The Headmaster's office is difficult to break into from the inside. So I break into it from the outside. The window isn't as heavily warded as he'd like it to be. Certainly, there are the usual unbreakable charms, anti-bombardment charms, and even a broom warding charm. I could take them down from the outside, but I'd likely alert everyone in the school.
Instead, Hedwig enters via the post owl entrance, and then opens the window from the inside.
I float through the window, and land on the ground. Fawkes is on his perch, singing gaily to Hedwig. I wave my wand over his chair, dispelling a small ward on it, and drop a small sack on the old goat's desk. I walk over to the cabinet dripping silver strands of memory. I stare at it for a long moment, before turning to Fawkes.
"If I enter this cabinet, will you stop me, Fawkes?"
The phoenix considers me for a long moment. Judging me. It (for such creatures are beyond the aspects of gender) shakes its head.
"What about the drawer under the cabinet?" I ask.
It shakes its head once more, faster this time.
I thank Fawkes and then begin striping the cabinet of its wards and charms. Albus wasn't overly concerned with the cabinet, assuming the wards of the castle would protect it. Normally, he'd have been right.
I open the black wooden doors, and move the glowing strands of memory within the bowl to groups of vials. If the old goat survives, let him sort them all out. I lift the Pensieve out of the cabinet, and place it on the desk. I take the necessary memory vial, and empty it into the Pensieve. The drawer underneath, however, is well defended. I've taken this ward apart before, however, and know what to do. It isn't overtly nasty, but it's insidious in how it's designed. It took me three days to figure out the correct order in which to take it apart.
All in all, not a difficult thirty minutes. I remove the journal with a pair of cast iron blacksmith's tongs, and drop it onto the desk. I retrieve the cup and diadem from the sack, and sit in Albus' chair.
It is now time to wait. And also, to listen to a prophecy, just to be sure.
0x0x0x0
It's a half-hour after the train leaves that I hear the gargoyle move at the base of the stairs. I lean forward, my chin resting on my clasped hands, and wait. While I wait, I start unbinding my magic. I'm probably going to have to fight someone, and it's a good idea to be at my best.
The door swings open, and Albus Dumbledore stops suddenly when he sees me staring at him from behind his own desk. Fawkes is perched on my shoulder, to add to his confusion.
"Albus?" asked a woman's voice behind him. "What's going on?"
"Enter," I say. Albus already has his wand out, and as soon as he sees the journal on the desk, leads with a rather complicated stunner. He uses a quick-draw holster, and the Elder Wand itself can't be summoned, so I don't bother with trying to disarm him. The Elder Wand would not heed a master from the future. Instead, I just focus my magic, and overwhelm the stunner. It fades away in mid-air. Albus is impressed, confused, and curious. He's probably seen people do that before, but he can't do it himself. Mostly because it's considered a "dark art." I can almost hear the wheels turning in his head.
"Do sit down, Albus, we have much to discuss."
Then I see who was following him.
James and Lily Potter.
"Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Do sit down as well."
The ice in my voice is literal. It forms on the walls. Fawkes gives a slight cry and nips my ear. This is the reason it's consider a dark art. My magic can overwhelm others, but it also physically expresses itself.
"Who are you?" asks James, while Lily stares at me, wide-eyed.
My magic touches the Pensieve, and the prophecy begins.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." I let it stop there.
"Albus, that is part of the prophecy, correct? After all, this is both your memories, and your Pensieve."
"A fascinating bit of trivia, yes, but what does it matter?" replies Albus. "I'm more surprised that you know of it."
"When was Harry born?" I ask, ignoring his leading statement, and also the mild compulsion charm in his words.
"August 2nd," replies James.
The wheels are turning in Lily's head. She's the smartest witch in her generation. I can practically feel the bindings come apart on whatever confoundings Albus has placed.
"James, how can Harry be born 'as the seventh month dies' when he was born in the beginning of the eighth month?"
"Well, he can't, but what does that matter?"
"Then who is the subject of the prophecy?"
"Well, Harry…" started James. "Wait… oh. Oh, Merlin. Albus, what did you do? What did you do to us?"
"Killed your daughter," I reply.
"What?" Lily asks, enraged.
"Whose idea was it for the blood wards?" I ask.
"Albus'," replies James. "They were your idea, Albus. All of it was your idea. Why, Albus? You said she was safe, damn it! Why?"
"There are very good reasons, that involve the Greater Good of the world," replies Albus, falling back on his old shield and sword; The Greater Good.
"So it was the Greater Good to steal a child from her parents, and make her survive in hell itself?" I ask. "To make her parents believe they gave her up, of their own free will, only to see the horror you perpetrated against her?"
"She was protected!" shouts Albus. "The wards-"
"MEANT NOTHING!" I shout back. "She wasn't killed by Death Eaters, you goat-addled fool! She was destroyed by her own Aunt and Uncle! Her own family! She would have been protected by the prophecy! She would have been protected by her brother! SHE WOULD HAVE BEEN SAFE."
On this, Albus falls silent.
"You thought you knew best, and your best wasn't enough, Albus. It never is. Which brings us to the rest of the prophecy," I add.
"And the Dark Lord will mark the child as his equal, but the child will have power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can life while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."
"Neither can live, while the other survives," I intone for added effect. I remove that memory, and drop one of Jessica's nightmares into it.
"Consider those words as you view this."
My magic forces them into the Pensieve.
"It was for the Greater Good," pleads Albus, as though it were a shield against all wrong-doing.
"A little girl was stolen from her parents, tortured, beaten, and raped because you needed her to be, Albus. Your Greater Good is a crock of shit. The sad fact? You'd do it all again. And again. And again. And you'd sweep it all under the rug, and paint over your guilt with 'it was for the greater good!'"
"It was!" Albus shouts, trying to cut me off, end the argument. "It needed to be done! It had to be! She had to be the self-less heroine, the one willing to die to save us all!"
I sit there, impassive, as he shouts this.
I consider his words for a long moment.
"You want redemption, Albus? You want someone's forgiveness for this? A witness' absolution for your crimes? There's a shack with the skeleton of a snake nailed to its door. You'll find a ring underneath the floor. Bring it here, and you will have earned my forgiveness. By the way, I need to borrow Fawkes, but the Astronomy Tower isn't too far."
Albus leaves at a dead run. I'm surprised. I'd have thought he'd argue with me more about it. I guess he isn't as much of a monster I thought he'd be.
"And lock the door behind you!" I shout after him. "Hey Fawkes, want to give me a lift to Malfoy Manor? I promise it's not to beat up Lucius." Fawkes gives me a look. The bird's smart. I'm sure it recognizes me, even with the time-skip. "Alright, so I might beat him up a little bit. But it's to recover a dark artefact, I swear!"
The bird gives a nice chirp, and we disappear in a burst of flame.
And reappear in the middle of Lucius Malfoy's lunch party, with the elder Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe. Fawkes has a sense for the dramatic, and drops me on their table, scattering their food. I wave my hand, and throw everyone across the room. I follow up with a stunner to them, and the grey light of an Obliviation changes my muggle clothing and black hair, to a silver beard and the garish orange robes Dumbledore was wearing.
It takes me a minute to find the drawing room. I might have taken a quick detour through a few rooms, and liberated a few things too. I throw the rug aside, and ignore the elves that have gathered to watch me rob their master's home. The fact they do nothing is somewhat indicative of just how little they care for their master. I find the drawing room's safe, a massive block of obsidian that's warded against intrusion.
There are few spells that are capable of destroying anything and everything. I don't really care about the contents of the safe, and expect only one or two items to survive long enough for me to open it.
So Fiendfyre.
The Hungarian Horntail forms on the rug, and gingerly steps onto the safe. Claws of living fire dig into the black, mirrored face of the safe. Heat is actually the best way to destroy one of these safes. The obsidian starts to crack, shatter, and explode as the Horntail keeps clawing at it. My magic prevents the shrapnel from hurting any of the witnesses for my assault. Instead, it's a pleasant five minutes of shattering rock and pinging of pebbles before the Horntail throws aside a large block of stone, and flames spew from the depths of the safe itself. I dismiss the Horntail, dismiss the fires, and pick the un-harmed diary from within the safe.
I stare at it for a moment longer, and then wave my hand again.
Let the Horntail play in the safe.
I glance at the elves.
"If Lucy ever lowers himself to ask who I was, my name is Albus Dumbledore, alright?" I even glamour my robes garish orange, and a fake long beard. The elves nod.
"Thank you."
They all smile at the thanks, and pop away.
Fawkes takes me back to Hogwarts, and I throw the recovered diary onto the desk. Lily and James are still in the Pensieve, and Albus hasn't returned yet.
Fawkes was a little disgruntled about carrying the book, but he knows what's going on. I sit in the chair, conjure a pair of seats for the Potters, and wait.
It's a long damn nightmare.
In the meantime, I walk over to the Sorting Hat, and drop it on my head.
"Well, now," comments the hat. "Not often an adult asks to be sorted."
"Just dump me in Gryffindor and let the sword bonk me on the head."
The hat hums and haws over this request, and I can feel its light touches in my mind.
"I'm afraid you aren't a Gryffindor, any longer," says the hat.
I sigh, but nod.
"Hufflepuff, I think," the hat adds. "You work hard for everything, now. And your selflessness has overtaken your bravery by a wide margin. Helga would frown at your methods, but she'd know you were meant for her house."
I smile, and take off the hat, placing it on the shelf.
"Thanks," I add, and return to Albus' seat.
Hedwig chimes into my head that Albus is on his way back. He appears with a bang, collapsed and gasping for breath. There's a portkey in his left hand, and his right is already blackening around a simple ring with a green stone. I don't cast what few counters exist to the spell, while Fawkes looks on with sympathy, but not forgiveness. Albus is half-conscious.
Half-conscious, especially for him, is still dangerous. The Potters both fall backward at the same time, collapsing into the conjured chairs. James is enraged, while Lily is cold. I petrify both of them.
I conjure a third chair.
"Albus, plant your ass in the chair." I give him a moment to acknowledge me. Lightning shoots from my finger tips into Albus, and his wand is still quick enough to deflect it. He forces himself to stand, and drops into the chair, drained but alive.
"You knew this would happen," he wheezes out.
"Of course I did. My forgiveness is pretty easy. Die. In so doing, you'll never destroy another innocent."
"It was for the Greater Good."
"She did not survive," I reply. Lily makes a noise. I included, as the final memory, her strange end in that dreamscape. "Hand me the ring."
Albus considers the ring for a long moment, before removing it from his withered fingers, and placing it in my gloved hand. I can feel the creeping decay crawl up his arm. I inspect it, before setting it aside.
"As I said, great and terrible minds think alike, Albus Dumbledore," I say, removing Riddle's diary from the sac, and placing it on the desk. He winces at that. "For your edification, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, these objects are soul anchors. Horcurxes. They bind a living person to this world. They are, mostly, created by peeling off a piece of the human soul through the act of a cold-blooded murder, and then attaching it to an object. Kreacher."
"Your Blackness called?" states the house-elf, popping in a moment later. He's holding the locket.
"Place the locket on the ground, Kreacher. You shall complete the task Regulus gave you."
"Of course, your Blackness." He watches as I draw the sword from within my cloak, and hand it to him, handle-first.
"Your Blackness?" he asks, confused.
"You shall complete your task, Kreacher. As Regulus commanded it, so it shall be done."
Kreacher swallows. Tears start to form in his eyes, as he takes hold of the sword.
"I will open the locket, as only I and the Dark Lord can. It is a piece of the Dark Lord, Kreacher. It will tempt you. It will lie to you. Remember Regulus, and destroy it."
Kreacher nods. I hiss the password, and the locket opens. Kreacher doesn't even wait for the thing to fully form. He gives a cry, the sword comically held over his head, and he brings it down on the locket. It screams, a high-pitched death knell that makes my teeth rattle.
"Know, Kreacher, that you have avenged a member of the House of Black." He hands me back the sword, openly weeping.
"Thank you, your Blackness." With that, Kreacher pops away.
"So ends Slytherin's Locket, the last possession of Merope Gaunt, mother of Voldemort, made with the murders of his own father and grandparents. This is Helga Hufflepuff's Cup."
I levitate it to the floor, and then cut it in half. It, too, screams its destruction.
"Ravenclaw's Diadem."
This time I silence the scream.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle's personal Diary, made with the death of Moaning Myrtle."
Ink spills from the diary, onto the floor.
"The Gaunt Family Ring, made by the murder of Voldemort's grandfather." I turn the ring three times in my hand, and call up the spectre of a little girl. She sits on the desk, shrunk into herself.
"Hello, Jessica," I say.
She doesn't answer. James and Lily stare at her, equal parts horror and need. They want to break the bindings and hold her, hug her, and keep her here.
"Jessica Hope Potter. Voldemort's last Horcrux. Made by accident, through the murders of Remus Lupin and his own death. Destroyed by the hand of Albus Dumbledore, through the actions of Vernon Dursley. Even in the peace of death, she is nothing. Hope is in her name, yet she knows it not."
She made no motion, a broken lack of response, from a broken weapon. Even in death, she's little better than Alice and Frank Longbottom. I reach out and touch her arm. She finally reacts, turns and looks at me.
"I am truly sorry, Jessica. Peace be unto you."
She nods. It's a slow, specific nod. She has no tears left. I release her, letting her fade away, back into death where she belongs. Maybe she'll find peace, or happiness, or something there. Hopefully.
"You witnessed her end. You witnessed the reasons for her end, and you know how she arrived there. I want to end this, Albus. Fetch Quirrell."
Albus stares at me, eyebrows furrowed, until they disappear in his silver hairline.
"He is…"
"Here. Yes. Your worthless gambit with the stone drew that monster here. Now fetch him, Albus. The end of the prophecy is nigh," I inform him, rather melodramatically. After all, aren't prophecies melodrama?
I remove myself from the desk, taking up station by the door, as Albus sends a patronus messenger.
Even that much work makes his breathing heavier.
Am I horrible, for ensuring he is not long for this world?
I was never one for philosophy. Instead, I stand and wait. James and Lily are still bound, and Albus is breathing his last from behind his desk. I hear the gargoyle, and Quirrell stumbling up the steps, through the door. He arrives, and looks about.
There's an enchantment on the turban, to keep it in place, and to prevent it from being transfigured.
With a twist of my finger and a wave of my wand, a squirrel drops to the floor. The twisted and ugly face of Voldemort stares back at me.
"Hello, Tom."
The face sneers, even uglier and noseless than before.
"Who are you! Who are you to dare such offense against me?"
"Someone sane and whole. Bite him."
The squirrel's fangs glint with venom as they stab into Quirrell's ankle. I never checked how venomous they are, but I can make a healthy assumption from how the sheep died.
Quirrell screams in pain as his leg gives out.
"You've got between three and five minutes, Tom. If it makes either of you feel better, Albus will follow you to the here-after soon enough."
"Who are you!" screeches Tom, unaffected by the heady supply of neurotoxins from the squirrel. Rather disturbing, if you ask me. I suppose that's why basilisks aren't used for making wands, though. Quirrell's ability to scream in pain is already being constricted as the neurotoxin spreads through his body. I revise my estimate to between two and three minutes. His breaths are already short gasps, the pupils' of his eyes mere pin-pricks, and I cast a spell on his pants to vanish whatever his bowels release. Nobody needs to smell that.
"Your executioner, Tom. Your years haven't been kind. I figured I'd put you out of your misery."
"You think you can kill me, girl? You think destroying this body will be my end?"
"Given the trinkets on the desk, you helpless little bastard? Yes. Yes, I do."
"Trinkets?"
I levitate Quirrell's body, mucus and drool seeping from his face, as he makes tiny gasps of breath, fighting the poison coursing through his veins. I honestly doubt a bezoar could have saved him.
"Albus, what do you call it? The next great adventure? Tom, I leave you to yours."
I drop the bastard on the ground as the spasms begin. There's a series of rather sickening twisting and crunching sounds as his muscles convulse, shattering any number of bones in his body, and snapping his own neck. It takes four minutes for Quirrell to stop twitching, and the black mist seeps from the corpse, disappearing with a final scream of agony and misery.
"Was that worth it?" asks Albus, his blackened hand resting on the desk. "Was it really worth it to kill him in such a manner? To torture and murder him like that?"
"Not really," I reply. "He's done unspeakable things. Performed unspeakable crimes. Truly, he deserved worse, but I would rather have him dead now, than allow him a chance at returning. The murders and destruction I have just prevented outweigh any cost paid with his death."
Albus breathed a long sigh.
"Will you release the Potters?"
"No. They deserve, as much as anyone else you've ruined, to watch your end. James, Lily, it's been an unfortunate mess to meet you. I'm very sorry for your loss, and I'm even sorrier I couldn't save her."
As much as I want to meet them, to say hi, how are you, I used to be your son but I'm now the daughter I just said was dead… I don't. I don't want to. I've lived without them, and I'll continue to live without them. Let them have their clean break, let them have their clean death. This was how it happened, this is whose fault it was, and that's the end of it.
I slam the sword into the final journal on the desk. It doesn't scream, so much as give a long, miserable sigh. There's pain in Albus' face, and his own long, final sigh. The old man releases his last breath, and his entire body droops. His heart gives out, and his strings are cut.
I wait a minute, and then draw the sword back out of the diary. I sweep everything into a bag, and quickly test Dumbledore's wand.
"Fuck," I mutter out loud as I feel the connection. I am the wand's master. Damn it. I put it back in Albus' hands, and then walk back to the window.
"Again, I do apologize for being unable to save your daughter." The guilt slips through for a moment, my "saving people thing." I squash it quickly. What else can I say? I give them one last look, before dropping out the window and cancelling the binding spell.
"You should have used a disguise," says Hedwig as I land by the forbidden forest, the mist curling away from my body. James and Lily are both watching me from out the window.
"Quiet, you," I reply, disappearing into the forest.