Chapter 45
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
Years ago, Albus had failed a small boy from an overcrowded orphanage in London. He had blinded himself to a reality that was staring him in the face. He had let complacency consume him, and now that little boy had become a threat so great that even Albus failed to understand the extent of his powers.
And now, just like before, he had failed another young boy. A boy whose very existence had been a beacon of hope for hundreds within these very Halls now sat shattered in front of him, and Albus knew that no words out of his mouth could take away his pain.
The Ministry had been expecting a grand attack, and after the humiliation suffered by Tom and his allies during the unsuccessful attack on the McKinnons, and many had suspected that Tom's next target would be the Ministry.
It was the obvious choice for the fall of the Ministry would be a big blow, and a great show of force. Unlike her predecessor, Bagnold had taken a hard stance against Tom and his followers, and though she was having trouble implementing her decisions within the Ministry, her policy regarding Voldemort and his agenda was clear.
The Ministry had been reinforcing security at its own building and in the few most vital areas of its world. But none of them had expected the tragedy that would come to pass.
Even at the height of tensions, during the last war and the many wars that had come before it, none had ever dared to attack children. Unlike the Muggle world, their world was smaller, and most families were knit together through complicated marriages and alliances.
Children were rare in their world, and attacking them was considered a taboo that none had ever broken before. The possibility of an attack on the school or the Express had not even been considered, and Tom had taken advantage of that very naivety.
Voldemort was a creature of fear, and few things scared a person into inaction and compliance than the safety of their own children. His unscrupulous nature made it obvious that going against him meant he would not just come after you, but after your family and your children.
Tom would spare no one.
The attack had helped him solidify his own position while stirring up a wave of fear, rage, and anger that had left their society paralysed. With children injured and dead, any chance at peace was gone.
Reconciliation was impossible. War and death—inevitable.
And one such soldier of the coming war now sat in front of him. For a few years now, Alder Evans has been a symbol of unity and hope within the school. He was the epitome of what he wished for the school to be.
While he had his reservations about his club, Albus was not blind to the sanctuary it creates and the new alliances and friendships it gives rise to, as it offers an opportunity for Muggle-borns, Half-bloods, and pure-bloods to come together with a singular purpose.
The club was a great boon to the school, and he had hoped that slowly it would help build bridges and erase old notions of prejudice and xenophobia from the new generation, but Tom had ruined it all.
And their world had never been more divided than it was now.
"Is there anything I can do or say to make you change your mind?" Albus questioned, and the Evans boy now wore a mask to hide the scars left by Tom on his followers, yet the mask only hid the area surrounding his lips. The area left uncovered by the mask was littered with fibrosed skin, and those green eyes that had once glimmered with hope were now dead and darker than anything he had seen.
"No," he answered, and his voice was still raspy, and Dumbledore was not surprised by that answer.
The Ministry had taken the attack very seriously, and now the gloves were off. They had authorised the aurors to use the unforgivable, and there were reports of battles daily, leaving some half a dozen people dead.
Albus himself had convinced himself of the reality of war. He had offered Tom and his followers too many chances, and perhaps if he had acted decisively a bit sooner, those green orbs might still have had that glimmer of hope.
"I know that words mean very little now, but I must utter them nonetheless," and he was embarrassed, for once the students were on the Express, their safety was his responsibility.
And he had failed in that. He had failed Narcissa Black. He had failed Alder Evans. He had failed them all.
"I am sorry for my failure in protecting you all," and he had let his guilt cloud his judgment, and now Voldemort and his followers were stronger because of his actions.
He had let pride blind him, and now Tom had done the impossible and conquered death itself. Even now, weeks after their duel, Albus had yet to figure out just how Tom had beaten death itself.
Death was an inevitability, and yet Tom had now conquered it. Despite Albus landing the final blow, Death had refused to take away his soul, and he still had no answer for how he had managed to do such a thing.
"It's not all your fault," Alder Evans began, and so he did blame him for the death of his fiancée.
"In many ways, I bear as much blame for this as you," and his frustration and guilt were obvious in the narrowing of his eyes, as his gaze shifted away from him.
"I got myself involved in this affair without realizing the sheer extent of the danger I was putting those around me in," and there was a self-loathing grunt in that voice.
"I thought too highly of myself, and Narcissa paid the price of my damn hubris," and he was wrong.
"You have always had an uncanny maturity to you," Albus began. While he knew that he could not stop him from taking the path he had chosen for himself, he could not let him walk down such a dangerous path in such a state of self-loathing.
"It often made me a bit nervous, but make no mistake, Alder, you are a child," and he was not even seventeen yet.
"It was our duty as the adults of this society to protect you, and we have all failed in that. I have failed you in that. You are the most brilliant student I have seen in my tenure here at Hogwarts," and there was no lie in that.
"But what about Tom?" and the words stilled the air, as the Evans boy looked into his eyes and repeated his question.
"What about Tom Riddle? Am I better than him?" and few still dared to mention that name, and Voldemort's hatred for his birth name was so visceral that any witch or wizard who dared to discuss his past was killed and made an example out of.
Very few people had even made the connection between the two of them, and of those who knew, none would dare whisper it now.
"How do you know that name?" he asked, and the boy shrugged.
"That is his real name, isn't it? Tom Riddle," and his words slurred with rage as he uttered Voldemort's real name.
"Yes," and he owed him truth at least.
"Answer me then? Was he better than me?" and he and Tom were simply too far apart.
"Tom, as a student, was brilliant. A prodigy unlike any, but you are no different," and he would offer him the truth now.
"As he is now, you are no match for Tom. But against a seventeen-year-old Tom," and now that was a more reasonable comparison.
"I would say that you are a far kinder and better wizard," and so he nodded.
"Why isn't it made public? His real identity. If people were to learn that the so-called Blood Purist Messiah is a half blood himself, it would decimate his support," and if only things were so simple.
"I doubt it will have an effect," Albus answered.
"Most of Tom's inner circle is aware of his real identity, and yet it does not matter to them. He always had a certain charisma to him, and revealing his identity would do him little damage," and Alder Evans gave a reluctant nod.
"Still, very few people have ever made the connection between the two of them. Tom wore the facade of a sweet and kind boy, and few would ever believe that the brilliant prodigy of a few decades ago had now become Voldemort," and what a shame it was.
"On the other hand, making such a public accusation would incur his wrath, and no wizard or witch now wishes to catch his eye. Not after the cruelty he showed by attacking the Express," and Albus himself could do it, but making such a publication would simply put the Prophet's journalists and editors at risk.
"I have heard that you tried to kill him," and he had indeed.
"I did," and yet he had failed.
"Yet you failed," and what could he say to that?
"If you face him again, will you try to kill him still?" and Dumbledore wondered what was prompting such a question.
"Why do you ask?"
"I want to know if you have really decided to end Voldemort?" and still that was a strange question to ask.
"Decades ago, you faced another Dark Lord. You defeated him, and yet he still draws breath in the prisons of Nurmengard. I wish to know whether you plan to offer Voldemort such a fate as well, or have you finally found the resolve to end that monster," and the mention of Gellert made his lips thin, as he was reminded of another one of his failures.
"Sometimes, the greatest mercy you can offer a soul is death itself," and death would be a mercy for Voldemort, and what he had become and with his answer given, Alder Evans looked him in the eye.
"Then I have something to give you," and with that, Alder Evans reached for the bag beside his chair, took out a small wooden case, and immediately the various instruments on the cabinets began to shake and quiver, making him frown.
Even without them, Albus could feel an ominous evil emanating from the little box, making him very anxious about its contents.
"What is this?" he asked in a sharper tone, as Alder Evans looked him in the eye and slowly opened the box to reveal a beautiful diadem, one that was the greatest legacy of one of Hogwarts' founders.
"I believe this is the secret of Voldemort's immortality," and he frowned at that.
"Is that...." and there was no way. The design, he had seen it a thousand times in his life. he was certain.
"Yes. This is indeed Ravenclaw's lost diadem. But the truth is that it is more than that," and he wondered why exactly an object of legend was emanating such a dark and ominous aura.
"I believe that this is a Horcrux...."
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