Chapter Twenty-Three: And One Ring To Curse Them All

A/N: Review responses are in my forums. It's been a difficult few months for me, so I apologize for the grumpiness in my responses. At least a little. Maybe. Oh well. Look, another Kyle Katarn joke!

Kyle Katarn doesn't cheat death. He beats it fair and square.

Albus Dumbledore rose from the pensieve where he watched Harry's memory of his attack the previous evening. Harry stood across from the magical bowl with his arms across. The headmaster met his gaze squarely.

"Severus was in a meeting with both myself and Professor McGonagall when that attack occurred," the old wizard said tiredly. "Which, of course, means either your attacker was someone assuming Severus's appearance, or Severus used a time-turner. Given his new appointment from the Ministry of Magic, the latter seems more likely."

"A time turner?" Harry asked, less sure of himself.

"A device that creates a closed loop in time—in effect limited time travel."

"He tried to kill me."

"Unfortunately, there is no way to prove it, Harry. Minister Fudge has begun a crusade to discredit me. I received notice that my appointment as Chief Warlock has been terminated. Without Madam Bone's support in the Ministry, and with Madam. Longbottom and Mr. Ogden under a propaganda assault as well, I have no traction at the minister. My word means nothing, and your word, sadly, means even less."

The old man sighed and walked back to his desk. Harry followed until Dumbledore reached his desk first and picked up Harry's wand, now fully intact.

Harry stared at it in surprise. "But…but…even Remus said wands were not reparable!"

"Some wands are more powerful than others," Dumbledore said before walking back to glowing pensieve. "It was an impressive performance during the Second Task, Mr. Potter. It was problematic that Headmaster Karkaroff insisted on penalizing your time, so you came in only third, but the fact you started late and finished as well as you did was very well done. In a few months, the third task will be upon us. But before then, I have come onto some information that I think requires our immediate attention."

Harry followed the wizard back to the bowl. "Information?"

"We have discussed Voldemort's dark artifacts at great length," Dumbledore said. He reached into the cabinet build around the pensieve and lifted a phial of silver memories. "An old friend of mine recently contacted me about an experience he had as a young auror. He shared this memory with me. I think you should view it as well."

Having already viewed several memories as part of his "lessons" Harry had no reason to refuse, and in moments he felt the disorienting sensation of falling into another memory. He found himself in a thick, tangled wood as man of limited stature and expanded girth, with thick bottle glasses, made his way through the bramble in a strange mix of rock coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing suit that might have been in fashion for men a century or so ago.

"That is Bob Ogden, former Chief Hit Wizard of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," Dumbledore said from beside Harry within the memory. Harry watched as Ogden encountered the twisted, disgusting people in the shack, who spouted threats and hate at him in a constant dialogue.

"How can he just stand there while they threaten to kill him?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore turned and stared with one brow raised. "So you can understand them, can you? I'd wondered, truthfully. They are speaking Parstletongue—the magical language of snakes. All I can hear is hissing. No doubt, old Bob heard the same."

Eventually an older man, who looked slightly less deranged, pulled the younger back from the door and Bob Ogden stepped into the house. The meeting concerned a summons for Morfin Gaunt to appear at the Ministry for Magic to answer charges of cursing a Muggle.

The most interesting part of the meeting, though, was the emaciated girl Ogden greeted. Harry frowned at the way the other men treated her. She was in truth ugly in appearance, with large, protuberant eyes, one of which pointed outward. Her hair was long, lank and thin, and though she was very young, she moved like someone twice her age, with a defeated cowering in her steps.

Harry barely followed Ogden's conversation; instead, he watched how the two men of the house belittled and abused the girl. The abuse turned quickly against Ogden, however, ending in an exchange of jinxes and curses until Ogden fled.

The memory skipped forward to a scene of fighting as Ogden returned with more wizards and took the two men into custody. The girl remained alone in the house after, and Ogden's last look was of a woman frozen by possibilities.

They emerged from the memory. "Who was that?" Harry asked.

"That, Harry, was Marvolo, Morfin and Merope Gaunt—the last living descendants of Salazar Slytherin. During the exchange, did you notice Marvolo wearing any jewelry?"

Harry concentrated on the memory, since his attention was primarily on the girl. "Yes. A locket in his vest pocket, and a ring."

"Very good. Those two items are the only known heirlooms of Salazar Slytherin. And given Tom's parentage, I have no doubt that he would have used both to ensure his continued immortality."

"You found one?"

"What I have found, Harry, is the shack in that memory. And I would like you to accompany me to it, as I suspect it might have some rather specific enchantments on it. I cannot say for sure which of those items might be there, but I strongly suspect at least one of them is there."

"When do we go?"

"Now would be appropriate. You're arm?"

Glancing once more around the office, Harry took the wizard's arm. "I thought you couldn't apparate in Hogwarts."

Dumbledore didn't smirk. He was much too dignified for that. And yet… "You can't." With that, they apparated out.

~~Katarn~~

"Boss, you're going to need to see this," Alastor Gumboil said as he walked into the safe house.

Amelia and Kyle were both pouring through the materials gleamed from Slughorn's party and looked up as the older hit wizard entered. He walked straight to them and placed a piece of parchment on the table already littered with parchment and paper, before he made his way to the kitchen for a shot of Ogden's firewhiskey.

Amelia frowned as she looked at the parchment. "Is that in code?" Kyle asked.

"Standard spell encryption," she said before placing her wand on the sheet. The letters began rearranging themselves into a more legible message. She began cursing a quarter of the way through before throwing the parchment down.

The moment she did so, the letters reverted back to their encryption. "What?" Kyle asked flatly.

"Azkaban," she said. "Gumboil, how'd you get this?"

"Stole it, of course," Gumboil said. "Scrimgeour's been appointed as your replacement. The man wouldn't know internal security if it nipped his bollocks off. Just walked in and took it off his desk."

Amelia shook her head in disgust.

"Amelia?" Kyle said calmly.

"Sorry," she muttered. "There's been a mass breakout at Azkaban—all of Voldemort's supporters who were caught and imprisoned at the end of the last war are free now. Worse yet, there's a gag-order on the news. Fudge doesn't want anyone to know."

Kyle leaned back in his chair. "How many?"

"At least twenty," Amelia said. "The worst of the worst. These were the ones so loyal to Voldemort that they went to Azkaban happily. Barty Crouch Jr was typical of them."

Kyle rubbed his beard as he considered it. "His inner circle—the Lestranges. Malfoy. Dolohov and Yaxley. Who else?"

"Rookwood, Travers, Rowle," Amelia added. "Others. Why?"

"Who would he have trusted to hide something important?"

Gumboil walked back to the table with a tumbler of flaming liquor. "Malfoy had the diary. But it's doubtful he knew what it really was."

"Rookwood was a former Unspeakable," Amelia said. "If anyone knew Voldemort's secrets, it'd be him. Bellatrix is another possibility, but for all her fanaticism, she was a mediocre witch at best. I took her down myself after the Longbottom attack. Rookwood, though, was dangerous. I wouldn't try to take him without backup."

"He was among the escapees," Gumboil said. "He still had contacts in the Department of Mysteries, so he might try to go back in."

"How do we get him?" Kyle asked.

Amelia, though, tapped the table with a finger. "It may be time to bring in some help, boys. It just so happens that we have a few friends in the Department of Mysteries."

"Saul Croaker?" Gumboil asked.

"I was thinking of Bode, but the two are two peas in a pod," Amelia said. "They're no friends of Fudge."

"I'll set it up," Gumboil said. He gulped down his liquor and left the room with the same weary step he entered.

"Good man," Kyle noted.

"Lost his wife and kids in the last war," Amelia said. "I don't think I've seen him smile since."

Kyle said nothing because there was nothing to say.

~~Katarn~~

Harry and Dumbledore arrived outside the thicket from the memory. It was just as overgrown and wild as the memory of a time almost half a century before. Dumbledore led the way through the thick overgrowth, occasional slashing his wand to clear a path. Finally, they reached the shack itself.

Nettles grew up around all the walls, reaching up almost to the roof, which had collapsed in several spots, and in others showed rafters where tiles had fallen or rotted away. The whole structure looked on the verge of collapse.

Nailed on the door was a snake. It wasn't the snake from the memory they viewed, because this snake was recently killed. It still retained its scales, and on the mantle of the door below Harry could see a pile of droppings as the body decomposed. The smell tainted the air around it as it was not a small snake at all.

Over the whole structure, Harry sensed a deep, pervasive darkness in the air. The Dark Side of the Force thrummed powerfully within the house and he felt a pull and prick from his scar. "It's in there," Harry said with certainty.

Dumbeldore turned and studied Harry intently. "You're sure?"

Harry nodded. "I'm sure."

They stepped closer to the house and to Harry's disgust the dead snake suddenly writhed on the nail. It somehow turned its head and stared at Harry with empty sockets. Who dares disturb my sleep?

"What did it say, Harry?" Dumbledore asked urgently. Upon hearing Harry's translation, the old wizard nodded. "It's a line from the journal of Salazar Slytherin—when he encountered his first Basilisk while aiding Otto the Great in his battles against the Magyars. Repeat what I say: 'I am a humble seeker of knowledge'."

Harry dutifully repeated the line, speaking what he thought was English to the snake. However, Dumbledore nodded with a pleased smile as the snake nodded. "Then pass, and learn thy lessons well."

The door swung open. "Oh, well done!" Dumbledore said. "Well done indeed. There were enchantments on that door we would have been hard-pressed to bypass. Come, let us be quick but careful."

The interior of the shack smelled of death and decay. Amidst the piles of broken furniture, Harry saw mounds of rodent and snake skeletons, and other small animals that either nested within the building, or were dragged there by their killers. With the overgrowth all around, it cast the whole structure into darkness despite the light of the day outside.

Once he stepped foot inside, however, Harry also felt the increasing pain in his scar just like he felt with the diadem. Also like before, he opened himself up to both the Force and the agony it led him to a spot of dirty but otherwise empty flooring near a partially collapsed fireplace. He pointed down at the flooring. "Under there," he said.

"How do you know?" Dumbledore asked.

"I can feel it," Harry said through gritted teeth.

Even in the dim light, Harry noticed how Dumbledore's eyes flitted however briefly to his scar before focusing on the floor. With a few deft flicks of his wand he banished the wood of the floorboards to reveal a shining, golden box no more than four inches square. "Oh, Tom," Dumbledore said softly, and yet still with a note of profound disappointment. "Harry, stand back. The box and the area around it is cursed."

Harry did as he was instructed and then watched with wide eyes as the master wizard attacked the defenses of the box. Even with all his studies and Dumbledore's book, Harry could not identify all the magic the Headmaster employed, as he did so with utter silence and a profound level of concentration approaching that of the Jedi masters themselves.

The air snarled. Harry felt the hair on his arms and neck stand as around him he smelled ozone and felt a dread sensation of rage, hunger and destruction. Still, Dumbledore stood like a beacon of white magic amidst the dark, his wand in constant motion. Still, the motion was subtle and efficient—he did not broadcast his wand movements, but rather did just enough to impart the magic he wished to use. It was amazing to watch and as humbling in its own way as some of the memories he'd viewed of the last war.

A shimmering dome of brightly lit shadow formed over the whole in the floorboards, a visible darkness that Harry had seen only in certain dark stygium crystal ligthsabers. But this darkness exuded the intent of a desire to destroy. The darkness around it was so profound that it could only be described as evil.

And still Dumbledore strove against it, pitting his formidable magic against the terrifying darkness that Voldemort had wrought in this house.

That lingering snarl turned into chilling, raging roar until, with a sudden downward thrust of Dumbledore's wand and a half-audible grunt of effort, the dome shattered in an explosive release of magic that sent Harry sprawling backward. He kept his feet, but saw that Dumbledore himself had falling back into a pile of filthy debris, some of which puffed up in a cloud of dust, powdered rodent bone, and more than likely a great deal of powdered droppings.

The old man waved his wand, and in an instant the cloud of dust was gone. "If you would, Harry?"

Harry nodded, stepped forward, and helped Dumbledore regain his feet. Once standing, the old wizard waved his wand over his head and instantly he was clean. "Well, that was invigorating," he said once clean. "A most unusual curse. Curses, if I am to be precise."

"More than one?"

"In reality, it was the Dark Arts equivalent of a multi-layered warding scheme," Dumbledore said. "Curses layered upon curses, each changing the nature of the last, until in the end it created something unique and truly terrible. If either of us had touched that box, the results would have been infinitely worse than mere death."

Harry shuddered as he considered that. With a glance at the headmaster, who nodded his approval, Harry knelt down and picked the box up before handing it over. Dumbledore touched his wand to it several times, probing both physically and magically, until he determined it was safe.

He opened the box to reveal an elaborately crafted gold ring set with a large, cracked, pyramidal black stone engraved with a bisected circle within a triangle. The ring exuded an auror of darkness and death on a level even greater than the curse on the box itself.

Which is why Harry was so surprised when Dumbledore took the ring, dropped the box, and slipped it onto his right hand as if he were trying on a ring at a store. Harry stared, shocked, as the old headmaster's ring finger immediately turned black and began to wither. "Professor!"

The wizard began to shake as he stared with wide blue eyes at what was obviously a curse. He pulled his wand with his left hand and began to cast, but still the curse spread. Dumbledore moaned in pain even as he kept casting magic. The black of the curse spread up into his knuckles.

Harry reacted instinctively, not as a wizard, but as a Jedi. He spun away, activated his saber, and with one swipe Dumbledore's arm fell away from his body at the elbow, landing on the floor with a dull thud. Even as it fell, the hand continued to blacken. Still moving on instinct, Harry turned the saber point down.

"Harry, no…!" Dumbeldore said a split second before Harry stabbed the saber directly into the ring.

What followed was entirely predictable. The magical backlash flashed out like a conventional explosion which blasted the shack apart and sent Harry and Dumbledore flying in opposite directions into the thicket surrounding the shack.

Of course, the difference was that Harry somersaulted mid-way through his trajectory and landed on his feet with a healthy flex of his knees. Dumbledore landed on his back with an explosive out-rushing of breath.

Harry ran back through the shattered foundations of the shack. "Professor! Professor Dumbledore!"

He found the wizard where he had fallen staring up at what light was visible through the bramble. At first, Harry feared the old man was dead, but as he approached, he saw eyelids blink. "Professor, are you alright?"

"I appear to be missing something," Dumbledore said breathlessly. Harry tried to figure out if he was being sarcastic or not, but dismissed the idea. He could feel the old wizard in the Force, perhaps for the first time, because he no longer was shielding himself. What he felt was pain, exhaustion, fear, and a raging anger directed solely at himself.

Harry knelt down and checked the severed arm to ensure it was a clean cut. Reaching out with his senses, he could not detect any traces of the curse. "I…I think I got it off in time," he said.

Dumbledore blinked and held up the stump of his arm, staring at it blankly for a moment. "Remarkable," he whispered. "I can still feel my fingers."

"Professor, I…"

"You saved my life, Harry," Dumbledore said, after blinking his eyes slowly. "In all my life, I'd never experienced darkness so profound. I'm not sure I could have defeated it. It never dawned on me to just cut away the curse."

Harry chose to say nothing as Dumbledore continued to study his stump. "It is cauterized!"

"Only thinly—it'll start to bleed very soon," Harry said. "We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey."

Dumbledore accepted this without argument and allowed Harry to help him to his feet for a second time. However, unlike the last, he leaned heavily on Harry's arm. "The ring, was it destroyed?"

Assured the professor would not collapse, Harry jogged back to the remnants of the shack where he saw the ring, still on one desiccated finger, cut in half from his saber. There was no sign of the rest of the arm. Harry knelt down and hovered his hand around the ring. He felt nothing from it—it was now inert both in the Force and in magic.

He lifted it and carried it back to the professor. "It's been destroyed."

Dumbledore accepted the broken ring with his left hand. Harry didn't understand the expression of loss he saw on the professor's face as he stared down. "We must not leave trace of this day's activities," he finally said. He slipped the ring into a pocket of his robe, and despite having just experienced an amputation and an explosion, he lifted his wand with his left hand and began to cast.

It was a simple reparo, but on a scale and scope Harry had never imagined. He watched, astounded, as the shattered shack began to repair itself, even down to the golden box under the floor boards. The curse was gone, but by the time Dumbledore was done, there was no visible sign that the shack had just been destroyed.

"It will withstand a cursory glance, but if he comes in person, Tom will detect the missing curses and wards," the Professor said. "Now, we must return to the…"

And Dumbledore fainted. Harry, half-expecting it, still felt a sense of shock and surprise when the wizard collapsed into his arms. Having experienced true apparation, and having done so himself as a younger man, Harry did not hesitate to grab Dumbledore and try to apparate back to Hogwarts.

The surprise came when he succeeded and the two landed on the floor of Dumbledore's office. Harry looked up at the surprised portraits. "He's hurt, I need Madam Pomfrey up here!"

The portraits all began shouting questions, but evidently some of them did as they were told, because just moments later Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall came rushing into the room. "Albus!" McGonagall all but wailed.

Pomfrey, though, stayed silent and pursed her lips as she fell to her knees next to the wizard. She flicked her wand over the stump, casting a spell that seemed to freeze the seeping, bleeding wound. "Is this a curse wound?" she asked shortly.

Harry, unsure how much he could say, shook his head. "He touched a cursed object that started killing his hand. He tried fighting it, but it looked like he was failing. So…I took his arm off to save the rest of him."

"What in Merlin's name were you doing?" McGonagall said.

However, Pomfrey continued casting. "I can detect residuals of it," she said. "It's dark—a withering curse, but one stronger than I've ever seen. Minerva, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to take more of his arm off. We can't let that curse reestablish itself or he'll die. In fact, it's only by Mr. Potter's actions he's alive."

With that, the mediwitch stood and levitated the headmaster out of the office, leaving McGonagall and Harry alone. "I repeat, what were you doing?" she asked.

"Professor, I'm not sure how much liberty I am in to say," Harry admitted. "He asked me to come with him and we both knew it was dangerous. Beyond that, I'm afraid I'm going to have to refer you back to Professor Dumbledore."

McGonagall stared hard at Harry as if he were a student caught red-handed in a dastardly prank. But Harry stared right back as if he were the only reason her precious headmaster still lived. And after a moment, she seemed to accept that fact. "Albus had reasons for keeping his peace. If what Poppy said was true, then he—and all those who care about him—owe you. For now, however, we must keep this quiet. I hesitate to think what Severus or the Minister will do to you if they find out Albus was hurt."

Harry could only nod. Trapped as he was by the tournament, he was virtually at the mercy of Severus Snape and his true master.

She turned and left him alone in Dumbledore's office, under the gaze of all the former headmasters. "You shouldn't be here alone, young man," one of the portraits said pompously.

Harry snorted. "I shouldn't be here at all." He then turned and left the room.

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