Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money out of it.
ForThe Greater Good
As the pensive relinquished its hold on Harry and Cedric, they found themselves once more in Dumbledore's office. The bittersweet taste of grief and loss lingered in the air, a reminder of the sacrifices made by so many in the name of freedom.
The atmosphere in Dumbledore's office was heavy with sorrow, the air thick with unspoken words. Harry and Cedric both sat in silence, one trying to process the events they had just witnessed, and the other putting a lid on the familiar grief that the memories brought. The once-stoic headmaster's face wore an expression of profound sadness.
Cedric broke the silence, his voice a whisper, "May I have the hat, professor?" He looked at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore studied the young Hufflepuff for a moment, then gave a slow nod. He handed the hat to Cedric, who took it with great reverence.
Closing his eyes, Cedric placed his hand gingerly inside the hat, as though he were reaching into the very fabric of time itself. The silence stretched on, each tick of the clock echoing like a heartbeat in the quiet office. Harry held his breath, desperately hoping that this time, Cedric would succeed in summoning the Hufflepuff Cup.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, Cedric's hand emerged from the hat, gripping the silver cup firmly. Relief washed over Harry, mingling with the lingering traces of grief.
Cedric's hand trembled as he set the hat down on Dumbledore's desk, followed by the gleaming Hufflepuff Cup. The tension in the room hung like a thick fog, their breaths held captive in their chests as they contemplated what had just transpired. Cedric sagged into a chair, head bowed low, the weight of his experience bearing down upon him.
Harry's excitement at finally having the last Horcrux warred with the devastation of seeing Cedric laid so low. "Good job, mate," Harry whispered, but his words sounded hollow even to himself. What good was victory when it came at such a price?
Both Harry and Dumbledore shifted uncomfortably, wanting to offer comfort but lost for words. What could one say to a kid who had just witnessed his own death? In the corner of the room, Fawkes let out a soft, mournful trill, as if sensing their collective despair.
The tension in the room was like a thick fog, enveloping the three wizards and smothering their spirits. Harry's heart raced with a clash of emotions - elation at the acquisition of the last Horcrux, yet devastated by Cedric's shattered state.
Cedric suddenly raised his head, his eyes intense as they met Dumbledore's gaze and then settled on Harry. "Will Voldemort return after the third task?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"Yes," Harry replied. "He's supposed to be resurrected after the third task, and I'll be there in the cemetery once more, this time alone, to kill him for good."
Cedric studied Harry intently, as though weighing his options. After a moment, he finally nodded. "Good," he said, exhaling deeply. "Give him hell, Potter."
Harry offered a weak smile. "I promise, Diggory."
The fog of tension began to dissipate, replaced by cautious hope. "Everything will be alright," Dumbledore remarked softly. "The darkest hour is just before the dawn, as they say."
"Thanks, Professor," Cedric said. He gave a firm nod, "I'm ready."
The headmaster mirrored the gesture, his eyes still filled with sadness. With a slow exhale, Dumbledore raised his wand.
"From the moment you entered this office, Mr Diggory, I will take your memories and replace them with a discussion about suspected bullying in Hufflepuff House," Dumbledore explained.
"Go ahead, Professor," Cedric replied, steeling himself.
Dumbledore cast the Obliviate charm with a masterful flick of his wrist, and Cedric's eyes went momentarily dull – as if someone had snuffed out the warmth of a hearth fire. Harry watched anxiously, his heart clouded with sadness as he watched Cedric's memories being erased.
As the spell took effect, Cedric's whole demeanour changed. The broken boy who had sat slumped in the chair moments ago vanished like smoke, replaced by the familiar, jovial Hufflepuff Harry knew. He stretched, cracking a wide grin, and Harry couldn't help but marvel at the transformation.
"Blimey, I didn't think talking about bullying would be so... intense," Cedric remarked, rubbing the back of his neck. "But don't worry, Professor, I'll keep an eye out and let you know if I spot anything amiss."
"Thank you, Mr Diggory," Dumbledore said softly. "Your help is much appreciated."
"Always happy to help, sir," Cedric replied, his chest swelling with pride.
Harry's thoughts raced, a tumultuous mix of relief and guilt. He wished he could share the burden of the truth with Cedric, yet he knew that ignorance was his friend's best shield. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he forced a small smile and clapped Cedric on the shoulder.
"Thanks, mate," Harry said, his voice wavering ever so slightly.
Cedric tilted his head, a look of mild confusion crossing his face before it was replaced with a warm smile. "No problem, Harry. If you need anything else, just give me a shout."
"Now, if you wouldn't mind, Mr Diggory,", Dumbledore said, "I need to have a few words with Harry."
"Sure thing, sir." Cedric agreed, giving Harry a reassuring smile as he prepared to leave the office.
As Cedric started to leave, Harry stood up and extended a hand towards him. The Hufflepuff looked puzzled for a moment but eventually shook it firmly.
"Thank you, Cedric, truly," Harry murmured. "You'll never know how much you've helped us."
Cedric chuckled, although the sound was slightly uneasy. "No problem, Harry. I thought it would be something more grave when you approached me."
The corners of Harry's mouth lifted in a small, wistful smile. His thoughts churned like a stormy sea, filled with guilt. He knew that getting the Cup was a tremendous victory, but the burden Cedric would have to unknowingly carry soured the victory.
With a final nod, Cedric opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, leaving Harry and Dumbledore alone in the office. As the door clicked shut, the silence seemed to thicken, wrapping itself around them like an oppressive blanket.
"You had no right." Harry spat, looking daggers at the headmaster "You knew he would accept, but you put this on him anyway."
"I am not happy with what I've done, Harry," Albus confessed, "And I will carry the guilt for now on, but what I did, I did for the greater good."
"And what gives you the right to decide who is to be sacrificed for this greater good?" Harry's ire was rising, "It's easy when someone else is paying the price."
"Enough!" Dumbledore stood up, hitting the desk with his gloved hand, which rang with a metallic noise through the office, "I will not allow you to pretend you do not understand the weight of being a great wizard."
"You always do this," Harry stood up, mirroring Dumbledore, "You decided Cedric's happiness was fair game, for the greater good. You decided I needed to be raised by those awful Dursleys, for the greater good. You decided that you should die and not me, for the greater good."
"Just as you, Harry James Potter," Dumbledore's voice was hard as iron, "Decided to perform a ritual that endangered not only everyone in this castle, but the fabric of time itself, for the greater good."
Harry wanted to answer, he wanted to take all the anger that bubbled inside him and throw it at the headmaster, he wanted to hurt him, he wanted revenge. Instead, he stopped himself. He plummeted onto his seat, exhausted.
He realised that it was not him who wanted all these things, it was The Grim inside him, asking to be let out, wanting to take the reins again. But Harry couldn't allow that to happen, not again, not now that he once again had so much to lose.
Harry looked up at Dumbledore, who still loomed above him, "I'm sorry, Albus," he conceded, "You are right, of course."
Dumbledore sat back down, slowly. He sighed and looked at Harry sadly, "I am the one who should apologise, Harry," he said, "I must say you are doing a better job than I did at your age. Grasping the responsibilities that come with power is not an easy feat. I should know better than to lose my temper like that."
"Let's say we are both sorry and move past this." Harry said with a weak smile, "I guess I'm still holding on to some resentment that I thought I had dealt with."
"If it helps," Albus said, "I am very sorry for the impact I had in your life."
"It's ok, really," Harry said earnestly, "Your part in my life has been mostly positive. I understand why you did what you did, and I believe you made the right choices. I just need to let my emotions catch up with the logic."
The wizards remained in the tense silence between them, each lost in their memories, their regrets.
Harry looked at the cup "At least we got it." he finally said, a statement that would have been elated only hours ago, but was of resignation now.
Dumbledore nodded somberly, his blue eyes also clouded with sorrow. "Yes, Harry, we have come a long way. But our path is not yet at an end, and the next step will be no easier for you than what has come before."
"I know," he said softly, "But having all the Horcruxes... It makes it real, you know? Like maybe we can actually win this fight."
Dumbledore smiled nodding, Harry could see the headmaster understood the giant step they had just taken.
"When would you like to proceed with destroying the Horcruxes and performing the ritual to remove the one in your scar?" Albus asked Harry.
Harry drew a steadying breath. "No time like the present, I suppose."
"Are you certain?" Dumbledore replied. "It has been quite an arduous day."
"It's better to just get it done," Harry said.
"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. He then opened the right drawer of his desk, retrieving the remaining Horcruxes one by one. He placed them carefully beside the Hufflepuff Cup, as though they were venomous snakes waiting to strike.
"Have you given any thought to how we're going to destroy these wretched things?" Harry asked, casting a glance at the objects that had caused so much pain and suffering.
"Fiendfyre," Dumbledore replied solemnly. "It is perhaps the most dangerous option, but also the most effective in ensuring the soul jars are completely destroyed."
"Fiendfyre," Harry repeated, his stomach churning at the thought of the destructive magical fire. He glanced at the Horcruxes again, trying not to let his apprehension show.
"Are you certain?" he asked. "I know you are very powerful, Albus, but even powerful wizards struggle to keep the flames to gain sentience."
Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before answering. "I believe it to be the best course of action, to guarantee all the Horcruxes are destroyed."
"We could delay the ritual then," Harry offered, "I never cast the spell, but I think I could manage it with some help."
"It is best if we deal with all the soul jars quickly," Dumbledore explained. "I know you don't believe Tom can tell when they are destroyed, but just in case, destroying the other Horcruxes shortly after we deal with the one in your scar seems the best course of action."
"Alright," Harry said, agreeing with Dumbledore's logic. "But please be careful, Albus."
"Do not worry about me, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile, "I may be old, but I still have some tricks up my sleeve."
Harry chuckled as he and Dumbledore rose from their seats and began preparing the ritual circle in silence. The events of the afternoon weighed heavily upon them both, shadows lurking at the edges of their thoughts.
With practised precision, Dumbledore conjured chalk and drew a series of intricate runes and symbols on the floor, each one seeming to dance and shimmer like a flickering flame. Harry followed suit, carefully adding his own touches to the pattern, the lines weaving together like the threads of an ancient tapestry.
The air seemed to thicken as they worked, charged with anticipation and the gathering weight of magic. It was as though they were constructing an invisible fortress, a bastion against the darkness that had hounded their every step. And within this stronghold, they would make their stand.
Once the ritual circle was complete, Harry took a deep breath and stepped into its centre, sitting down amidst the glowing patterns. The chalk lines thrummed beneath him, a low hum that vibrated through his very bones.
Albus, with the black book cradled in one arm, surveyed the ritual circle they had prepared. The weight of their actions seemed to press upon them both, but there was no turning back now.
"Are you ready, Harry?" Albus asked, his voice gentle, like a balm against the turmoil brewing within the room.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Harry replied, attempting to inject some levity into his words. Though his heart raced and his palms were clammy, he sat resolutely in the centre of the circle, knowing full well the painful ordeal that lay ahead.
With a nod of acknowledgement, Dumbledore opened the book and began chanting in an ancient language, the words twisting and coiling around them like serpents. His wand moved in precise, complex patterns, carving incantations into the very air itself.
As the chanting intensified, Harry felt a peculiar sensation on his forehead: a warmth that soon became a burning heat. It was as though his infamous scar was being branded anew, seared into his flesh by an unseen hand. He clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the pain that threatened to overwhelm him, but it was futile.
"Argh!" he cried out, unable to hold back any longer. Yet even amidst the agony, he was careful not to move beyond the confines of the circle – for he knew that to do so would be disastrous.
The sound of Harry's scream seemed to spur Dumbledore on, his voice rising in pitch and power, the chant quickening its pace like a torrential river. The magical energy in the room crackled and hummed, straining against the boundaries of their control.
"Stay strong, Harry," Dumbledore urged, his eyes never leaving the wandwork he was performing. "Just a little while longer."
But Harry's pain had become unbearable, a white-hot inferno that consumed him whole. The glow of the ritual circle grew brighter and brighter, its light searing his vision until all he could see was a blinding whiteness. And then, mercifully, darkness swept over him as unconsciousness claimed him in its cold embrace.