the Magical World, if not outright offensive. For now, my grey eyes zeroed in on the three red haired kids flying about, I have a bit of Quidditch to survive.

In a manner of seconds, I lifted off the ground on my father's trusty Cleansweep, and as soon as I was spotted, I knew that I was going to sweat by the bucketloads.

The summer rain crashed heavily above the countryside, almost knowing that it needed to make up the little lifetime it had by pouring all of itself as furiously as it could. The winds caused by the difference in temperature brought by the water crashing down on the thirsty hills and fields were surprisingly harsh, and the trees shook their branches filled with luscious green leaves almost like dogs trying to dry themselves.

With that almost stormy wheater, the gloom that characterized the mood of one Cedric Diggory could perhaps be understood. Yet, as the summer storm quickly passed away, revealing a renewed stretch of green hills that glinted like a sea of emeralds under the sun, the Ravenclaw wizard kept his eyes downcast, as if defeated.

The room of Cedric Diggory had certainly seen better days: the large bed was hidden under an open trunk in which clothes were more or less half-heartedly tossed in, pieces of parchment that were usually arrayed in a strange circle on the floor to grant the student a way to 'seeing the overall picture' were now haphazardly bounded up by topic, while some owl feathers were bunded up in a corner of the room.

The other occupant of the room however wasn't paying attention to any of that: no, Amos' eyes were unerringly focused on the letter that he was holding: the sharp letters of dark ink looking almost like knives ready to plunge into Cedric's back. Or at least, that's how he'd be willing to describe it.

Since the visit to the dragon reserve, Cedri had started to show just a bit of a dramatic flair when complaining about the 'insane amount of studying' that he needed to do. It wasn't like he had ever shied away from that kind of thing, no, Amos knew that the only problem was that he was more or less forced to deal with actual schoolwork instead of whatever topic caught his fancy.

"You're being unnecessarily melodramatic, Ced." the elder Diggory laughed loudly, brandishing the letter as if it was a sword, only to straighten it and read the final part out loud: "P.S. If you're asking yourself why you've been chosen for this opportunity despite the occasions in which you were breaking the rules," and he eyed his son with some hint of reproach right then and there, "you need to look no further than what your actions have brought as a consequence. Three first-years safe and sound, and the most troublesome students of the school focusing (if only partially) on their schoolwork, simply because of the example and effort you offered.

Amos lowered the letter that his son had handed over with a beaming smile on his face and tried once again: "Ced! But these are wonderful news!"

His son, bless his soul, was still staring at the Prefect Badge in his hand with a conflicted expression that his father could more or less guess at: his grey eyes gleamed with interest, a sure sign that his mind was running as fast as lightning compiling the many things that the badge allowed him to do, while the faint grimace that threatened to blossom on his features was undoubtedly caused by the added responsibilities and the reduced free time they brought.

"They're news alright." the soon-to-be fifth-year prefect was looking at the P on the badge like it could bite him, "Do I have to?"

"Cedric!" the immediate censure in Amos' voice brought his son to sigh tiredly, "It's a honor to be chosen as a prefect!"

"But between my Animagus studies, my O.W.L.s, the added subject of Care of Magical Creatures..." the Ravenclaw wizard tried to plead with his grey eyes at the older Diggory, who gave proof of both his Hufflepuff stubbornness and loyalty by shrugging.

"I'm sure that a lad as brilliant as you are will have no issues with putting some serious hard work into his schooling."

Cedric didn't whine, and he'd have denied it if he was asked, but he tried nevertheless: "But daad..."

"No buts!" Amos folded the letter with something akin to reverence on his features before heartily slapping his son's shoulder, "You'll take your O.W.L. in Care while being a prefect! I have no doubts you'll succeed!"

With those words, the elder Diggory left the room, maybe to frame the letter that named his son prefect, and Cedric simply fell backward over his bed: "And I won't have time for alchemy... at all.

And I still need to be on my A-game to get my hands on the Diary when I go to Diagon Alley later in the day. A part of the newly christened Ravenclaw prefect seethed at the forceful stop that many of his extracurricular studies would be forced into during his fifth year at Hogwarts. What was the point of snagging the Mirror and what it contained if he couldn't get started right away?

And what about his other projects? He still had no actual idea to explain how he had ended up in Harry Potter's world, and only the faintest plan that would allow him to exonerate Sirius Black once he was sure that he couldn't be conveniently 'silenced' while still in Azkaban. I already had to spend my summer over books about Magical Creatures to have some hope of being able to get my O.W.L., but this is getting ridiculous.

Almost like an epiphany, Cedric sat upright on his bed: a suddenly devious solution appearing like a sharp grin on his face: "When in doubt," he quoted, "delegate."

AN

Well, this is a bloated chapter, isn't it? It's more a collection of the 'conquests' that I've hinted at in the title, and it covers a truly massive span of time, for my standards at least. So I had to split it into scenes that are the result of the MC's preparation, or the unintended consequences of his actions.

Without splitting this chapter into 3 separate ones, I found no way to not make these parts feel 'clunky'. But I'm also aware that I tend to waste many words on relatively secondary elements when I should focus on the true meat of the story: so this chapter is entirely dedicated to the result of preparations well explored previously or the sudden grasping of a limited chance.

Dumbledore:

It's always so fucking difficult to write 'genius'-level characters, did it work?

I always thought that it was strangely (read out of character) poetic for Hagrid to say something like 'there wasn't enough left of him to die' -or something along those lines- to Harry when he first explained about Voldemort. But since Dumbledore is a 'great man', I find it much more likely that the half-giant simply parroted something that Dumbledore first said, and I couldn't help but putting that in the first part of this chapter.

Dragon:

I didn't find a way to make a visit to the dragon reserve meaningful for the story beyond the fact that it took place. So I sprinkled in a small realization about the casual racism under the guise of a small flashback as an Occlumency exercise, right before the introduction of Arthur Weasley into the MC's life

I hope that the brief exchange between the MC and Arthur was short enough to not be annoying and punctual enough to show a bit more of the MC's character and the -I still find it odd- particular effects that obsession has on the older wizard.

Given the characters at play, I'm likely to never waste my time writing about a Quidditch mach: I'm trying to find the exact point between 'not enough to write the story' vs 'too much'. Opinions?

Mirror:

As far as the Philosopher stone goes, I really saw no point in having the MC pass through the obstacles that we all already know, and instead, I choose the route of bullshitting that the Room of Requirement so easily provides.

I've also postponed a bit of introspection (thanks to the Mirror, which will be very useful later for character development) and wrapped up this first year before it could go out of hand like it tends to do. With these constant jumps forward, there is always the risk of having the story itself feel a bit disjointed, and I hope that the ties that I'm slowly shaping with the other characters are enough to keep everyone interested.

As I had already gone through the method that the MC would use to make sure the Stone was safe, I saw no reason to repeat that part of the previous chapter, and instead I've used the opportunity to bring about some decidedly necessary POV of other people.

Diary:

Really, how hard can it be to retrieve the diary when one knows the when and how? I did think up a brief adventure chapter in which the MC asks Hermione to get the diary but I'm not sure: it would be splendid for tightening their relationship while allowing me to spend some words on what she thinks and feels. But this year has already a lot of stuff going on for the MC, while the classical Potter Plot bings really nothing to the story I'm trying to build.

I want to be done with Cedric's O.W.L. year within 3 chapters in the worst-case scenario: ideas?

Characterization:

I'd really love some well-explained opinions in how I'm handling the entirety of this fic: I'm trying to cut down on the lore as much as my soul allows me to, as I know it tends to drag me away from the plotline (I'm reasonably sure that I'm handling that alright) as well as the characterization, which is my bane (I find boring the building up it needs) and Achille's Heel (I never know when it's enough).