Chapter 60
Tom supposed he should have seen it coming.
He went to rouse Harry for breakfast, only to find his bed empty. He looked in the bathroom and the closet, then went back out into the hallway, looking up and down.
‘Miggy!’ he called, a little worried but not yet panicking.
‘Master calls Miggy?’ the elf popped up beside him.
‘Where is Harry?’
Miggy tipped her head to one side as if listening for something. ‘Outside the wards, but Miggy can find him, seeing as he is Master’s son now.’ She gave him an approving nod, then reached for his hand.
‘Wait!’ Tom said, before pressing a finger to his Mark. ‘How many people are you able to transport at once, Miggy?’
Miggy tilted her head side to side. ‘Only two for this far, Master. Little Master is a long way away.’
Tom breathed through the panic, waiting impatiently as several people came hurrying down the hallway. ‘Where is Black?’ he snapped, fear making him short and sharp.
‘Outside last I saw him.’ someone answered.
‘Lucius, go get him and bring him to where I call you. Barty, with me. Everyone else, be prepared for my call. Someone has Harry. Miggy will take me to him, and I will call you through the Mark.’
Short nods met his words, then people rushed off to raise the alarm and prepare more people to be ready for the call. Barty and Tom reached for Miggy’s hands and braced themselves for the strange tugging of elf apparition.
The Gringott’s foyer was busy this time of day.
The sudden arrival of a house elf, Bartemius Crouch Jr, and the elusive and secretive Dark Lord Riddle, into the middle of the foyer, made everyone freeze in utter shock.
The Dark Lord’s eyes roved quickly over the amassed crowd, before his gaze landed on… James Potter, holding a little boy’s hand. The Dark Lord pressed a finger to his forearm as he spoke.
‘Let the boy go, Lord Potter.’ The Dark Lord said, voice quiet but carrying in the large space, so silent you could hear a pin drop. Even the goblins were watching with interest. The Dark Lord was an ally of the goblin nation, after all. They were interested to see how he handled himself in… whatever this situation was.
Potter gripped the boy’s hand tighter, making the child gasp and try to pull away.
‘Don’t tell me what to do with my son!’ snarled Potter.
‘He is not your son. You turned him out, abandoned him to pain and suffering. Lady Magic has rescinded your claim on him. Let him go.’
Potter’s wand was in his hand, and he pointed it right at the Dark Lord’s chest.
The Dark Lord didn’t move. He was watching the child, looking him over carefully. The silence stretched.
Finally, Potter snapped. ‘Someone call for the Aurors! That man is the Dark Lord! He has plans to eradicate anyone who refuses to kiss his feet, anyone with a Light core! He is going to destroy our kind!’
Incredulous stares met his shouting, although there was a new wariness in the way people looked at the man in the centre of the foyer, impassive and cool – though there was the definite sense of power about him. Not someone to trifle with.
‘That is untrue and you know it.’ The Dark Lord said simply, as if Potter had said he was part Kneazle and had a hidden tail. ‘Let the boy go.’
Potter’s grip grew tighter, and the boy gasped, trying to free his trapped wrist and grimacing. People close by began to shift uncomfortably. On one hand, the feared and mysterious Dark Lord. One the other, a man who was crushing the wrist of a little boy, oblivious – or uncaring – of his pain and fear.
Suddenly, a wash of enlightenment ran over Potter’s face. He yanked the boy’s arm, dragging him in front of himself and practically brandishing the child like a weapon.
‘Come for your prophesied defeater, your Lordship?’ Potter taunted, sarcasm heavy in his tone. ‘Gather round and watch, people – the great and mighty Dark Lord, about to be killed by a child!’
Murmurs ran around the room at that. Potter grinned in twisted triumph, but he clearly wasn’t listening closely enough.
‘What kind of madman thinks a little kid is going to defeat a Dark Lord?’
‘Not one with a broken bloody wrist, that’s for sure!’
‘Someone should call the Aurors, Potter has gone mad!’
The murmurs began to swell, but the Dark Lord took a step forward and silence reigned again.
The Dark Lord dropped to one knee, and it was so silent it was as if everyone had stopped breathing to watch. Even Potter was shocked into silence.
The Dark Lord’s hands twisted in front of his chest as he looked at the boy, who nodded miserably. His hands twisted again, and the boy shook his head. The Dark Lord’s hands twisted a third time, and the little boy seemed to steel himself, gritting his teeth and tucking his chin into his shoulder.
Before anyone could react, Potter went flying, thudding against a wall. His grip had loosened on the child’s wrist, but not before he’d yanked the boy from his feet and sent him sprawling on his back. The crowd parted, scurrying backwards as the Dark Lord hastened to the boy.
Before he could reach the child, a whip crack of Apparition sounded, and Albus Dumbledore stood practically on top of the boy, eyes blazing and wand outstretched.
‘You shall not harm this child!’ he boomed, and everyone took a nervous step back.
The Dark Lord’s unimpressed glare was… confusing. The crowd watched on, perplexed.
‘It was your man who harmed the boy, Dumbledore.’ The Dark Lord growled.
‘It was James Potter who rescued the boy after he was kidnapped and held prisoner in your camp, Riddle.’
Gasps echoed at that, but the Dark Lord ignored them. ‘Come off it, Dumbledore. You speak with such authority, but you are not the Light Lord. Your power is only what you have fashioned for yourself, through manipulation and deceit and underhanded tactics.’
‘I am Light Lord Dumbledore, and I demand that you surrender yourself!’ roared Dumbledore.
The Dark Lord looked unimpressed at the attempt to make him cower. ‘You are not the Light Lord. I don’t know who is – no doubt there is no true Light Lord yet. I’m sure whoever it was before was… dealt with by you.’
More gasps and murmurs. Dumbledore looked like the epitome of righteous anger, but there were hints of nervousness in the corners of his eyes, cracks in the mask he held close.
‘I have not come to fight. Let the boy go.’ The Dark Lord said, voice quiet again.
‘Harry Potter will be going nowhere with you!’ Dumbledore spat.
‘Agreed. Henry Riddle will be coming with me, though.’
Ringing silence met that statement, before the murmuring broke out at a greater volume than ever.
Dumbledore looked shocked, before he quickly tried to school his expression. ‘You cannot fool me, Riddle. Leave, and I will allow you to go in peace. If you do not leave, then I will be forced to take action.’
Dumbledore shifted his weight, preparing for a fight.
The Dark Lord kept his posture loose, standing straight on with empty hands. ‘Give me my son.’ He said quietly.
‘Son!’ spat Dumbledore. ‘As if a corrupted soul like yours could father a son! You are incapable of love!’
‘What is the meaning of this?!’ came the voice of Madam Bones, striding into the foyer, flanked by Aurors. ‘Put your wands away immediately!’
The Dark Lord stood still, hands still empty. Dumbledore wavered, before turning on the charm. ‘Madam Bones, how fortunate you are here. I believe you ought to take the Dark Lord into custody immediately. Aurors, if you please?’
Nobody moved. ‘Do not direct my Aurors, Dumbledore. You have no authority over them. Put away your wand.’
Dumbledore’s expression fractured, a flash of rage showing through before he carefully hid it away. ‘I’m afraid I cannot do that, Madam Bones.’ He said, voice trying for apologetic but not quite ringing true. ‘The Dark Lord is simply too dangerous to be allowed to go free.’
With that, Dumbledore’s wand whipped in an arc and came down, hitting the Dark Lord square in the chest. Despite being wandless, the Dark Lord held the main force of the spell off. The sheer power made him drop to a knee still, blood quickly soaking the front of his robe.
Dumbledore didn’t waste time though, wand whipping again as a misty wave washed over the room, and people began to draw their wands sluggishly, eyes glazed. Madam Bones seemed unaffected, as did her Aurors. The cloudy-eyed crowd began to shuffle towards the Dark Lord, wands glowing with eerie green lights, as they closed in on him.
Screams of fear rang throughout the foyer at the sight of the Killing Curse glowing at the end of so many wands.
‘Aurors, on my signal!’ ordered Madam Bones, and as one the Aurors cast together, wands moving in unison, ‘Somnus!’
The cloudy eyed crowd dropped immediately. Those able to resist the broad-scale, less precise Imperius were also able to resist the sleeping spell, although many sank to their knees, eyelids drooping.
Dumbledore let out a roar of anger, wand rising again – but he stopped suddenly in surprise.
Everyone else stopped too, confused.
The Dark Lord’s eyes were already fixed on the interruption.
The little boy behind Dumbledore was standing again, eyes burning with fury. It appeared his accidental magic had summoned Dumbledore’s wand from his hand, cutting him off mid spell. Dumbledore was powerful enough to cast without a wand, but sheer surprise stopped him.
His wand had been won from him by a small child.
He had lost the loyalty of the Elder wand, just like that.
‘Don’t touch my dad.’ The boy rasped, voice rough and hoarse.
The child moved forward, anger radiating from his tiny form as he passed a silent Dumbledore. The crowd shuffled back, watching in utter bafflement as a little boy holding Dumbledore’s wand approached the bleeding Dark Lord and wrapped his skinny arms around the Dark Lord’s neck.
The Dark Lord’s arms came up to wrap the child gently, breathing in the scent of his son. ‘Alright, my love?’ he murmured, but the sound seemed to echo in the large space. The child nodded, then pulled away. He laid a hand over the blood-soaked robe, pressing gently.
The Dark Lord’s head dropped for a moment, before he gently pulled the boy’s hand away. ‘It’s alright, my love. It will heal. Save your magic for your wrist. Is it alright?’ The Dark Lord lifted the boy’s bruised wrist, examining it carefully. ‘Shall I numb it until Marius can have a look?’
Before the boy could answer, Dumbledore began to move. In an instant, a dozen wands were pointed at him, and though he paused, he still smiled genially. ‘I can see you are all rather taken with this little act. Until you are ready to see reason, I believe I shall take my leave. Fawkes!’ he cried, clapping his hands. A phoenix appeared, swooping for his raised hands, before it diverted its route and came to land in front of the boy.
The boy looked delighted, crouching down to smile at the large bird. The pair seemed to have a silent conversation of some sort, before the boy reached out and ran a gentle finger over the bird’s head.
Dumbledore scowled, calling his phoenix again. The bird turned to look at him, then back at the boy. The boy shook his head, and the phoenix trilled.
‘Albus Dumbledore, you are under arrest for the use of an Unforgivable curse on multiple persons, for using an Unforgivable to compel others to cast an Unforgivable, for conspiracy to commit murder by another’s hand through use of an Imperius-type curse, and for assault with a weapon. The use of a single Unforgivable curse carries a life sentence in Azkaban. The use of each subsequent Curse carries the same sentence, up to the point of ten lifetimes. At that point, the perpetrator faces the Dementor’s Kiss. Given that you cast Unforgivable curses on nineteen people, and that two counts of the crime are counted for each person, as you intended to force them to cast an Unforgivable, you are sentenced with thirty-eight counts of committing an Unforgivable. As we are on Goblin land, jurisdiction falls to them. To the Goblin leader of this Branch, I request your permission to remove Albus Dumbledore for sentencing.’
‘Denied.’ came a gravelly voice. ‘Dumbledore has been a vicious thorn in the side of the Goblin Nation for many decades. We seek retribution for the crimes of wixen and the crimes of goblins committed on sovereign soil.’
Dumbledore began to look just a bit nervous. This was looking like a slightly tricky situation to get out of. He tried to hiss to Fawkes again, but the damn bird was cooing at the boy, still stroking gently. The goblin seemingly in charge growled at him, snapping its long fingers and binding and gagging Dumbledore, who looked suddenly a little bit panicked.
‘In respect for our wixen patrons, we will agree to carry out a wixen form of justice, rather than traditional goblin justice. We call for a dementor.’
Shrieks ran around the foyer as people hastily pressed back against the walls in fear.
The little boy stood suddenly, looking at the goblin who seemed to be in charge. His hand waved in front of his chest.
‘He asks your name, Sir Goblin.’ The Dark Lord explained quietly, on one knee beside the boy.
‘I am Ragnok, Chief Goblin of Gringott’s of Britain.’
The boy’s hand waved around again, this time for a long while, and after a moment the Dark Lord spoke. ‘He says, my name is Henry Thomas Riddle. I am the son of the Dark Lord. I have been – ‘ the Dark Lord paused, touching the boy’s elbow. ‘What is this sign?’ he whispered. The boy made a few other signs, and the Dark Lord nodded.
‘He says, I have been wronged by Dumbledore, and I wish to – well, he is a child, Sir Goblin, and therefore a little unclear, but I believe he means he wishes for the Goblin Nation to be merciful.’
The boy nodded, watching the Chief Goblin intently.
Chief Ragnok hummed, a deep, rough sound that rumbled in his chest. ‘You have been wronged, and you seek no retribution, child? Yet you claim you are the son of the Dark Lord?’ the goblin sneered at the boy.
The boy raised his hands and signed.
‘He says,’ began the Dark Lord, before he stopped, looking at the boy in shock. ‘Really? You are sure?’ he asked the boy, who nodded solemnly. ‘He says his retribution will be taken by Father Death, and therefore he need seek no retribution of his own.’
‘Those are the boy’s words, are they?’ the goblin challenged, seemingly amused.
‘Paraphrased,’ the Dark Lord shrugged. ‘But effectively, yes. He says he will wait for Father Death to deal with Dumbledore.’
‘The boy may seek no retribution, but the Goblin Nation is not so soft. Bring in the dementor.’
A heavy door opened, and the temperature of the room dropped dramatically. Moans of misery and despair began as the dementor glided forward, towards the bound and gagged Dumbledore.
It stopped a short distance away, and turned, then glided slowly forward. Before anyone could react, it reached out a thin, grey arm toward the little boy, who was standing still and staring at it.
Even the Chief Goblin’s heart caught in his throat – a weak and soft-hearted wizard the child may be, but he was still a child, face to face with a dementor.