The Diadem
Severus looked as though he had aged a decade in a matter of only two weeks, the toll taken on him from the failed ritual of the Dark Lord evident for all to see. Physically, he had recovered in only a few days, for the most part, but mentally, it was not lost on Albus the man was struggling.
Often, he would suddenly lose focus whilst they were conversing and even slur his words from time to time.
The headmaster was deeply concerned, despite Severus's insistence he was well enough to continue on with the task given to him by the Dark Lord.
Much to Albus's relief, he had allowed Harry to fill in for him with his teaching duties. Not that Severus was in any condition to fulfil his obligations as a professor.
It saddened the older man to see Severus in such a state.
"Are you still having lapses in your motor skills?" Poppy asked.
Severus frowned as he nodded.
"My hands," he muttered. "Sometimes they don't respond."
Poppy hummed as she made a note before inspecting the extremities.
"I expect it is to do with the neurological trauma," she murmured. "I still think it would be best to see a Mind Healer, not that you will listen."
"There is n-nothing they can do for me that I can't d-do for myself."
Albus shook his head as Poppy looked imploringly towards him.
Severus was a proud man, a little too proud for his own good. Albus had implored him to seek professional help, but he would not.
"It is g-getting better," Severus assured them.
Albus offered him an encouraging smile.
"How long until the Dark Lord proceeds?"
"Soon," Severus answered. "I may be able to delay him a week at best."
"That is too soon," Albus sighed. "Perhaps Harry will have a suggestion."
"He is coming?"
"Once he has finished his lesson with the sixth years. I expect he will arrive in a few moments."
Severus nodded as he looked towards the clock.
He had refused to see anyone thus far, too proud to allow anyone to visit him in his current condition. When he was brewing the potions the Dark Lord required of him, he spent much of his time in the Hospital Wing where Poppy could observe him closely.
Albus shook his head at the memory of the night Severus had returned, confused, barely able to string a sentence together, and horrifically traumatised by what had occurred.
The mind was a powerful tool indeed, but it had its limitations, and Severus had undoubtedly pushed far beyond his own. As perhaps the most competent practitioner in the Mind Arts Albus knew, it was harrowing to ponder what he had gone through in Tom's pursuit to restore his Death Eaters.
Not as concerning as what he intended to attempt next, however.
"Ah, Harry, it is good to see you," Albus greeted the teen as he entered the Hospital Wing. "How is your teaching going?"
Harry shook his head.
"It's a lot of work," he snorted.
"But rewarding," Albus replied. "You'd be hard-pressed to find anything as satisfying as teaching."
Harry hummed as he shifted his attention to Severus.
"Bloody hell, Snape, you look like shit," he commented.
"As perceptive as ever, Potter," Severus drawled. "Tell me, how far behind have the students fallen since you have taken over?"
"Who knows?" Harry replied with a shrug. "Let's not pretend you'd be satisfied even if they all got an Outstanding on their exams at the end of the year. You'd find something to be miserable about."
Severus glared at the grinning Harry and Albus decided to intervene before any more barbs could be traded.
"Perhaps we should turn our attention to why we are here," he suggested. "Severus?"
The man's lip curled as he looked towards Harry.
"The Dark Lord has been focusing on finding a way to restore the memories of the Death Eaters he liberated from Azkaban. As you can tell from my current condition, he has thus far been unsuccessful."
"And that won't change," Harry said confidently. "He won't be able to piece the memories back together enough. I left them in tatters."
"Even he understands that now," Severus explained. "He does, however, have another plan. I am not privy to it in its entirety, but I can only assume the consequences of it will be most unpleasant. You may have destroyed their minds and their bodies partially, but their magic remains intact."
Harry frowned as he pondered the implications.
"What can he do with them?" he murmured, more to himself than either Albus or Severus.
"I am unsure," Severus answered, "but with the Dark Lord, anything is possible."
Harry nodded darkly as he dragged a hand through his hair.
"I don't suppose there's anything we can do to stop him, is there?"
"I was hoping you would have an idea to offer a distraction," Albus replied.
Harry shook his head.
"It doesn't matter what we do. It would only be temporary," he pointed out. "I should have just killed them when I had the chance."
Severus nodded.
"Whatever his intentions are, I expect the outcome will be most unpleasant," Albus sighed. "We should be prepared. And Severus, the moment you know…"
"You will know," Severus assured them. "The potions he is having me brew give no indication of what he's planning. I can only deduce that it will be taxing on him and likely the Death Eaters. Four pints of Strengthening Solution is quite excessive."
Albus hummed unhappily.
He too was at a loss as to what Tom was hoping to achieve from his efforts, though having already failed something that was experimental and risky, the headmaster strongly suspected this too would be of the same vain, though likely to be more dangerous.
It did not sit well with Albus, and neither Severus nor Harry seemed to be any more comfortable with the approaching unknown as him.
"Whatever he does, we will handle," Harry murmured, "but I don't think we can ignore what Malfoy is doing any longer. He's already been discovered, thankfully by someone who came to me instead of confronting him. It's only a matter of time before he does something stupid, or someone else finds out what he is up to."
"What do you suggest, Harry?" Albus asked curiously.
"I already know what to do," Harry replied and the headmaster could not help but notice it did not rest easy with him.
Nothing could when it came to Tom Riddle, and yet, as Harry explained what Draco's plan was and what he intended to do, Albus could understand his reticence.
Nonetheless, it was not an opportunity that could be passed up, despite the inherent risk involved in such an approach.
He had considered telling the young man about the cave on the coast he had discovered having located one of the women who'd worked at the orphanage as a young girl.
The poor muggle children Tom had all but tortured in there…
For now, it could wait, though not for too long.
Dealing with Draco's plan to see Death Eaters and perhaps even the Dark Lord within the castle was the most pressing of matters.
(Break)
The Dark Lord observed his work closely, scrutinising every detail as he ignored the pungent aroma of blood, burnt flesh, and potion fumes that permeated the air around him.
His study resembled a medical facility, and the work he was carrying out required the precision of a surgeon, and a strong stomach to boot. It helped that the unresponsive Death Eaters did not react to the pain he was inflicting upon them.
The screams would quickly grow tiresome, and with so much work yet to be completed, it would be many hours of it he'd need to endure.
"One down," he murmured to himself as he conjured a pair of metallic hands and attached them to the stumps of Rodolphus Lestrange.
The man had once been rather handsome, but the years in Azkaban had robbed him of his looks, and the months following his liberation even more so. Now, he was barely recognisable.
Rodolphus was completely hairless, his blackened and his skin pale. Were it not for the steady movement of his chest from breathing, it would seem that he was dead.
The dozens of runes that had been painstakingly carved and burned into his flesh gave him the appearance of something that had been upon a butcher's block.
He certainly smelled like death, so much so that even the Dark Lord's stomach turned at the scent wafting off him.
Lord Voldemort levitated Lestrange and returned him to his bed before shifting his attention to the next in a long line of subjects. Rookwood would be next to spend many hours in the same chair as Rodolphus.
It would be a most unpleasant experience, though one that would prove to be worth it should his efforts bear the fruit of his labour.
With a deep breath, the Dark Lord set to work on his second Death Eater out of the thirteen he'd chosen from those he'd liberated, the number being of exceptional magical power.
(Break)
He leaned over the sink as he splashed the cold water on his face before turning off the tap and staring at his reflection. Theo looked tired, the bags under his eyes growing only darker with each passing day.
The stress was almost overwhelming him now.
He'd written to Isabella more than a week ago and had yet to receive a reply from his older sister. Had something happened to her?
Theo couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. Isabella never ignored a missive from him. Maybe he should ask Potter if he could check on her.
He shook his head at the thought.
The boy had agreed to help him with escaping his father and the Dark Lord. He would be unlikely to go out of his way for anything more.
Theo released a deep breath and splashed more water on his face, gasping as he looked up to find a pair of bright red eyes peering at him in the mirror.
Turning slowly, he froze at the sight of the black, smoky creature that had appeared as silently as a ghost, holding a piece of parchment in its mouth. Taking a moment to compose himself when he realised it meant him no harm, he took the missive with a trembling and watched as the thestral vanished.
An omen of death was not what he needed to see in this moment, but as he unrolled the parchment he choked back a sob of relief.
Nott,
The tapestry of the warlocks playing gobstones on the sixth floor is the entrance to a passageway that will lead you to an unused Astronomy table outside of the grounds. Go to it tonight, alone. There is a portkey disguised as a brass telescope.
It will be useable three nights from now.
When you have led them here, activate it at your earliest convenience. I will be unable to save you from what will happen.
Your mother and sister will be waiting for you.
H
Theo didn't know whether to laugh or cry and the sob that escaped him was a mixture of both. Of course, he'd had his doubts, but finally, Potter had proven to be a man of his word.
How he would ensure Isabella and his mother were waiting, he didn't know, but he needed to trust Harry Potter. It was the only choice he had after all if he wished to survive what was coming.
Without further preamble, he left the bathroom on the fifth floor and climbed the nearby staircase, pausing as he came to the tapestry Potter had mentioned in his note.
Consulting the parchment, he stepped behind the canvas and tapped the bricks in the pattern the boy had sketched.
Although it seemed too good to be true, an opening formed in the stone and Theo lit the end of his wand as he stepped into the passageway. It was narrow but not uncomfortably so and it took him around twenty minutes of walking before he reached a ladder.
Cautiously, he climbed and tapped the stone roof with his wand, matching the second pattern Potter had provided.
Fresh air washed over him as it slid open and Theo climbed out, laughing from the relief he felt. Suddenly, he was lighter than he'd been in months knowing he had his way out of this war without having to face the wrath of either Potter or the Dark Lord.
Revelling in the feeling of freedom for several moments, he sobered as he spotted the telescope. Pocketing it as the lifeline it was, he checked his surroundings, noting the direction the castle was in before he began the return journey.
In only a few nights, his ordeal would be over with, so long as nothing went awry with Potter's plan.
(Break)
It was the pleasant smell of cooking that greeted Harry as he arrived at his home, coupled with the sound of music emanating from the kitchen. He'd never been allowed to enjoy music as a child, other than when Petunia listened to the radio on the rare occasion she could find nothing to watch on the television.
Even after entering the wizarding world, it was not something he did regularly. If The Weird Sisters and Celestina Warbeck were anything to go boy, he never felt as though he was missing out.
What he was hearing now, however, gave him pause the more he listened. It was something of a mournful piece that somehow warmed his chest; an odd experience, to say the least.
With a frown of curiosity, he approached, taken aback by the sight of Isabella pulling a bow across a violin, her eyes closed as she lost herself in her own playing.
Harry said nothing and contemplated leaving, feeling as though he was intruding on a private moment. Before he could, however, she stopped playing and was startled as she opened her eyes and caught sight of him.
Blushing, she put the violin on the table.
"Sorry, I didn't think you'd be here yet."
"How did you know I was coming?" Harry asked.
"It's Wednesday. You've come every Wednesday since I've been here. You usually come later."
"I should be less predictable," Harry chuckled.
"Your life is unpredictable enough," Isabella pointed out. "I think a little predictability is good for you. Dinner won't be ready for another twenty minutes yet. Since you're here, you can help set the table."
"You're making me dinner? Where did you learn to cook?"
Isabella nodded as she used a wooden spoon to stir something in one of the pots on the stove.
"My mother taught me," she answered. "Theo has been taught politics, and I've been shown how to run a household. Cooking is a part of that."
"And there was me thinking all purebloods had House Elves."
Isabella rolled her eyes at him.
"Not all of us, and I may be married off to a man that doesn't," she explained. "Besides, I like cooking," she added quietly. "I suppose you think that all we do is sit around in our big houses and go to social functions."
"I have no idea," Harry admitted. "I'm not a pureblood and was raised by muggles."
"Muggles?"
"My Aunt and Uncle."
"Well, you living in a castle and fighting dragons was hard to believe."
"Living in a castle?"
Isabella grinned at him.
"There's always been a lot of speculation about what happened to you after, well, you know."
Harry chuckled amusedly.
"I didn't even know I was a wizard until my Hogwarts letter came," he explained. "My life certainly wasn't anything to boast about. I didn't grow up in a big house or go to social events. My Aunt and Uncle preferred to pretend I didn't exist unless they decided there was something that needed to be done around the house that they couldn't be bothered to do."
Isabella frowned as she began plating food.
"So, there was no castle?"
Harry snorted.
"My bedroom was a cupboard underneath the stairs until I was eleven."
"A cupboard?"
Harry nodded.
"They hated magic and thought that they could squash it out of me."
Isabella scowled as she muttered under her breath.
"You had no idea who you were?"
"Not a clue until I visited Diagon Alley and everyone was staring."
"I bet that was a surprise," Isabella chuckled, placing a plate of stew in front of him before taking a seat.
"It was,' Harry murmured.
They fell silent for some time whilst they ate, and Harry lost himself in thought of the life he'd lived before he'd gone to Hogwarts. He'd all but forgotten about Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley, and his miserable experience of living on Privet Drive.
"You play well," he commented, not wanting to think about his childhood.
"My great aunt got me the violin when I was three," Isabella explained. "She came round a few times a week to teach me until I went to Durmstrang."
"And there was me thinking that all you purebloods did was plot how to make everyone else's lives miserable."
Isabella tutted.
"You really don't know anything about purebloods, do you?"
"No," Harry admitted. "The first one I met was a Weasley, and the second, a Malfoy."
"One extreme to the other," Isabella sighed. "The Weasleys are known to be very sympathetic towards muggles and muggle-borns, and the Malfoys…"
"For hating them."
"Exactly," Isabella confirmed. "Most of us are indifferent. We have our own things to think about other than blood status. Being a pureblood has its problems."
"Arranged marriages."
"There is that and then there's status amongst us, our reputations, and Legacy. You only have to worry about one of those things"
Harry grimaced.
"I'm not a pureblood," Harry reminded her.
"You're as good as one as far as most families are concerned. You'll have offers of marriage coming out of your ears when you turn seventeen."
Harry snorted derisively.
"I won't be accepting any. My parents married because they loved each other. I won't marry anyone for political reasons."
"That won't stop many Lords from approaching you," Isabella pointed out.
Her grey-blue eyes were alight with amusement and Harry shook his head.
"Haven't you had any offers?"
Her nostrils flared and the amusement faded immediately.
"A few," Isabella confirmed. "But that will change soon enough and then I won't get anymore."
"Why not?"
She deflated and offered him an unreadable expression.
"Well, when my father dies, Theo will become the Lord of our family. Both sides of the war will know what happened, won't they? It won't be so difficult to work out when Theo goes into hiding."
"The supporters of the Dark Lord won't want to be associated with you, and neither will the other families."
"Our reputation will be lost with both," Isabella concurred. "No one will want anything to do with us. I'll end up being like my great aunt."
She spoke of the woman with fondness.
"Your great aunt?" Harry pressed.
"Rosalina," Isabella said with a smile. "She never married by choice. Her brother was fine with it, and my father wouldn't have dared try when he took the Lordship."
"That doesn't mean you'll never get married if that is what you want."
"One day I'd like to," Isabella whispered. "It might sound simple to you but all I want is to be a Healer for a while and then have a family."
Harry chuckled and Isabella frowned at him.
"I'd rather not be mocked," she grumbled.
"I'm not mocking you," Harry assured her. "My grandmother was a Healer, and then left when my father was born. When the war is done, if I live, there's not much I want."
Isabella leaned back in her chair and eyed him speculatively.
"And what is it you want?"
Harry smiled whimsically as he pondered the question.
"I'd like to maybe play Quidditch for a while and then live here in peace," he answered.
Isabella laughed.
"When the war is over, Harry, you'll be lucky to be given a minute of peace. When you defeat him, they'll never leave you alone. They'll want you to be Minister or take over from Dumbledore when he retires."
"I don't want either of those things," Harry sighed. "If I had my way, I'd be forgotten about."
"We both know that won't happen," Isabella pointed out. "What about a family?"
Harry smiled again.
"I've never had a family," he murmured. "I'd like children. Lots of them. I'm the last Potter and I don't want the family to end with me. That might happen though, mightn't it? I mean, there's no promises, even if I wish it could be different."
He felt his mood drop suddenly at the realisation. He'd known it, of course, but speaking his desires aloud and acknowledging the likelihood was something he hadn't done.
"Well, that conversation took a turn for the worst," Isabella muttered before reaching across the table and taking his hand. "For what it is worth, I think you're going to win. I can see it now. In ten years' time, there will be a pack Potter children causing mayhem in wizarding Britain."
Harry laughed at the thought, and there was a part of him that wanted to grasp hold of that image and cling to it with everything he had.
"Maybe," he snorted. "I'll have to find someone who can put up with all the baggage being married to me will bring."
"Like I said, you'll have options," Isabella reminded him. "There's not a Lord in the country that won't have considered you as an option."
"I bet there's many who haven't."
Isabella shook her head.
"When you win the war, there will be families from both side who will approach you. Those that supported the Dark Lord will be looking to redeem their reputations, and the others will think they have a chance just because there won't be any doubt to whom their allegiance was to. Mark my words, Harry, you won't be short of options."
Harry grimaced once more.
"So, they will want me because I'm famous."
Isabella nodded.
"You shouldn't complain. At least you can pick a woman who is magically powerful and beautiful."
Harry shook his head.
"I'd rather marry someone I care about. I've seen Narcissa Malfoy. She's a miserable cow. I wouldn't want to be with someone just because they're beautiful. I want to be with someone who wants to be with me, even if I wasn't famous and wealthy."
"That won't be easy," Isabella offered sympathetically. "You are wealthy and famous."
"Not in the muggle world," Harry pointed out. "I could marry a muggle."
"You could," Isabella agreed, "but how would you explain your life to them? I'm not saying you should, and I know it will sound typically pureblood, but it will be much less complicated to marry one of our own kind. Besides, you could always marry a foreign witch. What about the French veela girl you spend time with?"
"Gabrielle?"
Isabella nodded.
"We are just friends," Harry explained. "She's nice and uncomplicated, but that would change if we got married. Her family is well known in France, and so am I. It wouldn't be any different than marrying a pureblood here. If anything, it would be worse."
"So, you're not a complete novice when it comes to politics," Isabella said amusedly. "Anyway, it is not something you have to worry about for the time being. You have a few months until you turn seventeen, and the war isn't over."
Harry nodded.
"Which reminds me," he sighed. "You'll be reunited with your mother and brother in a couple of days."
Isabella's eyes widened.
"Really?" she asked worriedly.
"Theo has done what he needs to, and I have given him a way to escape. Do you have any idea how I can get to your mother?"
Isabella bit her lip.
"I can write to her," she said thoughtfully. "I can ask her to meet me somewhere. My father won't be suspicious. I always write to her and he thinks I'm still at Durmstrang."
Harry nodded as he stood.
"If you think that will work then do it," he urged. "There's only so much I can do."
Reaching into his pocket, he removed the portkey he'd made in anticipation of what was to come and placed it on the table.
"It will take you to a house that only I know the location of. It isn't in England and as I did when I brought you here, I urge you not to leave for any reason. I will do my best to keep you updated with anything."
Isabella nodded her understanding as she too stood.
"Will I see you again?"
Harry shook his head.
"Not unless it is necessary," he replied. "It's best that no one knows of our association, just in case the war doesn't go to plan. They'll come for you if they learn of it."
Isabella nodded once more before rounding the table and wrapping her arms around him tightly.
"Thank you, Harry," she whispered sincerely. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"You're welcome," he returned with a smile. "You'll be fine, so long as no one discovers the plan. I can't see Theo saying anything, so no matter what happens, You, your brother, and mother will be out of here before you know it. The house has everything you need, oh, and then there's this," he added as he placed a key into her hand.
"What's this?"
"I opened an account in the local Gringotts branch under a pseudonym. Don't worry, I paid the goblins more than enough for their silence, and there's plenty of gold in the vault for you to start again when you can."
"I can't accept this," Isabella denied as she attempted to hand the key back.
Harry shook his head and closed her fingers around it.
"I can always take it back if I win," he pointed out. "Your brother will be clear to take over your family then, so he'll be able to access your vault. If I don't win… well, I won't be needing gold if I'm dead."
"Don't say that!" Isabella choked.
"There's no point hiding from the possibility," Harry sighed. "Come on, you're going to be alright."
"And what about you?"
Harry shrugged.
"That all depends on Fate, doesn't it?"
(Break)
Severus did not consider himself to be a man of a weak disposition, however, as he took in the sight of the several Death Eaters that had been all but butchered in the same of serving the Dark Lord once more, even he felt his resolve waver.
"It is quite incredible, is it not?"
"I would never d-disagree with your assessment, M-my Lord, even if I am unsure what it is I am s-seeing."
The Dark Lord chuckled.
"I have devised a way that they can be of use to me," he explained. "As you can see, they have undergone some changes and will become a powerful asset once the ritual has been conducted. You have the potions."
Severus nodded as he patted the satchel slung over his shoulder.
"Everything you asked for, My Lord."
"Excellent," Voldemort praised. "Then there is no need to delay any longer. They will prove most to be most useful when…"
The Dark Lord was cut off by the door to what had once been a simple study was slammed open, and an unusually excited and relieved Lucius entered the room.
"My Lord, Draco has found a way in!" he announced. "There is an Astronomy table a short distance away from the castle. It leads directly to the sixth floor."
The Dark Lord's eyes widened before he nodded satisfactorily.
"Good, Severus, you may go," he instructed. "Leave the potions."
Severus did so without hesitation, pleased to be out of the man's company and returning back to the castle where he was safe from him.
For the time being at least.
If the Dark Lord was to discover…
He shook his head before apparating away.
No, he would not discover it, and even if he did, it would be too late.
(Break)
"And what of the room on the seventh floor?"
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Lucius replied.
"My Lord, Draco has been unable to access it. He has tried a number of times with no success. I admit, the boy can be a fool, but he has followed your instructions perfectly."
"Then our plan must be two-fold," the Dark Lord murmured. "I will arrive at Hogwarts personally to visit the room, and the others are to follow thirty minutes later. They will lure out Potter and Dumbledore."
"My Lord, is that wise? We will be going into a place we cannot control. I have another suggestion."
"Then I would hear it, Lucius," Voldemort said dangerously.
"I think it would be best to lure Potter and Dumbledore out of the castle. Even if both die, we cannot assume control over the protections. We cannot even be sure what those protections are. I implore you to reconsider, My Lord. Entering Hogwarts…I just can't help but think so many things could go wrong."
Again, silence reigned for several moments this time.
"Perhaps you are right, Lucius," the Dark Lord conceded. "I shall consider other options. Maybe it will be the perfect opportunity to put our friends to the test."
"You are ready, My Lord?" Lucius asked uneasily.
"All is in place, old friend," Voldemort assured him. "Now, leave me. There is much to be done."
As Harry heard a more audible disturbance, he closed the connection between his mirror and the one in the bag Snape had delivered to Voldemort disguised as a potion vial.
"Fuck!" he cursed as he paced back and forth.
If Voldemort listened to Lucius, all of his planning would be for nothing. He'd banked on the Death Eaters using the passageway he'd provided, and now that seemed unlikely; he would be blind to what would be happening.
He paused as a deep frown marred his features.
The room on the seventh floor…
Not all was lost, after all, and Harry could not believe he had been so dense. How Tom had discovered the room, he didn't know, but it would an excellent hiding place, so much so that even if someone knew of the room, it didn't mean they would be able to find the Horcrux.
"Shit," Harry cursed again.
Knowing where it was meant nothing if he could not access the very room it had been hidden in.
Could he simply ask the room for it?
Not knowing what he would do if that was not the case, he took his leave of Gryffindor Tower and consulted his map.
Dumbledore was helpfully already in his office, and he would need to speak with the man imminently, but not before visiting what had been his sanctuary for several years now.
He chastised himself on the way for not having considered that Tom could have found it. If anyone who had passed through these halls had, it would be Tom Riddle.
(Break)
He inspected his work closely, ensuring that every detail had been accounted for before he took his place in the very centre of the room and drew his wand. With a single gesture, he emptied the thirteen vials of his own blood that he'd gathered over the past days into the runic array and then added a vial from each of his Death Eaters.
The Dark Lord allowed them to mix and mingle for a moment and released a deep.
Speaking slowly and deliberately, he murmured words similar to those he uttered when creating his Horcruxes, though adjusted to account for the lack of soul involved in the ritual.
No, he would not risk anything happening to his precious soul, but he had no qualms about tying anything to his blood, especially when it would serve him so well.
Nonetheless, he was unable to escape the sense of trepidation that washed over him as the magic built and the various, carefully selected ingredients began to dissolve into the blood that was now bubbling gently within the illuminated rules.
The magic itself was oppressive, heady, and had felt as sinister in nature as anything else he'd ever attempted.
That was a good sign.
It meant that it was working, even if it did go against all that was considered decent.
The Dark Lord, however, paid it no heed. He'd never been beholden to the laws and nature of magic. It was within his own beliefs that such things were to be pushed, and he had done so many times now, with each exertion proving to yield the most extraordinary of results.
This would be no different, and as the power of the ritual peaked, he winced in pain, his jaw clenching tightly as the blood flowed back into him through the wounds he had yet to heal.
It burned almost as badly as anything else he'd ever endured, but the Dark Lord knew it would be worth the agony.
With that in mind, he bared it until he felt as though he would lose consciousness, and a tired smile crested his lips as he collapsed to the floor, the magic taking hold as he'd planned.
(Break)
"You found it," Dumbledore whispered as he eyed the diadem Harry had presented to him. "Where?"
Harry shook his head tiredly.
"Somewhere that only he would have been able to get to it," he answered dismissively, not wanting to give away the location of the room.
Finding it had been no easy task. The room had obliged in transforming into the room that Tom had hidden it in, but that was where the task of locating the diadem had begun.
Mountains of disposed items had been in there, collected over centuries by the castle, lost items from shoes to books, from furniture to some rather disturbing objects.
Harry would invest some time in investigating the room further when he had it to spare.
For now, however, he did not.
"The important thing is that we have it," Dumbledore continued.
"No," Harry denied. "The important thing is that our plan is out of the window. He is not just sending Death Eaters in the hope of cornering both or one of us. He is coming himself to retrieve that. He told Draco where it was, but he couldn't get to it."
"So, he believes he must retrieve it," Dumbledore murmured worriedly. "That is concerning."
Harry nodded.
"I think it is best that he doesn't enter the castle at all," he sighed.
"I must say, I am in agreement."
"Then what do we do? He is planning something of a distraction away from here."
Dumbledore hummed as he peered into the fireplace.
"He will hope that we will leave the castle and fall for the distraction," he mused aloud. "I think we should oblige."
"And leave the school vulnerable?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"No, the school will not be vulnerable so long as I remain within it. There are many of the most useful protections in place, Harry. Rest assured; the advantage will be mine."
"You want to face him?"
"Are you ready to?"
Harry frowned at the question.
In truth, he was still adjusting to the acquisition of the wand and had not practised with it as much as he'd wished to before facing him once more.
"Probably not to kill him," he admitted. "I think I can hold my own against him."
"As can I, and I am much less valuable than you in this war, Harry," Dumbledore returned matter-of-factly. "I will handle Tom. I would see you assist the Order and the Aurors in dealing with the distraction, whatever it may be. Severus is deeply concerned by it."
Harry nodded his understanding, though he felt uneasy leaving Dumbledore to face Tom.
"Fear not, I am not foolish enough to confront him in a way he would hold an advantage, Harry," the headmaster said reassuringly. "I know him better than most, and he will not make it within these walls so long as I am here."
Harry nodded his agreement, though reluctantly.
"You will meet with the Order?"
"As a priority," Dumbledore answered. "Now, I suppose we must make some adjustments to your plan. Do you have any ideas?" he asked as he leaned back in his chair.