Hogwarts Raven (Harry Potter)

You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395

He studied the young wizard, who for the moment had forgotten his roast lamb entirely.

"I think only you know how to deal with that one… I can't find a way," Ian admitted, prompting Dumbledore to give a faint, acknowledging nod.

"It seems you favour a more merciful path. That's not a bad thing at all." Albus Dumbledore's words were laced with quiet scrutiny.

Though they didn't speak in specifics, both understood what the final Horcrux was, and the choices it would demand.

"I still don't understand how Voldemort managed to resurrect. Could it really be as simple as offering a sacrifice to the Death God?" Ian said, thinking back to the terrifying version of Voldemort who had stood before him, alive and whole.

He remembered Voldemort claiming he had first used a dark sacrifice to return, then employed the Philosopher's Stone to fully restore his magical power. The situation far surpassed anything Ian had imagined possible.

If resurrection were truly as simple as offering up a servant's life, then why would the ritual involving a servant's flesh and a father's bones have been so complex in the proper timeline?

"Indeed, making a sacrifice to the Death God can grant temporary life… but it carries an enormous price," Dumbledore began to explain slowly. "I daresay he was driven to such desperation by your relentless destruction of his Horcruxes."

The headmaster folded his hands and continued. "I first encountered this magic when I was a young man."

"But the cost is far beyond what most souls can bear. It is, after all, the mercy of Death itself. The living sacrifice is merely the catalyst for the exchange."

"What must truly be given up is the soul of the one returning… This magic hails from ancient Egypt and was cast aside by wizardkind centuries ago."

Truth be told, the old headmaster's explanation caught Ian off guard. He hadn't expected that Dumbledore already knew of the resurrection rite Voldemort had used, let alone that he'd once studied it himself.

Clearly, it was the demand for a soul that had dissuaded Dumbledore from ever attempting it. A resurrection that might lead to a fate worse than lingering as a ghost was no resurrection at all.

"Maybe Noseless reckoned he had enough bits of soul left to spare one… Or maybe he truly believed he could cheat Death and live forever," Ian speculated, trying, and largely failing, to guess at the madman's reasoning.

Understanding Voldemort's mind was no easy feat. Only the truly unhinged could follow the thoughts of someone more unhinged still.

"Perhaps he did think that way," Dumbledore agreed, "but I very much doubt Death would be fooled so easily. If he was merely lost before, then casting that magic surely condemned him entirely."

Ian nodded. He couldn't argue with Dumbledore's insight.

"He was too far gone. Probably didn't care how deep the abyss was, so long as he could fall into it on his own terms." Ian rose from his seat and glanced at the clock; his brewing potions were soon to need fresh ingredients.

"Other matters pressing?"

Albus Dumbledore looked up at the young wizard standing near his chair.

"The potion's about to burn."

Ian offered no excuse, just the truth.

"Then best tend to it. Still, thank you for your trust, and for all you've done for Hogwarts… and for me."

Dumbledore's voice was warm, tinged with something unspoken.

"Just doing my bit."

Ian gave a cheeky 'OK' gesture and ambled toward the door of the headmaster's office. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, a thought struck him, one last thread left untied.

"Who was it that reported you to the Ministry of Magic?"

Ian turned back, curiosity lighting his features.

Albus Dumbledore, in the midst of Vanishing the remnants of Ian's rather enthusiastic meal, paused. When he looked up, his expression was unreadable, veiled by the quiet shadow of deeper thoughts.

"If I told you I didn't know," he said softly, "I doubt you'd believe me."

His tone was gentle, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

"I can pretend to believe you?"

Ian blinked innocently.

Dumbledore chuckled under his breath and shook his head, a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Child, matters such as this involve the subtle workings of time and power upon a person's heart. All I can say is this, it is someone who once aided me, but who has grown increasingly cautious in their dealings with me."

He did not answer Ian's question directly.

The response was laced with ambiguity.

"Someone highly placed, then?"

Ian raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"Someone of considerable esteem,"

Albus Dumbledore replied, clearly unwilling to elaborate further. Realising he would get nothing more, the young wizard could only leave the headmaster's office with curiosity still simmering beneath the surface.

Somewhere along the eighth-floor corridor, 

"You're looking rather pleased with yourself."

The daft Barnabas, dancing outside the Room of Requirement, suddenly piped up from his portrait.

"Today's been rather exciting, and successful, too," Ian replied at once, grinning. "The best part is, I got to show off my talents and foil some very nasty business from the Dark side. Can't imagine you'd understand just how rare that kind of triumph really is."

Ian rather enjoyed it when others asked him questions like this, it gave him the perfect opportunity to boast shamelessly.

And he wasn't exaggerating.

After all, he had indeed defeated Voldemort, who, as of now, was still lying unconscious in the Hospital Wing. Reveling in the glory of it, Ian basked in the moment while Barnabas's curiosity grew and grew, prompting him to badger Ian for more details.

"I told you, you wouldn't get it."

The young wizard satisfied himself with the vague answer, twisted the brass handle, and slipped into the Room of Requirement.

Left behind in the corridor, Barnabas the Barmy was muttering indignantly, cursing the lad under his breath for being so secretive, while continuing to get thoroughly walloped by trolls in his painting.

Elsewhere, 

In the now-silent headmaster's office.

Albus Dumbledore collected his thoughts once again, then reached for the Time-Turner hanging around his neck. With a faint shimmer of magic, he retrieved the thick, dust-covered tome still resting on the table.

'Fool's Game with Fate.'

The old headmaster turned back to the book, delving once more into its pages.

The author's name was emblazoned clearly across the cover:

Morgan Le Fay.

…

Twilight Zone.

Under a limitless, starlit sky, a vast, restless black sea surged with unnatural force, its every movement breathing a heavy sense of dread, like a living abyss. The dark tide, deeper than pitch, crashed against the coarse sand of a remote, lonely island. Each wave let out a guttural roar, like some ancient creature stirring in its sleep.

This sea felt like the final resting place of all that was dark and unknown. Its hue was so consuming it seemed to devour every trace of light. Even the brightest strands of moonlight dissolved the moment they touched its surface, leaving only pale, spectral ripples across its inky sheen.

"Whoosh~ Whoosh~"

The sound of the waves whispered like ancient secrets, echoing through the forgotten edge of the world.

"Quack quack quack~"

On the island's barren stretch of land…

A brown Chocolate Frog was energetically chasing a peculiar creature: a Snot Bug, its face twisted into a grotesque expression, stitched mouth sealed shut, unable to do more than seethe in impotent rage.

The Snot Bug scrambled.

The Chocolate Frog gave chase.

And though the Frog could never quite eat it, the Bug could never quite get away.

Were it not for the Chocolate Frog's innate inability to swallow, the Snot Bug would have been devoured long ago, its sluggish crawl no match for the enchanted confection's bouncing pursuit.

"Quack quack quack~"

The Chocolate Frog gleefully pounced on the Snot Bug. But rather than finish it off, it released the creature again, clearly eager to resume its little game of torment.

Then, 

A black cloak drifted down from the darkened heavens, its hem skimming the surface of the surging sea. Though it floated unnaturally, there was no visible figure within, only an abyssal void concealed by folds of shadow.

Upon the island, touched only faintly by the moon's glow, the presence of the cloak was like the arrival of a storm. All life on the island stilled. Even the sea hushed, as though afraid to ripple.

It drifted forward, slowly, deliberately.

Crack~

A faint, brittle snap echoed through the oppressive silence, the only sound in the air as the unseen figure crushed the Chocolate Frog beneath its unseen foot.

Then, from deep within the cloak, a pale hand emerged, cold and bloodless. It plucked the Snot Bug gently from the ground.

Turning back to the black sea, the figure glided forward again, its very presence parting the roaring waves, as though the sea itself bowed to it.

When the cloaked presence vanished into the night…

The island resumed its rhythm, as if nothing had disturbed it.

Only the squashed remains of the Chocolate Frog, flattened and oozing, were left behind.

A silent witness to that fleeting, chilling encounter.

(End of this chapter)