Disclaimer: Nope.
Author's Note: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! Lol, the joke about me having to slay a villain by taking a math exam was hilarious. If it really were ever to come to that, I'm sorry to say that the world would be doomed, doomed, doomed unless my dad was around to help me. You definitely made me laugh!
Yes, my parents are extremely wonderful. I count myself very, very lucky indeed, because I am very aware that not everyone has parents like mine.
I'm glad you liked Jonathan Henderson. Yes, his dedication to history is massive, and I agree with him. Some things aren't meant to be out in public, but people should still learn about them and therefore, museums are the perfect place for them to go. We, as humans, are unfortunately very good at repeating the not-so-savory, and terrible, parts of history.
I really appreciate your thoughts on Voldemort - I certainly got mixed reviews there. I admit, the torture of his servants probably was overdone. All I can say is that I fell into the cliche of many, many fanfics, which have him doing that all the time. Some literally have him torturing his servants after every other sentence! But I certainly see what you mean. If I write from his perspective again, I'll tone it down, because you're right. No one will want to give him bad news anymore for fear of being hurt. And as for Riddle Manor, yes, I do agree that magic was involved in allowing the place to be habitable. He'd get a kick out of making his servants clean it. And I really think that Voldemort would gain a deep satisfaction from conducting his meetings in the house where he severed his ties to his unwanted Muggle heritage.
As I said, he's a very difficult character to get inside the head of. And yes, I do agree that he's definitely a drama queen. I love the fics where he's caught Harry and he's blathering on and on and on so much about his dastardly plans that it gives Harry plenty of time to think up an escape plan. Voldemort just won't stop monologuing like a Bond villain. In other fics, I've seen Harry go, "Oh, just shut up, Tom. If you're going to kill me, just hurry up and do it already. Stop bloody talking!" Lol.
That's a really interesting supposition as to why the wider wizarding world wasn't informed that Voldemort was a half-blood. I've never thought of it being used as ammunition against half-bloods and Muggle-borns that one of them could pretend to be a pureblood. That's fascinating, and I love it.
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I found writing this interesting, and I hope it's just the same for everyone reading it.
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"It's done."
The words were simple, and delivered with a great sense of accomplishment. They brought a smile to Arnold Dixon's face.
He was currently in Britain, in the town of Winchester, in fact. He was at the home of, to put it in the simplest of terms, one of his business partners. The man's name was Robert Finkle, and he worked at the Ministry and also had contact with the American Muggle government. His job for the Ministry was one that was often not talked about - he was one of those rare souls that studied dark objects and found ways to destroy them.
It was evening, and the sun was just beginning to set. Dixon had just finished his shift at Saint Mungo's, helping patients deal with many kinds of trauma. He anticipated getting back to Rock Hall, Maryland, as today had been trying and he needed the beauty and healing that the gorgeous town held. Plus, Albus Dumbledore was still there, recovering. Dixon knew the house-elves he owned were keeping an eye on Dumbledore, but this didn't mean that he wasn't anxious to get back there. And, once he returned, he could give the old man the news that he was currently being informed of.
"You destroyed it?" Dixon asked. "Completely?"
"Well, Henderson did," Finkle replied, all businesslike. He didn't let a hint of emotion enter his voice. "There are only ashes left."
A moment of profound silence followed, while Dixon absorbed the information. One of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes had been destroyed.
At the current moment, the only souls who knew that the monster had made more than one Horcrux were himself, Finkle, Dumbledore, several of the best Mind Healers in the entire United States of America, and, the old man assumed, Horace Slughorn. Not even Henderson, the person who had apparently destroyed the locket, was any the wiser.
Dixon's original plan, upon finding all this information in Dumbledore's mind, was to confide in the Order and tell them everything. Arnold Dixon was not a man who was easily shaken, but finding out that a young boy was prophesized to defeat the most evil sorcerer in a century, plus the fact that right now, he couldn't die because he had prevented such a fate from befalling him, had shaken him to his core. The Order needed to know. Harry needed to know.
But the more he thought about it, the more he rejected that plan. It was true that some in the Order were hardened people - he thought of Emmeline Vance and Alastor Moody, especially. While healing Dumbledore's mind from the vicious assault it had suffered, he saw more of them than he ever thought possible. It was disconcerting, even after a decade working in the Mind Arts - he'd gotten to examine so much of Dumbledore's soul, and, through him, the souls of so many he worked with, fought with. It was almost like he'd gotten to live Dumbledore's life.
And every instinct in him began to fight against the notion of telling the Order, despite knowing that many of them could handle this information. Why should he put this on them, when he already knew someone intimately that could handle dark objects?
Finkle had told him, however, that the more seasoned members of the Order knew about at least one Horcrux - the locket that was now no more. Alastor Moody had delivered it to the Dark Objects Division in the Ministry, apparently having found it in Sirius's house. He, Bill Weasley, who was a Gringotts cursebreaker, and Sirius himself, who wanted to rid the house of dark artifacts, had discovered it. Honestly, this didn't surprise Dixon at all - he'd spent enough time having sessions with Sirius in Grimmauld Place, listening as the man revealed the vileness of his family, that it was almost expected.
After finding out about the Horcruxes, he fought a battle with his conscience every time he had a session with Sirius. Of all people, Harry Potter's godfather should know what was at stake. He should know that there was more than one Horcrux to find. There was no doubt in Dixon's mind that Sirius would want to be involved.
But he thought of Harry, a young boy who had been through too much for someone his age. He didn't need to perform any Legilimency at all to see the ghosts hiding behind Harry's emerald eyes. He had seen what Diggory's death had done to him. And there had been Sirius's trial, where his Muggle relatives had been brought up - Harry's reaction had been all too clear. He thought again of how Dumbledore was still positive that Harry was safest there, with people who Dixon was sure were mistreating him, and felt a familiar anger surface within him.
In his and Sirius's last session, the man had looked more drained than usual, more grief and guilt-stricken. Faltering over the words, he'd confided in Dixon that he'd recently found out new information about the death of his little brother. For so long, he'd thought him a coward, but now he knew that his bravery exceeded that of Sirius's own. There was such heartbreak and regret in the man's eyes when he spoke of it, and Dixon felt an odd sensation blossom within him. Sirius hadn't given many details, as he was still wrestling with what he'd discovered, but ... could this have anything to do with the Horcrux? Right then, at that moment, Dixon had wanted to tell Sirius everything - about the Horcruxes, about Dumbledore's recovery, about what the old man thought would have to happen to Harry in order for Voldemort to be defeated.
But he couldn't. Arnold Dixon could freely admit at that moment that he was being a coward. He wasn't brave enough to speak the truth, for it was the pain in Sirius's eyes that stopped him from doing so. And he could see that there was even more that had happened than Sirius was telling him, and he couldn't help but wonder if Sirius or Harry knew anything about the prophecy.
Now, as he looked into the hard eyes of Robert Finkle, he was glad he hadn't said anything to Sirius. He had sworn Robert to an Unbreakable Vow to not reveal the information to anyone. An extreme measure, to be sure, and one that would be very much frowned upon by most of wizarding society, a measure that would most likely get him fired from Saint Mungo's if anyone were to find out. It wasn't the first time Dixon had used this method, either - several Mind Healers from the US who knew about the Horcruxes had agreed to the same requirement - they had understood how high the stakes were. Those Healers were doing research, which was coming along quite steadily, about how to remove a Horcrux from a living being without killing them.
"What spell did he use?" Dixon asked in the same emotionless tone that Finkle had used, although he thought he knew the answer.
"Fiendfyre," Finkle responded, confirming Dixon's guess. "It worked as we all wished it to."
"No undesired results?" Dixon asked, a note of dark humor entering his voice.
"No." Robert shook his head. "It's almost ... frightening, the control he has over that spell."
Dixon nodded back. He didn't know Henderson, not personally at least, but Finkle had never had a bad word for him.
"Tea?" Finkle asked as he began to walk towards the kitchen.
Dixon's lips quirked. Only someone like Finkle could go from talking about destroying a Horcrux to making a cup of tea. "Yes, please," he agreed as he walked into the kitchen and sat down.
There was silence as Dixon watched Finkle prepare tea the Muggle way. He wasn't the first wizard he had seen do this, and he understood the simplicity of it. He, after all, cooked all of his and Dumbledore's meals the Muggle way in Rock Hall. There was a comfort to it that just wasn't there when you used magic.
"Thank you," Dixon said as Finkle brought both their mugs to the table.
Finkle nodded as he, too, sat down and brought the beverage to his lips, taking a sip. "How's Albus?" he asked after a moment.
"As ornery as ever," Dixon said, unable to help a note of very real frustration from entering his voice. "He simply won't accept that he needs more time to recover and that right now, his meddling is not warranted."
Unlike what he had told the Mind Healers from the United States, Dixon hadn't told Finkle about Dumbledore suspecting that Harry Potter needed to sacrifice himself for the war to end in their favor. The Mind Healers from the US, after all, had been researching how to remove foreign enteties from the minds of unwilling subjects. Even though Finkle didn't know that piece of information, he was no fool, and knew that Dumbledore was not all that he was cracked up to be. His warm, grandfatherly demeanor hid a more cunning, calculating side of him that was forever plotting, forever scheming, forever thinking of the bigger picture. He might have good intentions, as Dixon knew, but often didn't think about the missteps he made along the way that could truly do a lot of damage.
"Your plans to keep him where he is will only work for so long," Finkle told Dixon quietly. He had outright demanded that Dixon not tell him where Dumbledore was recovering - he was adamant that it was none of his business. Dixon could appreciate a man who didn't want to know information that he honestly could be trusted with.
"Yes, I know. It won't be long now until I have no more reason to keep him there," Dixon agreed, feeling very real dread pool in his stomach at this confession.
"What are you going to do?" Finkle asked, honestly curious.
"I will not stand for things being done that have no right to be." There was a sharpness in Dixon's words, but the tone wasn't truly directed at Finkle.
The other man nodded, and questioned him no further. He simply saw the conviction in Dixon's eyes and knew he was deadly serious.
And he was. If it was the last thing Dixon did, he would take care of Harry Potter. And he knew he wasn't alone in that endeavor, either. He had seen through Sirius just how many people cared for Harry.
And this was why he had made sure that Sirius didn't know about all the Horcruxes. In order for Harry to truly survive this war, his emotional well-being must be taken care of.
"So, what now? Two down, four to go," Finkle said darkly, as Dixon, of course, had given him the impression there were six Horcruxes, not seven. He had explained about how Harry had destroyed the diary. During that year, rumors had flown far and wide about the Chamber of Secrets, and now Finkle knew it all.
It never escaped Dixon that he was telling people things he shouldn't be confiding. After all, he'd found so much of this knowledge in Dumbledore's mind. Healer-patient confidentiality was a real thing.
But Dixon's conscience no longer squirmed at breaking this code of ethics. After all, he couldn't possibly just let this go, could he? This concerned the security and stability of the entire wizarding world. It concerned the fate of an innocent young boy who had been thrust into the middle of this, entirely against his will. Some things, he knew, were worth breaking rules for.
And he was about to do it again. "I have information regarding the whereabouts of another one," he explained. "Or, Dumbledore's best guess, I should say."
With that, he told Robert Finkle about how Dumbledore suspected that one was hiding in a shack, a shack that had belonged to the uncle of a certain someone named Tom Marvolo Riddle. After murdering his father and grandparents, he had apparently turned the ring into a Horcrux - this, Dumbledore was pretty certain of. And the man had a feeling that this Horcrux was now being hidden in the very place that Tom had once stolen it from.
As Dixon explained, a wild, manic light entered Finkle's eyes. "You have a plan," he said knowingly. "Spill."
"We go to that damn shack tomorrow." Dixon said it simply. "At sunset. That is, if you're up for an adventure." He uttered the last word rather sardonically.
Finkle reached for Dixon's hand, and shook it convulsively. "Indeed. We go to that damn shack tomorrow." If Dixon didn't know Finkle like he did, he would have been terrified by the other man's suddenly unhinged demeanor. "Let's just pray that no one else got to it first."
"And we don't tell anyone," Dixon stated. "Not a soul."
"Not a soul," Finkle agreed.