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Chapter 30: The Breaking Point
Panic and relief fought for a foothold after he had finished reading an audit of the Lestrange's vault. There was more gold than anyone could ever spend, piles of priceless heirlooms, and heaps of gems and jewels.
One thing there was not was a single mention of anything that might be a horcrux.
Harry looked up from the stack of parchments detailing the contents of the Lestrange's vault and rubbed hard at his eyes. A floating sphere of light hovered just above the leather sofa he was sitting on. Fear of someone seeing what he was reading had driven him into the Room of Requirement for only the second time all year. Paranoia over running into Riddle here had kept him out, yet he had to admit it was a lstep up from the library.
Exhaling long and slow, he forced his mind to calm. He had not really expected the Lestranges to be concealing a horcrux — if none of the other original hiding places had been used, why would this be an exception? — and this at least meant there was no need for a second Gringotts break-in.
He arranged the audits into a neat stack, then swapped them for the heap of documents detailing Hangleton Estate. Among the treasure trove of information about Tom Riddle Dorea had unearthed, details about his manor were what stuck out to him. The paperwork had been filed in 1947. There was a floor plan, an exhaustive report on the required materials, dimensions for each room, and information about its plot of land.
Harry looked over those details for the hundredth time. Riddle had paid an exorbitant amount of gold for far more land than the manor occupied. Why? All so he could level the church that had once presided over Little Hangleton?
No. Riddle's pettiness was of a different sort and there was a more pragmatic explanation.
1947 was the year he had resigned from Borgin and Burke's — probably because he had acquired his prized trinkets, one of which was the locket. It and the ring were the only two artifacts from Voldemort's list of horcruxes Harry had not seen since arriving here.
Harry was all but certain those were Riddle's horcruxes. Probably the only ones. Hours had been wasted trying to come up with other objects he might treasure enough to turn into horcruxes. Plus he actually looks human here. Dumbledore had theorized the decay of Riddle's body had stemmed from the increasing strain placed upon his mangled soul.
If that was true and Riddle had settled for a three-part soul, then that left one horcrux hidden somewhere on his property. And the other in the Chamber of Secrets. It was the last option he could come up with and would explain the extensive ward scheme.
Having a concrete theory after fumbling through the dark for so long was like sucking in lungfuls of air after almost drowning.
Not that any amount of sound logic helped get him past the wards…
It was late when he returned to the common room. Revisions for their NEWTS had recently begun, so his three female friends were all awake. So were Remus, Sirius, and Pettigrew. No sign of James, though. His stomach sank. He scolded himself for the reaction. James had been avoiding him for weeks; it was hardly a surprise.
Lily drew out a long sigh. "I don't know why you look for him every time you step into a room."
"Can we not do this today?" Harry's patience for the subject was like a sheet of brittle steel that had rusted in the rain. Each time Lily pushed and prodded opened up the skies and weathered it.
"Can we not what?" Lily thrust out her chin. "All I'm trying to do is have a rational discussion.
"Listen," Harry said from between clenched teeth, "I know you don't like him and I'm not likely to forget it. You don't have to keep reminding me. I think you realize I never thought much of Prince, yet I never pestered you about him."
Lily's eyes hardened. "That was different."
"How?"
"Sev never harassed you like Potter does me, he never—"
"Were you not there when he tried to curse me?" Harry demanded. They were attracting stares.
"That was after him and I were friends," Lily retorted, "that was—"
"Months after him and his friends tried spreading lies about me to Professor Belby."
The flush of ire was in Lily's cheeks. "You don't know for certain that was him. There's no proof."
"Except there is." Harry bit off each word. "I asked Belby if Severus Prince or any of his friends had spoken to him about me, and he said that they had."
"You don't know what they said, you don't—"
"Oh, shut up, Lily." Marlene's crisp rebuke cut through the redhead's words the way winter wind slices into exposed skin. "Do you even listen to yourself sometimes?" Marlene huffed. "And you wonder why the headmaster asks for me more often."
Lily's nostrils flared and she leapt up off the sofa. Her shoulders shook and her hands were two balled fists. Harry tensed and readied himself to draw the Elder Wand. He had never seen Lily react this way and worried she might snap.
Instead her eyes misted with bright tears and she whirled around, then stormed up the staircase and slammed the door to her sleeping quarters.
"I'm going to bed," Harry told Mary and Marlene. The words were as hard and flat as a slab of seastone smoothed over long centuries.
It was almost a relief entering his dorm room and removing the bone-white mask from underneath his pillow.
Guilt twisted in his stomach as reality bowled back into him. There was no relief in what he had to do. There was only cold dread and immense amounts of wariness as he reread his instructions.
Tonight at midnight. The phrase is the same as always. Prepare for strong resistance. You will be levelling a military facility.
The Knights of Walpurgis
The wariness writhed in his stomach and sloshed up second thoughts. That morning's Daily Prophet had contained three articles detailing riots and upheaval from magicals across the continent. That was nothing knew; it had been happening since the leaked schematics had gone live. What was new was the information about muggles fighting back and launching counter riots of their own. Aurors were being deployed in several nations with the hope of reestablishing the peace. Thus far they had been unsuccessful.
And now Riddle wants me to do this. Harry looked down at the missive yet again. No doubt the facility was operated by muggles. News of its destruction would move across the continent like fierce heat rippling over dry wood. Everywhere it reached, there would be wildfires.
He crumpled the parchment in his right hand and hardened his resolve. The fires could be put out. Surely they would sputter all at once when Riddle was turned in and the truth about him pulling strings was spread. There was only one way that could come to pass.
Harry pocketed the parchment and put on his mask. The things we do in war… "Morsmordre."
The valley sprawling out beneath his hilltop perch was bathed in silver moonlight. Two barbed fences twice his height enclosed the facility. A black tower thrust up above three long runways and their accompanying hangers. Its rounded roof was like the shadow of a neighbouring peak he could just barely look down on.
Dread reared up in his chest and coiled tight around his heart. His bubble of hope for a safe solution popped. Had the base been poorly manned or underfunded, there might have been a way to frighten off its occupants before unleashing mayhem.
That option was now lost to him. Sleek jets could be seen on the facility's far side and there were buildings he guessed held tanks and other mobile weaponry. All of that was discounting the possibility of magical protections or undercover aurors.
An alarm blared and floodlights flared to life. Shadows were pouring out from low-roofed buildings and a group of men had burst onto the control tower's round rooftop.
Why is it always like this? The memory of the narrow corridor he had drenched in blood and caked in a fine coat of crushed up bone welled up like the first stab of pain after suffering a shallow wound. Why do they never just run?
Two of the jets were starting down the runway and the men atop the tower's roof were hefting sniper rifles. A squadron of lightly armoured tanks had rolled out of their lockup and a door set into the barbed fence was being opened for them to drive out of.
Why do they always want to die? Whispers rose from the wand clenched in his right hand. Why do they make me do this every time? How many nights like this would it take to bring down Riddle and keep the rest of these stupid people safe?
Harry's lips drew back into a snarl as he thrust the Elder Wand down toward the teeming base. "Fiendfyre!"
The emerald flames surged through both barbed fences and snaked around the high tower. They ate through the steel like a surgeon's scalpel slicing through soft skin. The snipers had no time to scream. Faster than they knew what was going on, the tower had collapsed into a wave of lava that spilled over the tanks and out across the nearest runway. The asphalt hissed and bubbled.
"Sgriosfàile."
Two of the three jets exploded into shrapnel that sprayed down into the hellhole that had been a functioning facility less than sixty seconds in the past. The third plane was torn out of the air and sent skidding across the bubbling runway like a child's toy flung across a kitchen floor.
The air and fire swept in from opposite directions and collided over the base's heart. Plumes of smoke obscuring what remained rendered shafts of moonlight grey-ish green as they filtered through.
The smoke had no part in the hot tears brimming in his eyes. There had been no sound of screams — everything had happened far too fast — but he felt them in his soul. Each one dealt a harsh blow until he felt something snap.
"Let it end!" he shouted at the full moon as Trelawney's words resounded through him.
"Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives."
For the first time he could remember, no desperation bubbled up at the memory of those harsh words — for the first time, he wondered if the outcome really mattered.
"LET IT FUCKING END!"
"Everyone has a breaking point. Deny it, and you'll blind yourself to know when you've reached yours."
— Dorothy McFalls
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