Lord Voldemort SI

**Albus Dumbledore's Perspective**

Albus Dumbledore regarded Horace Slughorn's memory with utmost seriousness, channeling his efforts into the quest for the Horcruxes with renewed determination. The Chamber of Secrets presented both an easy and complex challenge: while he was aware of its entrance, access eluded him. He resorted to casting tracking spells around Myrtle's old bathroom, securing it with a lock, and instructed Minerva McGonagall and Pomona Sprout to monitor the area closely. Their incredulous expressions were familiar to him; he had long since grown accustomed to such reactions.

A more promising lead seemed to lie with Tom Riddle's family. A brief investigation revealed the Gaunts' troubled history. The memories of Bob Ogden proved invaluable. Had he been slightly more cynical, he might have compelled all Slytherins to witness the degeneration wrought by their obsession with "pure blood." However, that was not his primary concern. Morfin Gaunt, Tom Riddle's uncle, was alive and incarcerated in Azkaban. Dumbledore decided to visit him incognito, intending to discreetly employ Legilimency on the prisoner. Unfortunately, he was met with disappointment; the man he encountered was not Morfin Gaunt but rather an unhinged wizard, heavily afflicted by Oblivion spells, who exhibited signs of Muggle plastic surgery.

It was crucial to remember that Voldemort had shown no aversion to Muggle innovations. Analysis indicated the absence of Dementor influence on the man, suggesting that he had been imprisoned relatively recently, after the Dementors had joined Tom. It was clear he was aware of everything — of the war, and of the Dementors' abandonment of their posts. It was implausible that the Ministry conducted daily blood tests on every prisoner, particularly one who had committed murder during Grindelwald's reign and had been left to languish in silence for four decades.

Azkaban was far from perfect; unlike Muggle prisons, there were no routine searches or covert surveillance of inmates. There were no attempts to place "decoys" in cells, hoping to extract information. Yet a prison was not merely a walk-through yard! The thought struck him: Uncle Voldemort had somehow orchestrated Morfin's abduction from Azkaban. But why would Voldemort need Morfin? To sign a will? He had nothing left! For a ritual? Perhaps to increase the number of Japanese cherries in England using Horace's techniques? Now, he faced the daunting task of extracting this man from prison.

Dumbledore's resolve did not waver. He sought out those who had previously discussed the "Morfin case" with the capture team and the judge. While lacking concrete evidence, he suspected the original Morfin had been framed by Tom. The late gardener, Frank Bryce, whom Muggles had wrongfully accused of the Riddle murders, had testified to seeing a young man resembling Tom Riddle on the day of the crime. However, it wasn't this testimony that truly intrigued Albus. It was the trial transcript, wherein Morfin repeatedly mentioned the "Marvollo ring" he claimed to have lost, complete with a description from the accused.

Upon reviewing Bob Ogden's memories once more, Dumbledore scrutinized the details of this ring. The resemblance to the one Tom Riddle had worn during his time at Hogwarts was striking. Moreover, the timeline of its acquisition aligned perfectly with the deaths of Tom's Muggle relatives and the uncle's subsequent confession to murder. If a wizard were to claim to see Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana in the Ministry of Magic elevator, how might he interpret that? Surely, he would suspect a mere illusion! Albus had similar thoughts upon encountering Tom Riddle wearing a new ring. At the time, he had dismissed it as a mere trinket — a protective artifact, perhaps, adorned in antiquity. Many students at Hogwarts carried such charms, with some crafting their own. The idea that it could be stolen seemed far-fetched, particularly given that Tom had secured his reputation by murdering three Muggles, including his own father, and had imprisoned his uncle. That the ring could be a Horcrux, worn by Tom during his school years, was simply unthinkable.

It was more plausible that Tom had hidden the original ring and had been parading a replica all along. This revelation at least partially restored Albus's faith in logic. What piqued his curiosity further was Marvolo's deep attachment to this ring — it seemed to hold greater significance for him than for his daughter. The ring appeared to be as valuable to Marvolo as the Amulet of Salazar Slytherin. His reverence for the ring bordered on obsessive, as if it were a sacred relic. Could the stone embedded within be the Resurrection Stone, the second of the Deathly Hallows? The Gaunts, being descendants of the middle Peverell brother, could very well have preserved the relic without realizing its true nature, or perhaps they had understood its significance but had degenerated over time.

If the ring indeed held the power to summon the dead for conversation, it would explain the mental instability of the Gaunt family. He resolved to investigate Marvolo's ring if he could locate it. Dumbledore had already made some progress, having traced the Gaunts' residence through historical court records to Little Hangleton. The dreary hut was so unremarkable that Albus doubted whether it even required Muggle-repelling charms; nevertheless, they were present, along with other concealment spells, and were so potent that he could have easily overlooked them had he not been searching with intent.

As he approached, an instinctual urge to retreat began to stir within him. The magic emanating from the hut grew palpable, reminiscent of Azkaban, evoking feelings of dread. It reeked of Dark Magic, and he felt that his only options were to flee or to incinerate the place from a distance. The more he inspected the structure, the clearer it became that external attacks would yield no results; the very space seemed intricately warded, creating another layer of protection that obscured the path inside. Did Tom truly conceal his Horcrux within his ancestral home? Such recklessness seemed unfathomable.

The only reasonable conclusion was that Tom believed it impossible for anyone to retrieve the Horcrux from that location. Perhaps he no longer needed it, or perhaps he simply could not bypass the defenses. Surely, any protection could be dismantled by retracing the original construction process! Getting too close to the hut felt perilous; an unprotected wizard would be obliterated almost instantly by the array of curses that surrounded it.

Dumbledore carefully navigated the defenses, realizing that digging or attempting to enter through a window or chimney would merely result in his emergence on the opposite side of the hut. The door was likely the sole legitimate entry point. As he approached, he noted that several wizards had recently perished in the enchantments guarding it, and in order to enter, he would need to untangle the curse system and disable the charms, which he adeptly accomplished. Yet, he hesitated to step inside, aware that the curses he had nullified began to restore themselves.

Was there something or someone within, repairing the spells? A deceased wizard, perhaps? It was reckless to venture inside while leaving active curses behind, even if they were not the most formidable. Dumbledore resolved to employ the simplest strategy — to overwhelm the unseen entity with sheer magical force. However, as he dispelled the curses, he was astonished to discover that the magical energy of his invisible opponent showed no signs of depletion.

Before long, he recognized the distinctive style of the magic at work — it was not of English origin. It was Japanese in nature. So, the missing team of curse breakers had met their fate here, and he had been wrongfully accused of their deaths. The hut was not merely cursed; it housed seven liches tasked with restoring the curses, likely under Voldemort's meticulous supervision. This indicated that the Horcrux was likely secured behind layers of protection that he could not penetrate.

Dumbledore, having once learned alongside Gryffindors, did not consider all of them to be reckless. He would not attempt a direct assault; that would be disastrous. Instead, he would patiently peel away the layers of protection surrounding the hut, step by step, until he could reach the Horcrux. However, a pressing concern lingered — while he rested, ate, and slept, the seven liches would continue their work of restoration. This was merely the outer defense; surely, the closer he got to the Horcrux, the more formidable the challenges would become.

The logical course of action was to enter, eliminate the liches, and then systematically dismantle the hut's defenses. Seven liches posed a manageable challenge, but it would be unwise to underestimate them. Dumbledore produced what could be described as a paired portal. Everyone has their hobbies, and his was the creation of golems. While maintaining them required a steady supply of magic, he had solved that issue by linking them to the magical source at Hogwarts. He had amassed a substantial number of them, but Hogwarts could support many more.

With a simple command, a humanoid metal construct materialized before him. Dumbledore dispatched a golem into the hut. It required considerable effort to send it inside; he had to repel the curses that would attack anyone entering, as the door was not merely a threshold — it functioned similarly to a portal, attempting to siphon magical energy while casting curses to annihilate any incoming entity.

The initial golems he sent in met a gruesome fate, reduced to mere scraps by the portal's malfunction. Dumbledore then crafted a worm golem from sand and sent it forth, reasoning that regardless of the portal's chaotic nature, all of the golems were fundamentally the same. Upon receiving feedback from the other side of the door, he attempted to rectify the flawed transport portal. He soon realized it was not broken; rather, it possessed a random number generator of sorts, producing different results for the same input signal.

Contemplating the implications of this discovery, he recognized that his adversary had taken the defenses of the Gaunt hut seriously. After applying a potion to the door and investing significant resources, the intruder had managed to stabilize the transport channel temporarily, facilitating the entry of several golems while he observed through their eyes.

In his youth, he had often wondered why Hogwarts was necessary; surely, a school of magic could fit into a closet or a small cottage, thanks to space-expansion charms. Yet, the answer was clear — if those charms malfunctioned, the space would revert to its original dimensions, along with everyone within. Someone had intricately woven an Invisible Expansion Charm around the Gaunt hut. While it remained a disheveled mess, it had transformed into an expansive labyrinth.

Instead of the cramped three-room structure, the hallway of the Gaunt hut now resembled a football stadium. This vast area was riddled with perilous surprises: curses that caused aging, shocks, freezing, flames, and more. Amidst this chaos, the division of the room into zones — some devoid of air, others filled with aggressive atmospheres or radioactive spots — felt absurd. Off in the distance, a passageway loomed, presumably leading to yet another modified chamber, obstructed by some unknown force.

Dumbledore noted that all these curses were of low to medium strength; none were likely to kill an unprotected individual with a single strike. Thus, these traps could very well be designed to thin the ranks of intruders. However, he soon realized that the situation was far more complex. New traps emerged in place of those he had dismantled. Initially, he had assumed they were static, arranged in a predetermined pattern. Yet as the hours passed, he discerned that this was not the case; the traps seemed to regenerate randomly.

After a prolonged standoff, he came to a horrifying conclusion: the hut itself was akin to a golem, conjured through dark rituals. This abomination sought to annihilate all who ventured inside, favoring curses to accomplish its task. While it lacked intelligence, it didn't require it to kill. Despite the obvious solution of destroying the hut, doing so would mean losing access to the Horcrux — which was nestled within its warped interior. To regain entry, he would have to restore the structure, but in doing so, he would reactivate the very curse system that served as the gateway.

This predicament felt reminiscent of a classic chess "fork." No, it was more akin to being bound and beaten; while one could resist, the constraints would ultimately lead to self-destruction. Destroying the bindings might seem simple, but it would yield no results in his search. He had encountered "cursed houses" before, but none could heal themselves. Magic could not emerge from nothing. Dumbledore suspected Tom was using the liches — the remains of the curse-breaking team — as a power source. Yet where were they hidden?

He unleashed a wave of potent magic into the hallway, which seemed to consume two-thirds of the reserve. Instantly, all traps within the corridor disintegrated, and the creation of new ones was temporarily halted. Now, he could send the golems to further explore the passage... but instead, the hallway shrank to a mere fraction of its size, crushing all the golems within.

Clever. The apparent simplicity masked a trap. The first layer of internal defense was designed to eliminate weaker foes, and in the event of significant casualties, the space would collapse, obliterating intruders and sealing the path ahead. While this could be restored, Dumbledore would merely return to the starting point. Logically, there had to be traps for medium-sized adversaries further in, with something at the end that Voldemort himself could not breach, which is why he chose not to relocate the Horcrux but instead fortified its defenses.

Predicting his foe's next move was not his forte. He retrieved a crystal ball from his pocket, designed for divination. Stepping away from the hut, he reinforced his defenses and dripped dragon blood into his left eye. Closing his right eye, he gazed into the crystal ball with his left. Even for someone like him, lacking talent in divination, this could yield insights. He was not seeking mundane knowledge today; he aimed to explore the possibilities had he neutralized the first layer of defenses with the golems, temporarily stabilized the passage, and then sent in members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Unraveling probabilities was a challenge for him; he had a tendency to get sidetracked. However, today, he was resolute, aided by the dragon's blood. The visions that unfolded depicted the "1001 deaths of each member of the Order of the Phoenix." Perhaps sheer numbers could overwhelm the traps, but the number of available allies was limited — to one. Dumbledore strained to move the limiter aside, yet he discovered that any attempt to exceed five would exponentially increase the expenditure of magical energy.

Not enough magic? He would drain it. Along with the life energy or the spells animating the golem. In his visions, he repeatedly witnessed himself leading a small team, only to be left alone. He recalled the dying words of Moody, preaching "constant vigilance," Kinsley asking him to "kill Voldemort for him," and Minerva urging him to convey messages to her husband. He remembered closing Snape's weary eyes. No, bringing anyone along would be a grave mistake.

Ultimately, he discerned that a labyrinth awaited medium-sized adversaries ahead. In his visions, he saw himself wandering through an endless, ever-shifting maze of curses and traps, succumbing to magical exhaustion before meeting his demise. He considered retreating, returning in a day with fresh resolve. However, the labyrinth would continue to evolve. Alternatively, he might resort to high-level Dark Magic, obliterating the maze along with himself, never reaching the Horcrux.

Emerging from these visions of potential futures, he recognized the necessity of eliminating the source of magical energy fueling the hut; otherwise, the protection could remain unbroken indefinitely. To access the power source, he would have to delve inside, akin to entering a Pensieve. What lay ahead was uncertain, and the path back would grow perilous. Notably, none of his visions indicated success in breaching the second layer of defense.

It was likely that Voldemort had conducted a risky experiment within the protections, causing the situation to spiral out of control. What could serve as the source of energy? Perhaps the liches? There were numerous methods to raise a mage's corpse. A basic ritual would ensure the corpse could not replenish its magical energy independently; a more complex ritual would bond the deceased's soul to the corpse, allowing it to regain magic like a living mage, albeit with a rebellious will. Such creatures could dismantle the hut's defenses from within, but they required coercion to function.

What about a magical source? Where did the magical energy in the Gaunt hut originate? Even if it existed, a magical source lacked autonomy; it functioned like a waterfall, merely feeding existing spells without restoration capabilities. A source endowed with a will to kill an intruder? How could that be? Additionally, it did not sense the Source! Here, the algorithms generating curses intermingled with the golem hut itself, as though a deranged mind controlled the magic.

Was the Horcrux in fact sentient? It could not sustain life in this manner; it could only parasitize the energy of mages. But how could he conceal victims within the hut to maintain its functionality when the hut would instantly eliminate them? Especially since any supply would eventually deplete. Dumbledore felt a deep unease. The Gaunt House, the Gaunt Ring, and now Morfin had vanished from Azkaban. He had no desire to enter. Yet, he needed at least one of Tom's Horcruxes for study. If he could not breach this location, he would explore other avenues.

At the site of Tom's former orphanage, a Muggle apartment complex was already under construction, yielding nothing of interest. He sought out individuals from the orphanage who might recall Tom — caregivers, peers — only to find that all were deceased, their deaths attributed to natural causes, as though a cherry pit had choked them. A clear pattern of unexplained deaths had emerged in the past year.

Dumbledore contemplated two potential solutions. The first, utterly unacceptable, was necromancy. If the corpse's brain remained intact, some information might be gleaned. Yet, this was not the path he would take. The second path was more arduous. He would need to connect with someone — children, spouses, drinking companions. Tom could not possibly have eliminated them all; he could not have Legilimized every Muggle before their demise.

Soon, he discovered a promising lead. One boy who had lived beside Tom in the orphanage, even as an adult, was plagued by nightmares. He had once consulted a psychologist, recounting childhood memories of "the risen dead." The psychologist remained alive, though he had long forgotten the incident until Dumbledore prompted his recollection. The boy's diagnosis was straightforward: the consequences of a harsh upbringing in an orphanage during wartime had led him to conjure visions of living corpses.

Dumbledore recognized a tolerable Inferi from the Muggle's story. He knew the location from previous visits to Tom during his time at the orphanage, thanks to Miss Cole's Legilimency. Soon, he found himself at the picturesque seaside, where rocks met the sea. He quickly located a small cave, slightly taken aback by an unusual barrier resembling a ward designed to prevent anything from escaping. After dispelling it and entering, he encountered a figure clad in robes, gripping what appeared to be a wand fashioned from bone.

Dumbledore instantly fortified his defenses, unleashing a barrage of scanning charms upon the figure. The spells, typically reliable, malfunctioned, yielding conflicting information. Some indicated it was a wizard; others identified it as a corpse or a type of undead. All agreed on the presence of a considerable amount of Dark Magic.

Summoning a cutting wind, Dumbledore severed the figure's robes, revealing a visage reminiscent of his worst nightmares. The being stood before him, an abominable fusion of body parts, stitched together in grotesque fashion. Stitches and surgical scars marred its bluish-purple skin, which seemed to absorb the light he conjured. The creature's lips were caked with pus; its eyelids glued shut with a foul discharge.

Though Dumbledore was not easily frightened by death, he found himself momentarily paralyzed. He had anticipated a confrontation, yet all he could do was observe. If the creature had lunged at him, he would have engaged in combat; he was certain that even if he lost his mind, his combat prowess would remain intact. But he could not bring himself to attack.

"Aberforth?" he called, addressing the disfigured figure with a tinge of disbelief. "Apparently not anymore," he replied to himself, as thoughts raced through his mind. Could this be a twisted form of Voldemort's delight? Perhaps a message intended for him or anyone seeking the Horcruxes? Or simply a failed experiment discarded by Voldemort?

Dumbledore would have preferred to dismiss this sight as a figment of a deranged imagination, but he knew better: necro-transplantation. In Flamel's time, it had been a trend, and Gellert had not shied away from it either. The concept was disturbingly simple: there were various methods for raising a lich, each with its own merits and drawbacks.

What if body parts from the deceased were affixed to a living person? What if one replaced a hand with that of an Evenkur, or skin with Dereb's? Or a heart with Jaharnus's? Or, more drastically, all of them at once? Such a being could repel spells with its hands, remain impervious to flames, and resist acids, among other advantages. Some had attempted this, and a few had succeeded. Not all were malevolent; some sought progress in magical advancement.

However, a troubling pattern emerged. As some wizards delved deeper into necro-transplantation, they experienced a descent into madness, resulting in a violent purge led by their less altered counterparts. Initial suspicions of drug-induced frenzy or arrogance were soon replaced by a realization of the dire consequences of their choices.

The road to ruin began when wizards experimented with attaching lich parts to themselves, leading to gradual transformations into liches, especially when multiple parts were involved. Those who strayed too far down this path found themselves with no way back.

Returning to the present, Dumbledore recognized that this creature was a testament to Voldemort's sinister machinations. As it attempted to surge toward him, it was restrained by some unseen force.

"I don't know what he did to you," Dumbledore murmured, "but I can assist you." He felt no confidence in his words, but the creature seemed to respond to his gaze. "Just like you helped Ariana?" The thought hung heavily in the air.

Dumbledore understood that the only viable option was to incinerate everything in sight. Yet, instead of resorting to that, he invoked Legilimency. "Legilimens!" he urged, desperate to confirm whether Aberforth had truly been lost to this monstrosity.

He prepared to breach the mental barriers, only to find them absent, as if he had dove into water with no resistance. Within the depths of Aberforth's mind, he glimpsed a vision of his brother, bound and suspended in what resembled an enormous glass flask, while Voldemort extracted memories and blood, preparing for yet another ghastly experiment.

Aberforth's thoughts echoed a singular plea: "Help me!" His torturous existence had left him unable to articulate his suffering, confined by invisible chains. He writhing as Voldemort continued his grisly work, inflicting more and more damage. Aberforth had ceased to desire anything beyond an end to his torment, and if escape from this reality seemed impossible, he began to envision a world of his own making.

Yet, from this agony arose laughter — mocking at first, then softening into something more unsettling, as though an intelligence observed him. When it deemed him worthy, it offered him a means of elevating the art of remaking beings. Aberforth absorbed the sorrow of abandonment, realizing how deeply he had been wronged. He had fought valiantly for those he considered friends, only to be betrayed in his hour of need.

In his torment, he recognized that he had allowed himself to be weakened by Albus's influence. The Dark Lord, a warrior of true strength, had amassed powerful followers, while Albus faltered. The voice in his head whispered temptations: "Do you desire death? Or would you prefer a new life, filled with invulnerability?"

Aberforth's anguished shout of "Yes!" tore through him, damaging his stitched lips. "I choose life!" The dark laughter resonated once more. "So be it."

As the mana stones were embedded within him, Aberforth realized that a transformation was imminent. The being that emerged from the healing chamber was no longer Aberforth Dumbledore. It was a raw, furious consciousness, twisted beyond recognition, clad in grotesque armor formed from rotting flesh and otherworldly enhancements.

Meanwhile, Albus returned to the tangible realm, where chaos reigned. His body reacted instinctively against the Hellfire raging around him. Aberforth, once feeble in comparison to his brother, now stood poised to match him in power. The amalgamation of many tormented souls had forged a formidable weapon of hatred, shielded by unrelenting rage.

Dumbledore recognized Voldemort's critical blunder: he had positioned this abomination near the end, ensuring that it would confront a weary adversary. Yet, he regained his composure. No matter how formidable the enemy, Dumbledore had discerned its vital flaws: a lack of creativity and an overreliance on Dark Magic.

With a flick of the Elder Wand, a radiant light flooded the dungeon. The creature's anguished scream echoed through the chamber. Voldemort had overreached, attempting to fuse too many powers into one form. His creations surpassed those of the Middle Ages; however, strength derived from a source also carried inherent weaknesses.

While difficult to destroy, Albus was effectively healing the creature. Each fragment, holding memories of its original form, fought against the chaos of its existence. The creature began to falter, its resistance crumbling as it screamed, its stitched mouth opening and closing in futile agony.

With the battle concluded, Dumbledore sighed, conjuring a chair through nonverbal magic. He began to dismantle the protective charms encasing his foe. Regrettably, restoring Aberforth to his former self proved impossible; he had strayed too far. Dumbledore's own power, even with the Elder Wand, had its limits.

Could Flamel provide assistance? Dumbledore feared he might only be able to rid the world of Aberforth's body — Nicholas was not omnipotent. He cast several spells, but the defeated creature lingered, reluctant to perish. He could amplify his light magic's potency, hastening the creature's demise, but that would only inflict greater suffering.

With a determined wave, he engulfed Aberforth's body in flames. To an outside observer, it would appear as a flash, but Dumbledore, under the acceleration spell, witnessed every detail. The flesh crumbled away silently, reduced to ash and smoke, the head dissolving into dust, its mouth open in a silent scream that echoed in mockery.

In less than a moment, it was over. Not a trace remained. A sudden wave of sorrow washed over Dumbledore, flooding him with painful memories. Did Aberforth truly deserve this? Albus Dumbledore, a great light wizard, had also become the murderer of his own sister and brother through Dark Magic.

What would happen if he succeeded in vanquishing Voldemort? Death awaited all eventually. Where was the justice in this? Distracted from his dark thoughts, he approached the cave's edge, seeking the entrance to the larger cavern. The simplicity of the answer startled him: both he and Voldemort must kill a victim in a necessary ritual to proceed. No shortcuts existed.

He could disrupt others' spells, but here, the path was clear and unwavering. Any attempt to alter it would only strengthen the barriers. Dumbledore was horrified. Hypothetically, the protection awaiting him could be exhausted by golems or mages. What had failed in the hut might succeed here, but a price had to be paid.

To send anyone there meant sacrificing a life. Even if he ventured forth, he would still need to personally end a life in the Dark Ritual. Complicating matters was the absence of a ritual scheme; he would need to either discern the method of killing or experiment on test subjects.

Dumbledore pondered the cunning of his adversary — a dark mage capable of exploiting loopholes for his own goals. If he pursued this path, he would become indistinguishable from Voldemort by the end. Conversely, avoiding this route would lead to a grueling ordeal, requiring him to navigate a treacherous landscape of ice and water.

What would Gellert have said? "Albus, avoid the hut. The cave is easier. It will all pay off for the greater good, and no one will be the wiser. You could easily use Snape to unlock the entrance."

He had long adopted a rule: to consider what Grindelwald would do and act in opposition. Harsh times required harsh measures, and he acknowledged that sacrifices were necessary. Yet, some principles could never be compromised — they defined what one fought for and who one was. Abandoning these tenets would devalue any victory in this war.

Great achievements and grave transgressions were not one and the same. The world called for greatness, and he could not allow the events, however dire, to alter his essence. He would remain true to himself. With this resolve, he exited the cave.

Dumbledore had identified two hiding places: the cave and the hut. He needed to breach the defenses of the Gaunt hut, as it was possible to enter without resorting to human sacrifice. The cave... he would devise a plan. He had always excelled at strategy.

Nineteen minutes was the maximum time he could safely remain within the Gaunt hut's labyrinth of traps. He began with three minutes, carefully measuring every second. If the path had merely been mined, the traps would have been eradicated. If they were organized in a specific pattern, he would have discerned that long ago.

Yet, the hut bore a critical flaw: its arsenal lacked any truly powerful Dark Magic spells, and the array was limited in scope. Gas-plasma traps, aging fogs, and gravitational anomalies felt decidedly banal.

On September 7, 1982, the culmination of his efforts materialized. A month prior, he had located the liches beyond the labyrinth. A week ago, he devised a plan for their retrieval. Today, he executed it. Channeling his energy into harmless vibrations, he converted them into destructive force at the precise spot.

The seven liches fell, and Dumbledore, drained yet triumphant, exited the hut. Regrettably, this method would not grant him access to the Horcrux; it lay deeper within the hut, beyond his reach. Victory appeared within grasp, yet the following day, he discovered that the protections he had dismantled over the preceding sixteen hours remained intact.

Was there another source of energy? A deception, perhaps, intended to lure him into a false sense of security? It seemed the protections were maintained with an unseen force, perhaps one with Japanese origins.

He was not a reckless Gryffindor and resolved to wait for the protections to weaken, believing they would eventually tire. After a week and then two, no signs of diminishment emerged. Determined, he prepared to delve deeper into the hut, bolstered by a luck potion.

However, as he stood before the door, he felt an overwhelming reluctance to proceed. It was strange; he had never experienced such trepidation, even during his confrontation with Grindelwald in 1945. Yet, he understood — there was always a chance. The future remained unwritten.

Believing in free will, he held fast to the notion that everything yet to transpire could be altered. He would find a way to survive this. Though he did not wish to confront it, who else could? The reliable were often inept, and the capable were rarely dependable.

Nicholas Flamel? He had long since distanced himself from conflict. Dumbledore had abused his authority as headmaster to perform a powerful enhancement ritual at Hogwarts over the past two days. Nothing dark, merely reinforcing the school's defenses.

Clad in the Invisibility Cloak gifted by James Potter, gripping the Elder Wand tightly and checking the Sword of Godric Gryffindor in his pocket, he began to consume Flamel's potions. Nicholas was an extraordinary potion maker; Dumbledore could scarcely compare. He wondered how many countries could be purchased with the value of what he had just imbibed.

"Your health, Nicholas," he murmured, clinking together two vials of Flamel's concoctions. Once, the Sorting Hat had offered him any house he desired, but now it would surely suggest only Gryffindor. With these reflections, feeling rejuvenated, he stepped inside.

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**Tlautlipuzli's Perspective**

The creature nestled within the London Underground waited patiently. To some, this might seem unbearably dull, but for it, it was as natural as breathing. Its disdain for England grew with each passing moment — two formidable wizards roamed the streets, one wielding peculiar objects, while Dark Wizards lurked in the shadows. The notion of fleeing further south became increasingly appealing.

Suddenly, it sensed a shift in the future. The white-bearded man, who had previously attempted to breach its confines, no longer posed a threat. The Ministry stood a chance against him, and the local wizards would be delayed by their protective measures. However, any conflict would likely see Voldemort emerge with his puppets, creating an opportunity for escape.

The Auror patrol suffered a powerful mental onslaught. Dark smoke enveloped them, consuming their essence without hesitation. Tlautlipuzli saw a clear path to freedom and resolved to abandon its cage, swiftly navigating the subway toward the south of London. It knew that soon, the Muggles would be informed that the numerous fatalities were the result of a terrorist attack carried out by the Irish Liberation Army.

Within the Ministry of Magic, a siren blared. Alastor Moody and Rufus Scrimgeour, having established contact with Albus, received the message that he was preoccupied, and they must manage the crisis themselves. Moody took command of the Order of the Phoenix, plunging into battle, while Scrimgeour felt a sense of betrayal brewing. But he would confront Albus later; for now, the encroaching smoke demanded his attention.