Chapter 81: Hard to Kill
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 81: Hard to Kill
The room fell silent as Tom Riddle walked through the door.
Harry stared at him in shock. The last time he had seen Tom, the man had been standing in the courtyard of Hogwarts, surrounded by white‑gold flames, facing down Dumbledore's forces. He had stayed behind to buy Harry and the others time to escape.
And now he was here. Alive, whole, and looking healthier than Harry had ever seen him.
"Tom Riddle," Harry said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're... you're alive."
Tom's lips curved into a faint smile. "I told you I would be, Harry. I told you we would meet again. Remember?."
"But the battle...I saw you surrounded, I thought-"
Tom raised a hand, silencing him. "I have survived worse than a little skirmish, Harry. I am not so easy to kill."
Harry shook his head slowly, a mixture of relief and confusion washing over him. He remembered running, pulling Draco and Crabbe along, leaving Tom behind.
"You stayed behind to help us escape," Harry said. "You faced Dumbledore's forces alone. I was sure-"
"I know what you were sure of," Tom interrupted gently. "And I appreciate your concern. But you must understand, Harry, that I have been fighting this war for well over a decade. I have learned a few tricks along the way."
Harry nodded, not fully understanding, but accepting the words. "I'm glad you're okay."
Tom's expression softened, just slightly. "You have a kind heart, Harry Potter. That is both your greatest strength and your greatest weakness. You must learn to guard it."
Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest. For all his power and reputation, Tom Riddle was not the monster the Ministry had painted him to be. He was a man fighting for a just cause...a man who had suffered and sacrificed for his beliefs.
"I'll try," Harry said.
Tom nodded, then turned to address the room. "Now, let us continue. We have much to discuss."
The meeting resumed, and the Knights turned their attention to the Azkaban mission.
Lucius Malfoy stood near the head of the table, his stern voice resounding across the room. "As I was saying before, our informants have confirmed the details. The executions are scheduled for the end of the month. We have the precise day and time. The prisoners will be transported from Azkaban to the Ministry on the morning of the twenty‑fifth."
Tom leaned forward and glanced at Lucius. "What is their route?. It should be safer to intercept them mid-flight."
Lucius unfurled a parchment map across the table, pointing to a winding line that stretched from the northern coast to London. "They will travel by carriage along this route. It is heavily guarded...at least a dozen Aurors, plus two Dementors for each prisoner. The carriages are reinforced with anti‑magic enchantments, and the prisoners will be bound with explosive cuffs."
Harry studied the map, his mind racing. "What about the Dementors? How do we deal with them?"
Bellatrix spoke up, her voice calm and steady. "We have a plan for the Dementors. Several of our members are skilled in the Patronus Charm. We will have a team dedicated to keeping them at bay while the rest of us engage the guards."
Harry nodded, impressed by the thoroughness of the plan. "And the guards?"
Lucius's eyes hardened. "We will have to neutralise them. Quickly and quietly. We cannot afford to raise the alarm. If the Ministry realises we are intercepting the convoy, they will send reinforcements."
Harry felt the weight of the mission pressing on him. This was not a game. People were going to die. And yet, if they succeeded, they would save innocent lives...men who had been imprisoned for years, who deserved a second chance.
"I want to help," Harry said firmly. "Whatever you need, I'll do it."
Lucius looked up from the map, and a hint of warmth appeared in his eyes. "We knew you would say that."
The discussion continued for another hour. Harry listened carefully, absorbing every detail. He learned about the terrain, the timing, the contingency plans. He learned about the roles each member would play...who would engage the guards, who would secure the prisoners, who would provide cover.
But then one of the members, Avery, Harry thought, raised a hand. "What about Albus Dumbledore? Will he be present?. Because that would truly complicate things."
The room went still.
Harry blinked. He had intended to ask about this topic but didn't have the chance.
He had seen Tom kill Dumbledore with his own eyes. He had watched the old wizard crumble to ash.
He raised his hand. "Excuse me, but Dumbledore..." Harry said slowly, turning to Tom. "Isn't he dead? I mean, I saw you-"
Tom's expression was unreadable. He stood up from his chair before responding. "Harry, come with me for a moment. We should talk about this in private. There is something important you need to know, and it is not a pleasant topic."
He guided Harry out of the meeting room and down a narrow corridor, into a small, cluttered office.
The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a heavy oak desk sat in the centre, covered in papers and maps. A single candle flickered on the desk.
Harry turned to face him. "What is going on? Is Dumbledore alive or not?"
Tom sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "He is alive, Harry. What you saw me kill was not the real Dumbledore. It was a homunculus."
Harry stared at him. "A what?"
"An artificial human," Tom explained. "A perfect replica, controlled from a distance. Dumbledore has found a way to create exact copies of himself...physically identical, magically powerful, but ultimately expendable. He can move around, fight, even die, while his real body remains safe in a hidden location."
Harry's mind reeled. "How is that possible? How can a copy be as powerful as the real thing?"
Tom's expression darkened. "You are aware that Dumbledore is a master of blood magic, yes?"
Harry nodded. He knew this well...the blood wards, the blood runes in the underwater cave, the laboratory filled with vials of blood.
Dumbledore was a master when it came to blood magic, and as much as it pained Harry, he knew that the old wizard had learned much of what he knew from his own ancestor, Barnaby Potter. More specifically, from the diary Barnaby left behind.
"Well," Tom continued, "what you may not know is that Albus Dumbledore is also a Grandmaster in another field of magic. Alchemy. In fact, he may be considered the best in the entire world."
"Alchemy," Harry repeated.
'Right...' He just recalled that little bit of information. The original Dumbledore was also a master of alchemy. In fact, it was one of the reasons he was so famous. He even wrote a book on the many uses for dragon blood.
'I forgot about that...' There was too much in his mind to recall every single detail of the books he read so many years ago...in a different life.
Tom nodded. "Alchemy can be an extremely versatile branch of magic. There are all sorts of things that one can create when combining certain magical ingredients. Dumbledore has used his knowledge of alchemy to create these homunculi...perfect artificial bodies that he can inhabit at will. Only one at a time, thankfully. Otherwise, this war would have ended many years ago."
Harry felt his stomach drop. "So the real Dumbledore is still out there. At full power. Hidden away in some corner of the world."
"Yes, Harry. The homunculus was a setback, nothing more. He lost a body, but he lost nothing of himself."
Harry sank into a nearby chair, his legs suddenly weak. "Then what was the point of all of that...the battle, the escape, everything...it didn't matter?"
"It mattered," Tom said firmly. "You survived. And you took the first step towards defeating him. But the war is far from over." He paused, his eyes meeting Harry's. "And we are going to need your help if we are expected to win."
Harry looked up at him, confused. "My help? But what can I do against someone like Dumbledore? He's been practicing magic for over a century. I've only been at it for two years."
Tom gave him a mysterious smile. "Do not underestimate yourself, Harry. You have more potential than you can imagine." He pointed at Harry's chest. "And that book hidden in there... it is probably the most dangerous magical artefact in existence."
Harry blinked. "The grimoire? You know about it?"
"The Potter Grimoire is not truly a secret," Tom said. "Anyone from an old wizarding family knows of its existence. It is also known that it chooses who to bond with. The fact that Dumbledore was so interested in you... means that you have already bonded with it."
Harry looked down at himself, as if he could see the book resting inside his chest. "But even with the grimoire... what can I do? It will take me years to learn everything that's written in there. Maybe decades."
Tom shook his head. "You still do not know how to properly use it. That is okay. You will get there." He paused. "I have faith in you, Harry."
Harry felt a flash of frustration. "Why? Why do you have so much faith in me?"
Tom was silent for a moment. "Perhaps it is because you remind me of myself once. Before I made my mistakes."
Harry was about to ask more, but then another question surfaced in his mind. One that had been bothering him since their first meeting.
"Mister Riddle," Harry said carefully.
"Just Tom is fine," He corrected him.
"Okay, Tom... there's something I've been wondering. Last year, when I found you in Dumbledore's laboratory... you were chained to that machine. You couldn't move. When the fire started, I barely made it out myself. How did you survive that?. How did you escape the castle?"
"Ah...that. I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that." Tom's expression shifted, and a flicker of something dark passed through his eyes. He was silent for a long moment.
When he spoke, his voice was quieter, heavier. "This world holds many secrets, Harry. Magic is sometimes capable of wonderful things... but other times..." He grimaced, his jaw tightening. "I have mastered countless spells over the years. But I am not proud of them all."
Harry's mind raced. He remembered the fire, the green flames, the explosion. He remembered how certain he had been that no one could have survived.
"To answer your question," Tom continued, his voice low, "I did not escape that laboratory. Not in the way you might think. My body did not survive."
Harry's blood ran cold. He understood immediately. There was only one piece of magic he knew of that could keep someone alive after their body was destroyed. One dark, terrible piece of magic that he had read about in the original story.
Horcruxes.
He did not ask any more questions about that topic. He did not need to.
The look on Tom's face told him everything he needed to know...that the price of survival had been steep, and that the memory of it still haunted him.
Tom seemed to sense his understanding. He nodded slowly, then straightened his robes and reached into a drawer.
"Enough about the past," Tom said, his voice returning to its usual calm. "I have something for you."
He pulled out a small object from one of the drawers and handed it to Harry.
It was a wand holster, made of dark leather, soft and worn as if it had been used for many years. The leather was supple and warm, and it fit perfectly in Harry's palm. And on the top, embossed in silver, was a familiar symbol.
The cloaked stag. The crest of the Potter family.
Harry's breath caught. "This is..."
"That one belonged to your grandfather," Tom said quietly. "Fleamont Potter was a great duelist. Among other things. We recovered it from his co-... ehm...his belongings, after he passed away. It is yours now. Use it well."
Harry stared at the holster, feeling a bit sentimental. He had never known his grandfather, just his painting, but this small object felt like a connection. A piece of his family history, returned to him.
He traced the silver stag with his thumb, feeling the smooth metal beneath his skin. "Thank you," he whispered. "I don't know what to say."
"You do not need to say anything," Tom said. " It's yours. Just wear it with pride. Your grandfather would have wanted you to have it."
Harry nodded, sliding his wand into the holster. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for him. For the first time, he felt like a true wizard...ready for anything.
"There is something else I want to tell you," Tom said. "About why I have faith in you."
Harry looked up, meeting his eyes.
"When I was trapped in that laboratory, chained to that machine, I had given up hope. I had been there for years, slowly dying, slowly losing myself. I had accepted that I would never see the light again." Tom paused, his voice thick with emotion. "And then you came."
Harry felt a lump form in his throat.
"You risked everything to free me," Tom continued. "You cut the binding circle from my tongue. You set me free. You gave me back my life." He shook his head slowly. "Do you understand what that means to me?"
Harry didn't know how to respond.
"You are the reason I am standing here today," Tom said. "You are the reason the Knights of Walpurgis still exist. You are the reason we have a chance to defeat Dumbledore." He smiled. "So yes, Harry. I have faith in you. Because you have already proven yourself worthy of that faith."
Harry fell silent for a moment. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't need to say anything," Tom said. "Just be the person I know you can be."
Harry nodded, his chest swelling with pride and determination.
Tom stood and walked towards the door. "Now, let us go back. There are a few notable individuals that I want you to meet properly."
They returned to the meeting room, where the Knights were still deep in discussion. Tom gestured to a small, nervous‑looking man at the far end of the table.
The man was short and stocky, with watery eyes and a pale, anxious face. He was fidgeting with his hands, and he looked up as Harry approached, his expression a mixture of fear and hope.
"Harry, this is Peter Pettigrew. An old friend of your father..."
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