3,099Chapter 62: Edge of the Abyss
Wednesday, 30th August 1995.
Luna smiled as her friends wandered beside her, exploring the meadow where she most liked to collect wildflowers.
With only the Weasleys and Diggorys living nearby, she had been a somewhat lonely child, even before the accident. Ginny would sometimes find her out and about on one of her wanders, and the pair would play for a bit. Though, Mrs Weasley always came looking and rounded up her own wayward daughter.
Luna liked Mrs Weasley, she was a very loving woman, if occasionally overbearing and a bit opinionated. She had heard the elder woman make quiet comments about Luna's mother allowing her to just wander wherever she liked. She knew that Ginny's mum didn't mean anything bad by the comments, that they came from the woman's caring nature. But it still occasionally hurt to hear.
Now, however, she was out and playing with friends. Hermione and Harry had changed her world. Luna had seen things she hadn't dared to dream of. Had learned how to stand up for herself against those who saw her as odd.
It was very nice having friends. Even if they had been somewhat busy over the summer holidays.
Her few visits to Harry's impressive Manor home with its sprawling garden had been fascinating. She had been mildly jealous of the paintings of Harry's parents when they had been introduced. Unfortunately, her father had not ever thought to make such an artefact. But she had not dwelled on that feeling for long, instead being happy for her friend that he had such a thing.
As much as she missed her dad, at least Luna had several years with the man growing up. Harry hadn't touched his mother or father since he was a baby. Which likely went a long way to explaining why he seldom went beyond touch range from Hermione.
The impressive elder girl had been just as much of a wonder to Luna as Harry. She was just as ravenous about reading as Luna and always wanted to learn more. The Granger girl was a mite close-minded about some of the fascinating creatures that Luna's father used to tell her about. The ones that the Quibbler fans would send in from all over the world. But that was a small ongoing point of discussion between them. And Luna was sure that if she could provide some measure of proof to the girl, she would accept the conclusions.
"What about these ones, Luna?" Harry said, startling Luna from her musing. It was not unusual for her to find herself in a completely unexpected place when her mind wandered like that. Her feet continuing to take her somewhere new while her mind was distracted.
Harry was standing over a large set of dark violet flowers, shifting softly in the late summer breeze.
Her smile grew as she joined him and knelt next to the beautiful flowers. They would be perfect for the adornment.
She gently removed the flowers and a portion of the soft stems with care. Luna wanted to ensure that the rest of the plant remained intact. She was not out to uproot the entire thing, only borrow its beauty for a few hours. English violets like these were fairly hardy and would survive such removal, if one was gentle enough.
"It's perfect, Harry. Thank you."
She added the colourful flowers to the small basket that Hermione had taken from her a few hours earlier. As knowledgeable as Hermione was, flowers were not her strong suit. So she had volunteered to be their packhorse and simply enjoy the country air and company as they strolled about the hills.
"Thank you, Hermione," Luna said, as the elder girl shifted the basket higher up her arm.
"You're welcome, Luna. Do we need anything else?"
Luna considered the rather large number of supplies she now had. It should be sufficient to make the floral crowns that she had intended. All that remained was to return home and weave them together.
She shook her head excitedly. "No, we have all we need now. We should head back. Mummy will probably have lunch ready for us."
Harry tucked himself beside Hermione, carefully ensuring the large basket was in front of him but leaving the girl's right side open for Luna to latch onto, which she happily did.
The two girls laced their arms together as the trio began walking back in the general direction of Luna's home. After all, she wasn't one hundred percent sure which way they had wandered, allowing the natural flow around her to direct their path. As so often happened when she did, they had found exactly what she had wanted.
Today had been a very good day.
ϟ
Thursday, 31st August 1995.
Tom Marvolo Riddle trembled with a mixture of fear and seething unbridled rage.
His current excursion had proven illuminating, but in the worst way possible.
When he had overheard Yaxley moaning about the sanctions and fines the goblins had levied against his vault, the Dark Lord had enquired further. It seemed that the Ministry had used an obscure rule in the relationship between magical Britain and the money-grubbing goblins to have them inspect the Death Eater vaults.
Unfortunately for him, Bellatrix was now deceased. Something that had seen the messenger of that news tortured for almost twenty minutes. While Lord Voldemort did not truly care for any of his followers, that woman had proven uniquely valuable to him. So much so that he had entrusted her with a portion of his soul for safekeeping.
A portion that he knew she had secreted in her family vault.
With both Rodolphus and Rabastan having been captured by Bones in some of the recent assaults, Voldemort now had no way of checking the status of the Horcrux contained within the bank. A bank that was currently inspecting all such vaults.
So he had left the manor and headed to the hidden cave he had found so long ago.
It had not taken him long to pass over to the island and to remove the trinket held within. But doing so had only increased his fury. It seemed that the recreant Black had betrayed him. The locket he had found there was a replica of his ancestor's powerful relic. And inside, a note explaining the boy's betrayal.
Someone had indeed found out about his anchors. And despite his naked fury, Voldemort was forced to feel a sense of admiration at the boy's cunning. Black had at the very least removed it from Voldemort's awareness. Though, he was not yet too concerned.
He had spent countless hours preparing all of the vessels for his immortality. And each was protected in many ways. Voldemort had personally attempted their destruction by numerous means before he had entrusted them with containing his soul fragments, and nothing he had thought of had worked. He was aware that there were magical ways known to effect such powerful relics, but he knew those ways and they were not so easily acquired.
Perhaps, the locket still lived, just concealed somewhere even he could not find it.
However, that setback had not been the main driving force behind his current anger. After finding one of his anchors absent, Lord Voldemort had set out to ensure the safety of the others.
Lucius had already lost the diary, foolishly allowing his disappointment of a child to take it to the school in an attempt to cull the mudbloods there. Dumbledore had confiscated it, and Voldemort could only hope the old fool remained unaware of its true design.
The cup remained beyond reach for the moment, as it would not be prudent to rush to war with the goblins over it. Conquering the Ministry would provide a smoother way in, if such became necessary, as they had proven with their current course.
With Dumbledore ruling from the ancient halls of Hogwarts, the diadem was presently beyond easy reach as well. Though Lord Voldemort knew passages into that school that even that doddering old fool did not.
Nagini had not been seen or heard from since the night of his renewal, so Voldemort had assumed her to be destroyed.
The only other Horcrux he could check on was one he had already ensured the safety of. And yet, he now stood amongst the dark trees staring at a destroyed husk where his soul had been.
Someone was indeed seeking his anchors. Tom felt more mortal than he ever had.
He had always assumed that he would feel it if one of his soul pieces were to be destroyed. And yet, he had not noticed the loss of the ring. Which he knew was intact only a few weeks ago.
How many could have possibly been found?
Surely the old man was involved. And perhaps the child. Matters had now become dire.
Once he had suspected that Nagini had been killed, Voldemort had attempted the ritual once more. But, he had been disappointed.
It seemed that there was a limit to how many times one could split their soul. He had initially chosen the correct number of anchors, as he could no longer complete the preparation ritual successfully. Seven was not only the most powerful number, but also seemed to be as much as he could split his soul.
Which made the remaining Horcruxes all the more precious. He would need to ensure their safety.
He needed to enact his plan, using it as a distraction so that he could rescue those who remained. But his current forces could not be so carelessly tossed aside for such an act. Exchanging one group for the other. While the captives did contain some of his best Death Eaters, Voldemort needed something more. Something certain.
The fear quieted as he remembered an old resource he had not yet tapped in either campaign. One that would be utterly loyal to him, and bring fear and death to his enemies. Just as it had the last time he had wielded it so long ago.
Voldemort smiled as he apprated away.
ϟ
Neville paused in his packing.
He had spent most of the day gradually filling his trunk back up with all of the supplies he needed for another term at Hogwarts. Lengthy rolls of parchment and quills. Yet another set of robes given he had once more grown out of last year's sets, which his gran had donated to the second-hand dealer as per usual. Even a refilled potion set, a class he actually enjoyed once Snape had been taken out of the equation by him joining Harry and Hermione's tutoring sessions.
He smiled at that. He had been the only one allowed to join when Mrs Tonks came up to the school twice a week to instruct the pair. Once she had learned how the sour man had treated him for years, she had accepted his attendance. It was amazing how a simple change of professor had turned the class from his most hated into his second favourite.
Seeing how the plants he so loved interacted properly, and gaining a better understanding of herbology through those interactions had spurred him to study even harder. He would not be a professional brewer any time soon, but Neville was finally able to appreciate the nuances of the class for the first time.
He had been somewhat worried that his friends might not be returning for the new term and he would have been forced to return to Snape's classes. Losing all of the progress he had made. But the letter he had received that morning had confirmed their attendance, at least until Christmas.
Thinking about Christmas brought his mind back to the visit he had made to Potter Manor earlier that morning. Sitting in the comfortable room in which his parents now lay. Still no more responsive to his presence than they had been at St Mungo's, at least he knew that they were safe there.
But it was the topic of his conversation with them that most held his thoughts now. About the way that Sirius Black had avenged them. Bellatrix Lestrange was dead and Rodolphus and Rabastan, who had been captured during the very same attack in which she had been killed, had completed their second trials yesterday. The two men had been executed via the Veil of Death this morning. With the earlier death of Barty Crouch Junior, finally, his parents had been truly avenged.
Neville had been surprised at just how relieved he was that none of those monsters remained among the living anymore. He used to think his thirst for vengeance was unbecoming. Inhumane. But the conversations he'd had with Harry over the summer had allowed him to make peace with his desires. That it was human to crave such punishment for those who took so much from him.
Harry had also taken great pains to explain the differences between thinking about doing something and actually acting on those thoughts. Conversations that had helped to bring a semblance of peace to Neville after years of living with the pain of loss.
His joy was still somewhat tempered by his mother and father showing the same absence of understanding as ever. They simply sat and watched as he spoke. Neither interested nor disinterested in what he had to say. Present only in body.
A few tears escaped as Neville continued to mourn their state. He never liked showing this vulnerable side of himself to anyone else. It made him feel weak. But it also drove him. The reason he had spent his youth learning the ins and outs of magical plants was that he was going to find a way to cure his parents, even if it took decades. He would find the key to breaking whatever spell continued to hold their minds captive. It was the burning fire in his heart that had kept him going, even under Snape's abuse.
Neville's reverie was broken by a soft knocking on the door.
"Master Neville," Peach said softly, the house-elf swinging the door inward. "Mistress calls you down. Dinner is ready to be served."
Neville smiled at the elf that had helped his gran to raise him. "Thank you, Peach. I'll be down in a moment."
She nodded and retreated, leaving the door open behind her.
He glanced at the slender wand in his fingers, unsure of when exactly he had picked it up. It looked very similar to the one he had wielded for the past four years. Like most wands in Ollivanders, it had very little unique adornment out of the box it had come in. But even after only a few weeks of use, the handle had begun to turn, shaping itself through exposure to his magic.
The wood had darkened slightly and grown a soft coil that he could feel under his fingers. While both wands shared a unicorn hair core, his father's ash and hair had refused to behave for Neville. The cherry, however, sang under his touch. Neville felt powerful simply holding the cooperative wood.
He would always cherish his father's wand, but his new one gave him a sense of pride in himself.
Neville smiled at the thought and tucked it gently into the trunk on his bed, patting it softly.
Together, he and it would heal his father, so that Frank Longbottom could once again hold the ash wand that so wanted to be used by Frank and Frank alone.
So Neville swore.
ϟ
Friday, 1st September 1995.
Amelia reviewed the reports and nodded gently to herself.
Things seemed to be going fairly well. They had finished sifting through the rubble of Azkaban and were now entirely certain of the number of escapees and the extent of the damage done to the structure.
Azkaban itself would never again see use. Riddle's breakout had caused immense structural damage, all the way down into the very foundations of the tower. It would never again serve the purpose that the Ministry had assigned it. However, the tunnels leading back towards the mainland had been quite a surprise.
She had momentarily worried that some prisoner may have escaped through them in the past when they had first located them. But the exploratory team had quickly come to a dead end just as the tunnels began to become more opulent. This was no tunnel built by an escaped prisoner, but by goblins. Amelia would need to request more information to be entirely certain, but she had a feeling that these tunnels they had found were the original source of the Dementors on the island.
Part of the Vregr Dehur that, until very recently, she had not even known existed. And at some point in the distant past, the goblins had seen fit to cut Azkaban off from their underground network of tunnels. Likely sometime around the point where Ekrizdis had begun allowing the Dementors to use it as a breeding ground. A thought that had her mind drifting for a moment, considering why it was that so many dark wizards in history had found themselves so associated with the Dementors.
But, when she considered what Potter had explained about the monsters, it sort of made sense. Dark wizards were usually full of dark and hateful thoughts. The kinds of things that the boy had postulated the Dementors thrive upon. Add in their willingness to allow the Dementors to feed freely on their enemies, and it was a match made in the bowels of some horror novel for sure.
She shook off the distraction and continued reviewing the report. As a result of their assessment of the ruined island, the basement cells here in the Ministry were still being expanded. Even now a crew of goblins were excavating new depths. They already housed over two hundred prisoners in the cells, but Riddle still had more to throw at them. And for the past few days, the attacks had slowed.
Which worried her.
It likely meant that Riddle was gearing up for something big.
"Ma'am?" Amelia tried not to roll her eyes at the timing as she put down the current report.
Sarah Greebly was watching her from the doorway, and despite all instruction to the contrary, her assistant continued to call her ma'am.
"What is it?"
"Reports of an attack." A voice sounded from further outside the office.
Amelia didn't hesitate here, launching from her chair and rounding the desk so quickly one could have mistaken her for leaping over it.
"Where?"
"Woking," Velts replied, indicating the area on a map nearby. "Small force, seems odd though."
"Odd how?" Amelia asked, inspecting the incoming report info as it appeared on the map.
"It's too obvious."
Amelia looked at the junior auror. They had only been in the force for a few weeks at this stage, having joined out of the most recent class of graduates. However, they had already proven to have a good head on their shoulders.
"Obvious?"
"We have no reported deaths yet. They're causing havoc amongst the muggle populace," Simon noted, "but in an area known to be used by magicals as well. That's who sent in the call, almost immediately. It's like they wanted to be caught."
She considered that for a moment. The Rapid Response Force they had set up had brought in several such groups in the past few weeks. But if this was the prelude to Riddle's big move that she had been worried about, sending them in might see them wiped out. This definitely sounded like it might be a foundation for an ambush.
"New report!" Bradbury said from across the bull pit. "Three separate reports of a Death Eater attack in Southwark."
Amelia sighed. It wasn't an ambush, this was the next step she had been waiting for.
Riddle was about to do something and he was sending his peons out as a distraction. However, she could not ignore the immediate threat either. While casualties were presently low, the Death Eaters had never been known for their restraint.
"Send RRF to Southwark, it's more public and poses a greater risk to the Statute. Have the first duty group report to Surrey and attempt to subdue the other force."
"THIRD REPORT! Wembley!"
"Fuck." Amelia swore under her breath, knowing that it had been coming. Riddle was trying to spread her forces out. "Call everyone in now. We're about to be busy."
The bull pit came alive with activity as those present followed her instructions, dispersing communication out to all Aurors.
This was going to be a really shitty day.
ϟ
Lord Voldemort cautiously stepped out into the green-tinted common room.
A place he had not seen in decades. Not since he ruled over it in his youth. He had no reason for sentimental wandering on his previous visit to the castle.
The hidden passage off of the Slytherin common room had provided a subtle way into the castle itself. Cloaked as he was in powerful concealment magic, Voldemort was not concerned with any of the ghosts or portraits noticing his presence. Thankfully, the school was mostly empty of physical bodies he would need to avoid. The children that would call it home, as he had, would be arriving in a few hours aboard the old train. And the foolish old man and his staff were all too busy preparing for that arrival to notice him now.
He moved swiftly through the school, pushing quickly towards the higher floors. Only needing to divert around others three times. Once, even around Severus. Voldemort had eyed the man as he passed. Still uncertain what to make of him now. There were things he had seen in Severus's mind that had given him pause at trusting him further.
But today was not about Severus. Lord Voldemort had broken into this ancient school with specific purpose. And he had an appointment to keep after, unless he got very lucky while he was here.
He gave a quick glance northward before he continued upwards, not pausing again until he arrived on the seventh floor, sneaking quietly towards the corridor in question. The normally concealed doorway was already present. Anger surged within him once more as he approached the door. He dearly needed to see that the diadem was safe within, but if someone was already inside, he could be revealed. There was something else he needed even more from within the walls of the school today.
Indecision held him in place, a foreign feeling for the Dark Lord. Normally, his way forward was clear to him. He had not been so close to the diadem in twenty years, surely the sheer scale of the room in which he had hidden it would have kept it so secure. But with the others at risk, he simply needed to know.
Voldemort stretched out his invisible hand and he silently turned the handle on the heavy door. It moved smoothly inwards and he was immediately shocked to see an unfamiliar sight within.
Instead of piles of broken and ancient things stacked all the way to the ceiling, the room was almost a match for the Auror training stages. Inside was a single man firing spell after spell at a set of dummies at the far end of the large room. Former Auror Moody.
Panic gripped Tom Riddle once more as he realized the obvious truth that had been sitting in front of him since his rebirth.
Alastor Moody should be dead.
He had taught at this school for three years now, the Defence Against The Dark Arts professor for all three. Were the diadem intact and in place, the man would be dead. The curse that Lord Voldemort had laid on the position required the presence of the portion of his soul within the school itself. Not only protecting a sliver of himself from death but preventing those who would challenge him from rising up.
While, as with the ring and locket, it was possible that whoever found them had simply removed them from their hiding place and concealed them elsewhere, Riddle was beginning to have significant doubts.
Fighting Alastor would normally have brought him joy, killing someone who had taken so many of his forces away from him. But here, now… without the surety of his immortality? Tom could not bear the risk.
He did not waste time closing the door, as that might have made a sound that would alert the aged ex-Auror to his presence. He did not make for the North Tower, to seek the woman that had set all of this in motion so long ago. He could not risk that she would not be there, or not be alone. What it would take to rip the prophecy from her mind would surely bring others in response. Given the way that most seers did not consciously remember their prophecies, he would need to peel her mind open to find it within. A lengthy and loud process that he could ill afford right now. Especially if Dumbledore was in the school at the moment.
Hogwarts had gone from his former home, the only place an orphan boy had ever felt he belonged, to a direct threat to his power.
Every step inside of its halls now risked his rise to power. He needed to get out, but he needed one last thing from these hallowed halls first.
It did not take him long to make it back down to the second floor and into the bathroom with the whimpering girl.
Tom Riddle had always hated Myrtle Warren.
She was pathetic, even as mudbloods went. So spineless that she wouldn't even stand up to Thornby. Tom never had time for weakness. Just as he did not have the time today to deal with the sputtering child he had killed so many years before.
He pulled his grandfather's wand and whipped it through the air, cracking the doors of the stalls as they all shot open violently.
The pitiful ghost shrieked at the sound and dove into one of the toilets, disappearing with a splash. Voldemort smiled at her terror. It had been a simple thing, but it reminded him of his power to inspire fear.
He quickly zipped over to the sink and did not hesitate, speaking his first word inside of Hogwarts in decades.
~Open.~
The sink retracted away and Lord Voldemort did not wait for it to retract completely. He wrapped himself in his power and flew down the winding tunnel down into the bowels of the school. It took him no time at all to fly through the familiar path. And with another word, the door to his ancestor's noble Chamber was open as well.
Inside was the final weapon in today's attacks. Attacks that should have already begun all across the country. Attacks that would help his true aim today.
Standing at the foot of Salazar's likeness, Voldemort spoke the command. ~Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.~
A long-familiar sound followed as stone ground against stone before the telltale sound of slithering scales replaced it. With a mighty boom, Evandra, the ancient basilisk Salazar Slytherin had left behind uncoiled in front of Lord Voldemort, ready and willing to do his bidding as before.
~I have a task for you.~ He said, as the basilisk leaned in closer. ~A very important task.~
Voldemort smiled, and he was sure that the ancient snake did as well.
~Rip. Tear. Kill!~ It hissed.
A/N: A slightly shorter chapter this week. But we'll get to see why next week.