CHAPTER 66: The Devil's Greatest Trick (Part 5)

Grimmauld Place

January 26th, 1996

4:30 p.m.

January had ended up being a much quieter month than what he had been expecting. After the Azkaban siege, Albus had begun to worry that this was Tom's opening salvo. More than a show of force, a declaration of war against Magical Britain. A sign that he had no more need for preparations or scheming, that every piece was set, and he was ready to continue the halted war they had so very nearly won back those days. But given Tom's silence since he took the prison, every day he became more convinced that wasn't the case.

Not that it made it any less alarming. The fact that he could employ such a grand undertaking, managing to seize Azkaban from the Ministry and yet, somehow ensure that his name isn't spoken by either the press or the Ministry itself showed the reach he and his Death Eaters had. The influence that had gone unchecked. His concerns from after the first war seem to have proven themselves true, there were still many of them out there. Death Eaters they never identified. Those who were left to fester and strengthen their position as the world moved on.

It was an urgent matter, worthy of looking into. But someone else would have to be charged with the responsibility of it. Even without Harry Potter, his efforts to stop the war were elsewhere at the moment.

However uneasy the month of January may have been, it gave him the time to reel from their losses and attempt to mend the scars that were left in the Order after Sirius and Augusta's rebellion. It had united the group as a whole, even if it was against some of their own. But given the state of affairs since its rebirth - the constant arguing, the inability to find common ground and decide on an issue, more importantly, the general animosity that seemed to be held against each other - it was necessary. Even Alastor had stepped out of his habitual isolation and began interacting with more of the Order, his brother and Andromeda being the ones he talked to most. Andromeda entering the fold, along with Ted, was also something that could not be ignored, as it had been a feat he'd been attempting since before the previous war ended.

All the good that came out of the needless suffering of a young boy. It was hard to feel elated by it when he knew the consequences it brought to Harry. Consequences he didn't seem to be able to fix. There was no mending a snapped wand, no way of bringing back his magic in a meaningful manner. Because even when Poppy's thorough examination of him showed just how unnaturally high his magical core was, to the point where he could maybe even use someone else's wand, it wouldn't be the same. Not just in the power behind his spells, but even in the rarest of cases of seeing this phenomenon, they could never cast for a consistently long time before passing out from exhaustion.

Albus couldn't fix Harry's wand. Couldn't give him back what he had lost. The least he could do was try to not make him feel alone, to give him someone with whom he could open up.

"I spoke to Andromeda earlier this morning," he told him later that day, after he found him in the Black library. "She told me you've been avoiding your meetings with her over the past couple of weeks."

"I have," Harry said curtly. Even after three weeks of talking to him every day, trying to amend for the part he played in his suffering, Harry still always spoke like that. A part of Albus felt like he deserved it. But it was hard not to wish that someday, if he did enough, he'd hear a softer tone from the boy.

"I thought you said you would give it a try."

"I did. Just didn't work out. It's not my type of thing."

Albus pulled out his wand from his robes, and closed the door to the library. And after casting a few privacy charms on it, he turned back to Harry. "Do you remember what I told you about it? The necessity of it."

Harry sighed, there was a hint of bitterness behind it, but he closed his book nonetheless and finally looked at him. "I know, sir. I understand. I just don't fancy putting my problems on people like that. I can sort things out on my own."

"It's not about sorting out things on your own. I can't claim to know as much of the subject as Andromeda does, or even say I've tried my hand in therapy. But I've been on this earth for well over a hundred years now, and there has been no time, no situation in which I succeeded without letting others help me."

Harry snorted. "I rather doubt that, sir."

"Help doesn't necessarily mean being there all the time." Albus said softly. "It's not about depending on others or putting your problems on their back. To allow yourself to be helped is just to know that if you falter, if you're overpowered and unable to keep on, that you have people there ready to help. People to comfort you when you get home or pull you back up after you've fallen down. There's no shame in opening up and letting yourself be helped every once in a while."

"I know. I understand. Fully."

But he didn't. His eyes betrayed his words. And though it was clear Harry would have liked to end the conversation right then and there, Albus pushed through.

"Once… I knew a student who was so very much like you, Harry. He was a Slytherin. An orphan… muggle-raised with a mighty strength of character and an unparalleled determination. He was a natural at magic, but ultimately, he gained the hearts of all his teachers with how kind he was in his first few months at Hogwarts. He was the type of boy excited about making new friends. Helping out everyone he could and trying his hardest to be the best version of himself even from a young age."

"You think that's me?" Harry said dryly, a sure comment he hadn't fully formed before it left his mouth.

"I was his teacher," Albus continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "I picked him up at the orphanage, took him to Diagon Alley, and watched as his eyes glistened with marvel at the magic around him. That wasn't my first time I took a child to Diagon Alley, to introduce them to the wonders of the Wizarding World, but it was the most notable one. I grew to care for that boy before the sun set down, and I returned him to the orphanage. When he arrived at Hogwarts a month later, he was just as overjoyed and excited as the day I had met him. He'd stay back after every class, and we'd talk, sometimes, I would even invite him to have a cup of tea with me.

"But it was a different time. With Gellert and his followers becoming more vocal and the war merely a year before it started, views on muggles and muggle-borns were even more bigoted than they are today. And this boy… he didn't come from a magical family. Was seen as even less than a muggle-born. Older students began harassing him, and it was a short time before most of Slytherin house, and plenty of others outside the house joined in as well. I saw how they ostracized him. How he was bullied and called names, humiliated and sometimes, on the bad days, the harassment seemed more like abuse than anything. And if that's what they did in the open, I dare not think about what happened behind closed doors."

"You saw that?" Harry's voice had gone quiet, almost cold. "You saw that and did nothing?"

"I tried. I tried talking to the Headmaster at the time, Armando Dippet, but he wouldn't listen. Said it was simply boys being boys, the natural state of things. And the times when I tried to help, stop the students and reprimand them for it, Armando would simply reverse my punishments and berate me for it. Sometimes, he'd even give them points for their troubles. It was an uphill battle, one I attempted to take to the Board of Governors, but they shut me down faster than Dippet did."

"Why?"

"Like I said… it was different times. And even though those beliefs have died for the most part, they still live on in some people."

"With Augusta Longbottom, you mean?"

Albus put his head down in shame. "Yes. To my displeasure, nothing I have tried to do to protect young Neville from her has worked. Ever since I saw how she treated him as a little boy, I tried to stop it. But she's stubborn and knows I can't do anything to her. Not really. The ministry doesn't consider corporal punishment as anything other than normal, you've seen how Professor Umbridge deals it out without facing any repercussions for it. And when I've tried reprimanding her or changing her attitude, she always threatens with leaving the Order and taking Neville away. I don't feel any joy as I'm forced to stand by and let her treat him however she pleases."

"And this kid?" Harry asked after a short quiet settled between them. "Did you ever found out what the others did to him? Ever managed to stop it?"

"No," the shame Albus felt with that word was indescribable. And even after fifty years, the weight was still there. "When he began his second year, he was already faltering. The nice, outgoing boy had turned shy and reserved. And when he'd come to me for support, I always tried giving it away. Encouraged him. Promised a light at the end of the tunnel for him. But it wasn't even a month after his second-year begun when Gellert employed his coup and took over Germany's Ministry of Magic. Before he began his war for Europe. I couldn't stay at Hogwarts, Gellert was an old friend of mine, you see. I had to stop him. So I left. I offered some words of comfort to the young boy, but then I had no other choice but to leave him behind.

"Over the course of the next six years, I only returned to Hogwarts three times. The first time was at the end of his third-year. He was almost unrecognizable. The proud, young boy was now hunched and scared of his own shadow. His eyes were just as haunted as those I had seen during my time fighting Gellert's men. I tried to talk to him, get him to open up. To let me help him in any way that I could, but he wouldn't. He yelled at me, told me to go away and leave him alone. He rightfully blamed me for leaving him on his own. For days, I tried to get him to speak to me, tried to make Dippet understand, but neither worked. And I left to go back to France. And though I wanted to bring him with me, I knew I couldn't.

"But by the time I returned once again, I wish I had done it. He was finishing his fourth-year, and was a broken shell. Torn in between violent outbursts and crying, he was an emotional mess. Many of the teachers were beginning to get concerned by that point, but Dippet was headstrong. He refused to believe anything other than more detentions would make him get in line. And this time, when I tried to talk to him, he launched curses at me. He wouldn't say a word to me. But the look of pure hatred, a terrifying rage… I had only seen it once before in my life. I knew that day that if I didn't do something, that it was done. That nothing could be done after that. I knew it in my heart, even if I didn't want to accept it back then. But with Grindelwald reaching the height of his power, I couldn't stay. I had so many people depending on me, and so I left." Dumbledore sighed, turning to look at Harry. "I assume, now, that you know who I'm talking about."

"Yes." Harry said, his face blank. "He's Voldemort."

"No," Albus gave Harry a sad smile. "He was Voldemort's first victim."

"And the third time?" He asked. "The third time you returned to Hogwarts."

"Tom was gone. The young man who greeted me… I had never seen eyes so cold and dead in a living person before. There was no reaction from him, no big fight. He glanced at me, and glanced away as if I were another suit of amour in the wall. And I saw him return to his new friends, the ones who used to abuse him when he was still the young boy I cared about."

"He became friends with them?" Harry looked horrified at the notion. "How? Why?"

"You're missing the point here, Harry. This world we live in… it's a cruel one. One where someone can't make it on their own. Tom… he had no one to be there for him. No friends or family. No one to help him when the world turned against him. And it broke him… it allowed Voldemort to take over when he was at his weakest."

"Because you left him."

"Yes. Because I left him. Because I focused on the war and everything that came with it, rather than the student that I was supposed to take care of. Was that the right decision? Would anything have changed if I had stayed… I don't know. All I know is that my focus on Gellert brought about the man we now know as Voldemort. And now, I don't want history to repeat itself. It's not too late. Not yet. But this only works if you let me help. If you let us help-"

"History has already repeated itself, sir." Harry interrupted him brusquely. "There's no changing that."

A tear fell down his eye and Albus looked down. "No, there's not. I made the same mistake I did fifty years ago… but that doesn't mean you have to make the same mistake Tom made as well."

Parkinson Palace

January 27th, 1996

11:15 a.m.

In his youth, Kieran never had a proper relationship with his grandfather. He had always been a rather private man. One who kept to his work in the Department of Mysteries so much, they couldn't visit him for a Sunday dinner more than once a month. And that was on the lucky months. But in the few times he'd seen him, he was never a man prone to showing any signs of pressure or stress. Regardless of the fact that being an Unspeakable is said to be one of the most arduous jobs a witch or wizard could pursue, it never seemed to govern his attitude.

Bedivere Parkinson had forever been the perfect image of calm and collected, unperturbed from things that would make most men tremble. So, the fact that the distress towards the entire situation in which they were in was clear on his face was disquieting. He wasn't crying or yelling, Kieran doubted anyone outside the Parkinson family would even notice it. But it was as clear to him as anything had been. He was quiet, and the distant look in his eye as he stared at the letters in his hand was something he'd never seen before in his grandfather's eyes.

"I managed to comb through Lancaster, Morecambe, and Carnforth and its surroundings throughout the week," Kieran told his grandfather, gaining his attention. Standing up, he walked over to the topographical map of Britain and, with a wave of his wand, it expanded as it focused on the county town of Lancashire. "We've managed to cover Shropshire, Stafford, Derby, and Cheshire over the past two months. If Lancashire doesn't pan out, then we've only got Yorkshire left. But even then, that's larger than all the other counties we've covered at the moment. This would be so much easier if we only searched through the magical villages."

"Before he was Lord Voldemort, he was Tom Riddle." His grandfather said calmly. "A muggle surname, one rather common throughout all of Great Britain. Even with the hatred for his muggle heritage, the Dark Lord is cunning, smart. We can't disregard the possibility that he might have left one of his Horcruxes in the muggle world."

"But wouldn't it be smarter to search through the magical villages first?"

"You're seeking the easy way out, Kieran," there was no hint of disappointment or anger in his voice, but there was something about it that made him feel berated. "We have to be thorough. More importantly, we have to be subtle. Just because the Dark Lord hid his Horcruxes doesn't mean he can't take them back."

"Yes, grandfather."

"Continue searching through Lancashire, shouldn't take you more than two or three weeks."

"I feel like I should be helping the others," Kieran confessed. "Helping you. Do you think the Dark Lord is suspicious of you? Is that why he keeps asking you to go to Azkaban?"

"No, we're merely working on the dementor treatment with Severus. Yaxley's plan, however lacklustre in its execution and costly for us, fulfilled one of its main goals. With how unhinged and so obviously demented the other inmates in his floor were, it wasn't that out there to think he would turn bestial and find a way to escape. And even if unfortunate, Carrow's body washing up to the island, as the other inmate he killed, was enough proof to him that he wasn't being helped out. It seemed too sloppy and spontaneous for any Death Eater in his inner circle, and yet, an incompetent attempt would have not gone their way."

"We should have buried her." Kieran said. He could still remember the pale corpse his grandfather had brought the other day. And while he had barely spent any time with Carrow, she was a part of their team. It was the least they should have done for her, given her a proper burial.

"Her body was of more used to us in Azkaban than in the ground," his grandfather said idly. "My only concern lays in the Dark Lord's decision to keep the corpse in stasis."

"Surely, not out of sentimental value?"

"No. As I said, the Dark Lord is cunning. He knows how to motivate his followers. Knows how to use every resource he has to his advantage, however worthless it may seem. If he does what I think he'll do and shows the corpse to her brother, there won't be any fortress in this world he won't be able to penetrate. No safe haven from his wrath." His grandfather sighed, standing from his chair as he walked across the room towards him. "But that's a problem for another time. Our path is one that will generate strife, one we won't be able to maintain hidden forever. The Dark Lord is far from naive. In the end, Amycus Carrow will not be the only Death Eater we will have to deal with."

"What about Rookwood?" Kieran asked. "What do you think he's going to be like once we find him."

"Every bit as demented as the others who were held in the upmost floor of the prison. I doubt we'll be able to get anything out of him until he undergoes the full treatment of the potion we're working on."

"But after? Do you think he'll join us?"

"We won't know until we know," his grandfather said vaguely. "He won't be happy with me, with the Department of Mysteries as a whole. Being framed and sent to Azkaban is not something people are willing to forgive quite so easily. But if he's agreeable enough and decides to join our cause, then he will be a worthy ally. More than being an Unspeakable, he's managed to evade Yaxley even in his deranged state. And according to Mister Flint, not even the Aurors have gotten any idea they have an Azkaban escapee running around Britain. Surely, some part of his subconscious mind is using his intellect and experience to survive without being found, though it's hard to say if

"And if he's not? Agreeable, I mean. If he doesn't want to join our fight?"

"He's too dangerous to be kept unchecked. We'd have to keep a close eye on him. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid or worse, have other Death Eaters pick up his trail and bring him back to the Dark Lord. He's too valuable to be left alone."

Too valuable to be left alone.

It was all about that, wasn't it? That was what had him on edge this past month. It wasn't Potter's disappearance and sudden reappearance only a week ago, or the fact that their hunt for the Horcruxes was delayed by the Azkaban siege and with much fewer people working on it. There was a reason why he had almost all the efforts of their group on finding Rookwood.

"Grandfather… what are you so afraid of the Dark Lord finding?" Kieran asked, avoiding looking at his grandfather altogether. "What could possibly be held inside the Department of Mysteries that has you this on edge?"

"You should make your way down to Blackpool in the next few days," his grandfather said curtly. "We don't have time to spare."

Grimmauld Place

January 28th, 1996

3:40 a.m.

Staying awake this late was not something Harry was rather fond of, but given Moody's increased paranoia since earlier this week, he had no other choice. Of course, he knew why. Moody had told him about his visit to Sirius' manor, and though it was clear it had made him a bit suspicious about his intentions, he had also fortified Grimmauld more to detect if there was an intruder in the house.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that Moody would use his eye to see through walls and spy on him. Or that he would be warned if he tried to use the floo or the door, or if he walked just a bit too fast down the stairs. But that would have to be a problem for another day. Right now, he had to be quick and had to do this unnoticed. This was, in most likelihood, the most dangerous part of his plan, after all.

So, when the hands of his watch told him that it was twenty before four, Harry threw up the sheet and jumped out of bed and headed for the drawers on his desk.

"Wait, is it time?" Regulus asked from beneath the bed. "Are we leaving now?"

"Shut up," Harry hissed, grabbing the rolled-up cotton fabric as well as the Spellotape.

"Look, I know you're angry-

"Angry?" Harry sniped. "Oh, no. We are well past that."

"Regardless, we had a deal. You said you would help me. If you're truly pissed at me, then this should be something you want to do."

"It is. And I will honour our agreement. But we're not leaving yet. Not yet."

"What do you mean not yet? You're grabbing the portrait, aren't you?"

"I changed the plan."

"What do you mean you changed the-"

Regulus' voice faded as he shut the door behind him. He didn't want to talk to Regulus, not after what Dumbledore had told him. More than saying something he'd regret, he hated the thought of talking to a piece of shit like him. But the bastard had kept his end of the bargain, and what he had told him was something Bedivere would surely want to know. More than that, the bastard had been the only decent bloody person on his side while he was left to rot in the basement. That wasn't something he would so easily forget.

Regulus would get his reckoning soon enough, but he wasn't the Black he was concerned about at the moment.

Harry crept down the stairs, making sure he barely made a sound as he did so. All the lights were off, and he could hear the snoring in the hall. In a house filled with people, that was as good a sign that everyone was asleep. Besides, he'd been putting this off for quite a while. He didn't have any more time to spare.

When he made it downstairs, and made sure he was alone, Harry stepped into the kitchen and pulled out a carving knife from the wooden knife block. He didn't know if it would get the job done, but he figured it would at least give him some leverage. Knife in hand, he stepped out of the kitchen and walked along the entrance hall before he reached it. Only a few feet from the door and the freedom behind it, it stood. The black, pristine portrait in front of him, large and proud, he could still see the edges from which the canvas was haphazardly cut out.

It took him no time before he got to work on it. He'd tried it with various of the portraits around the house, thankful that something as easily accessible as Spellotape did the job now that he didn't have his wand. It was harder on a portrait that was stuck to the wall, one that was taller than him and forced him to stretch himself to the ceiling in the most uncomfortable positions. But after five minutes of struggling, he finally got it. He didn't even bother removing the tape, she wouldn't be able to stay there for long. But he couldn't tell her that just now.

Not even a minute passed before her eyes fluttered open, and as she looked at her surroundings, confused, Harry pressed his advantage and held the knife up to her face. "You scream, you even think of going above using anything other than your inside voice or a quiet whisper, and I will cut you open and throw you back in the basement again."

Walburga Black didn't seem pleased to be bossed around. She sneered down at him, but kept her mouth shut. That was all he could ask her.

"Good. I have a proposal for you. One I think you might like."

"A proposal?" She hissed with clear contempt. "What could ever interest me of the half-breed son of a blood traitor and a Mudblood."

Harry swallowed his pride, swallowed the need to defend his parents. He could burn her portrait later if he so pleased. "The chance to do the one thing you crave the most." He said, and she raised an eyebrow at the comment. "How would you like the chance to fuck up your blood traitor son? For good this time."

She stopped, the hostility dropping completely from her face as she looked down at him with a cold, but far more welcoming look.

"Go on." She said, and Harry smiled.

I'd say all of that… what happened with his parents, his brother, his friends… and then to spend more than a decade surrounded by dementors every second of the day… that's enough punishment, even for a man like him. Don't you think?"

No. Not even close. Not yet.

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

Next chapter will be the finale to The Devil's Greatest Trick arc, as well as a culmination of the past four arcs. Be excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm ELEVEN chapters ahead, and I have started the arc titled Lost Souls, which is one of the final arcs before we reach the climax of fifth-year! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)