**GRIMMAULD PLACE: THE SPOILS OF WAR**
The ancient Black family townhouse had seen many things over the centuries—political conspiracies, dark magic rituals, and family gatherings that had ended in duels, disownment, or both—but it had never witnessed two grown wizards attempting to transport what amounted to four centuries' worth of systematically acquired educational contraband through its front door while maintaining the kind of casual dignity that suggested this was perfectly normal behavior for responsible adults.
Sirius kicked the door shut behind them with the satisfied air of someone who'd just completed the most successful shopping expedition of his life, his storm-gray eyes bright with the kind of enthusiasm that had once made him legendary among Gryffindors for his ability to turn any situation into an adventure that would either be talked about for decades or result in immediate expulsion.
"Honey, we're home!" he called cheerfully, his voice carrying through the house with the theatrical flair of someone who was genuinely delighted about what they'd accomplished and wanted to share their success with everyone who'd appreciate the historical significance of their preservation project.
"And we brought presents!"
Remus followed with the measured pace of someone whose scholarly training had taught him to maintain academic dignity even when transporting materials that could revolutionize magical education or trigger international incidents, depending on how carefully they managed the cataloging and preservation process.
The three mokeskin pouches jingled softly in his jacket pockets with the deceptive sound of loose change rather than the weight of enough magical artifacts to stock several museums and possibly destabilize local reality if mishandled by people who didn't appreciate the historical significance of what they were carrying.
The sitting room erupted in a chaos of movement and voices as the assembled family responded to their return with the kind of enthusiastic curiosity that suggested everyone had been waiting for news about their educational expedition with considerable interest and possibly some concern about their continued survival.
Harry looked up from where he'd been sprawled across an ancient armchair that had probably been witness to more family drama than most furniture should reasonably be expected to endure, his emerald eyes immediately sharpening with the kind of focused attention that suggested he could sense something significant about what Sirius and Remus had brought back.
Drakor's serpentine head emerged from beside Harry's shoulder with fluid grace, his red eyes gleaming with predatory interest as enhanced senses immediately identified the presence of dark magic, ancient artifacts, and what could only be described as centuries' worth of accumulated magical energy that had been concentrated into portable containers.
"*Well, well,*" the symbiote purred, his voice carrying the satisfied tone of someone who'd just detected their favorite type of magical sustenance after an extended period of dietary restraint, "*what delicious darkness have you brought us, Sirius Black? I can taste power from here—old magic, forbidden knowledge, and something that absolutely reeks of soul fragmentation and poor life choices.*"
Bella bounced up from her position on the sofa with the kind of manic energy that suggested she'd been getting restless during their absence and was ready for whatever entertainment their return might provide, her dark eyes sparkling with curiosity and what appeared to be genuine delight about the possibility of examining dangerous magical artifacts.
"Ooh, presents!" she said with childlike enthusiasm that somehow managed to be both charming and slightly concerning given her extensive experience with materials that required specialized handling and possibly their own legal documentation. "Are they cursed? Please tell me at least some of them are cursed. I've been so bored, and cursed objects are excellent for recreational analysis and creative problem-solving."
Andromeda and Narcissa exchanged the kind of look that suggested decades of sisterly experience with Bellatrix's approach to entertainment had taught them to be prepared for anything that might qualify as "interesting" according to her rather unique standards for recreational activities.
Ted shifted in his chair with the wariness of someone who'd married into the Black family and had learned to recognize when conversations were about to shift into territories that might require immediate consultation with legal experts and possibly insurance adjusters who specialized in magical property damage.
Draco looked up from his homework with the kind of polite interest that had been carefully cultivated through years of pure-blood social training, though his silver eyes carried genuine curiosity about what his godfather and Professor Lupin had discovered during their educational expedition.
"Actually," Remus said, setting the specially constructed containment box on the coffee table with the careful movements of someone handling materials that could trigger catastrophic magical events if subjected to sudden impacts or inappropriate curiosity, "we brought rather more than presents. This qualifies as a comprehensive archaeological discovery with significant implications for our understanding of magical education history."
His scholarly voice carried the controlled excitement of someone who'd just gained access to primary source materials that could revolutionize their field of study, though his expression suggested continued concern about the ethical implications of their systematic preservation project.
"Four centuries' worth of student innovation, experimental magic, and institutional avoidance, all preserved in what amounts to the most comprehensive archive of practical magical knowledge ever assembled through unofficial channels."
Sirius was already pulling the mokeskin pouches from Remus's pockets with the enthusiastic movements of someone who was genuinely excited about showing off their acquisitions and wanted to share the historical significance of what they'd accomplished with people who would appreciate the research implications.
"Dangerous artifacts, experimental potions, innovative spell-work, historical documents, and enough cursed objects to keep Bella entertained until she's old enough to require her own wing of St. Mungo's," he announced cheerfully, his voice carrying the tone of someone who was proud of providing comprehensive educational resources for everyone's personal development and recreational interests.
"Plus," he added, gesturing toward the containment box with obvious satisfaction, "one genuine fragment of Tom Riddle's soul, properly contained and ready for whatever educational experiences Harry's cosmic partner has planned for inappropriate approaches to immortality through systematic soul mutilation."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as Drakor's predatory attention focused entirely on the containment box, his serpentine form beginning to shift and expand as enhanced senses confirmed the presence of exactly the type of magical sustenance he'd been craving since their last encounter with dark magic artifacts.
"*Soul fragment,*" he hissed with obvious hunger, his voice taking on harmonics that suggested he was already beginning to shift into his more powerful form in preparation for comprehensive consumption of whatever Tom Riddle had hidden in Hogwarts for the past several decades.
"*Delicious. And so much more besides—I can taste centuries of accumulated darkness, forbidden magic that was never meant to be contained in such a small space. This is going to be... educational.*"
Harry's expression shifted as he felt Drakor's excitement building toward what was clearly going to be another dramatic transformation, his emerald eyes taking on the kind of resigned acceptance that suggested he'd learned to appreciate his partner's enthusiasm for consuming dark magic even when it resulted in displays that might alarm people who weren't accustomed to cosmic entities expressing their dietary preferences through comprehensive physical metamorphosis.
"Maybe we should—" he began, but the warning came too late.
Drakor erupted from Harry's form like liquid shadow given predatory purpose, the familiar black substance of the symbiote flowing across Harry's body with supernatural speed as it transformed him into something that looked like it belonged in the pantheon of cosmic entities rather than a comfortable family sitting room in London.
The transformation was more dramatic than anything they'd witnessed before—pitch black material forming elaborate draconic designs in red and gold that pulsed with their own internal light, massive wings spreading wide enough to span the entire room, and an aura of power that made the air itself vibrate with barely contained cosmic energy.
Draco let out a startled yelp and actually fell backward off his chair, his carefully maintained pure-blood composure completely abandoned as he scrambled behind the sofa with the kind of instinctive terror that suggested his survival instincts were working perfectly despite his intellectual understanding that Drakor was theoretically on their side.
Narcissa went pale as marble, her elegant features frozen in an expression of shock that suggested she was processing the significant difference between hearing about cosmic entities and actually witnessing one manifesting in her family's sitting room with obvious intentions toward consuming dark magic artifacts.
"Sweet Circe," she breathed, her cultured voice barely above a whisper as she took in the full scope of what Harry became when Drakor assumed complete control over their shared form. "I thought—I mean, we heard about—but seeing it..."
"Is absolutely magnificent," Bella said with obvious delight, clapping her hands together with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just witnessed the most entertaining transformation she'd seen since her Hogwarts years. "Look at those wings! And the way the magic is just radiating off him like he's his own personal aurora borealis! This is so much better than cursed jewelry."
Ted was gripping the arms of his chair with white knuckles, his expression suggesting he was reconsidering several life decisions that had led to him being present during cosmic entity feeding time in his in-laws' sitting room.
Drakor moved toward the containment box with predatory grace, his enhanced form radiating power that made every magical object in the room respond with sympathetic vibrations as he reached for what had once been Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem and was now Tom Riddle's biggest mistake in terms of soul fragment storage solutions.
"*Finally,*" he purred, his voice carrying harmonics that seemed to bypass normal hearing and speak directly to everyone's awareness of their place in the cosmic order of things, "*proper sustenance. Tom Riddle's soul work was always more quantity than quality, but there's something satisfying about consuming the delusions of grandeur from someone who thought he could achieve immortality through amateur hour soul splitting.*"
His clawed hands closed around the diadem with obvious anticipation, and what followed could only be described as the most unsettling breakfast anyone in the room had ever witnessed as Drakor systematically consumed the artifact and whatever remained of Tom Riddle's consciousness with obvious relish and comprehensive efficiency.
The diadem dissolved into shadow and light that flowed into Drakor's form like water finding its proper level, and the cosmic entity let out a satisfied sound that suggested he was experiencing the magical equivalent of a perfectly prepared meal after an extended period of dietary restraint.
"*Mm. Adequate, though lacking in creativity. Riddle always was more concerned with power accumulation than understanding the fundamental principles of magical development. Still,*" he paused, his attention shifting to the mokeskin pouches with renewed interest, "*what else have our scholarly friends provided for educational analysis?*"
What followed was a feeding frenzy that would have been terrifying if it hadn't been so obviously systematic and controlled, as Drakor methodically consumed cursed artifacts, dangerous magical objects, and experimental devices that had been accumulating dark energy for centuries.
Each absorption was accompanied by visible increases in power that made the air around him shimmer with barely contained cosmic energy, his draconic form becoming more defined and magnificent as he processed magical sustenance that would have killed normal wizards through simple proximity exposure.
"*Fascinating,*" he murmured as he absorbed what appeared to be a ceremonial mask that had been radiating malevolent energy since the fifteenth century, "*centuries of accumulated darkness, student experimentation with forbidden magic, innovative approaches to curse work that show real creativity despite questionable moral foundations.*"
His red eyes fixed on a collection of experimental potions that had been glowing ominously since Sirius had first summoned them, and he consumed those with obvious appreciation for their alchemical innovation and potentially lethal properties.
"*Much better than Riddle's work. These young minds understood that true power comes from pushing boundaries and accepting risks rather than simply fragmenting your soul because you're afraid of natural magical processes.*"
By the time he'd finished his comprehensive meal, Drakor's form was radiating power that made everyone in the room acutely aware they were in the presence of something that existed on a completely different level of magical development than anything they'd previously encountered.
The black substance began to recede slowly, flowing back across Harry's form with obvious reluctance as Drakor returned control to his human partner while maintaining enough presence to continue participating in conversation and provide analysis of whatever they might discover next.
Harry blinked as he regained full awareness of his surroundings, his emerald eyes taking a moment to focus as he processed the enhanced magical energy that was now flowing through his system like cosmic electricity looking for appropriate outlets.
"That was..." he paused, searching for words to describe the experience of having a cosmic entity consume centuries' worth of dark magic while sharing his consciousness, "intense. I can feel the difference—like someone just upgraded every magical circuit in my body and possibly rewired my entire nervous system for enhanced performance."
He looked around the room, taking in Draco's continued position behind the sofa, Narcissa's pale expression, and the general atmosphere of people who'd just witnessed something that challenged their understanding of what was possible within the normal boundaries of magical experience.
"Sorry about that," he said with genuine concern, his voice carrying the kind of apologetic tone that suggested he understood that watching cosmic entities feed on dark magic was probably not what anyone had expected from a quiet family evening. "Drakor gets enthusiastic about proper sustenance, especially when it involves consuming fragments of Tom Riddle's consciousness and creative approaches to soul mutilation."
"Don't apologize," Bella said with obvious excitement, practically bouncing in her seat as she processed what she'd just witnessed, "that was the most educational thing I've seen since my Hogwarts days! The way he just systematically consumed centuries' worth of accumulated dark magic like it was afternoon tea! And the power increase was visible—you're practically glowing with cosmic energy!"
Remus was studying Harry with the focused attention of someone whose scholarly instincts were providing comprehensive analysis of the magical changes that had resulted from Drakor's comprehensive feeding session.
"The enhancement is remarkable," he said with controlled academic excitement, his voice carrying the tone of someone who was witnessing magical development that could revolutionize their understanding of how cosmic entities interacted with human magical systems.
"Your magical signature has increased by what appears to be several orders of magnitude. If I didn't know better, I'd say you now have access to more raw magical power than most adult wizards develop over decades of training and experience."
Harry nodded, flexing his fingers experimentally as he tested the enhanced magical energy that was flowing through his system with the kind of controlled power that suggested Drakor's feeding had provided comprehensive upgrades to his magical capabilities.
"It feels like someone replaced my entire magical core with something designed for much more serious applications than homework and basic spell-casting," he said with obvious appreciation for what had been accomplished through systematic consumption of dark magic artifacts.
"Though I have to admit, I'm curious about some of the other things we acquired. Sirius mentioned there was more than just dangerous artifacts and Tom Riddle's soul fragments."
Sirius's expression brightened as he remembered the full scope of their acquisitions, his storm-gray eyes taking on the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he was about to share something that was either historically significant or personally meaningful, possibly both.
"Right!" he said, moving toward one of the remaining mokeskin pouches with obvious anticipation, "almost forgot about the family heirlooms we recovered during our comprehensive historical preservation project."
He reached into the pouch and withdrew something that made Harry's breath catch in his throat—a cloak that seemed to be woven from liquid starlight and shadow, its fabric shifting and flowing with movements that suggested it existed partially outside normal physical laws.
"Your family's Invisibility Cloak," Sirius said with obvious pride, holding it out toward Harry with the kind of ceremony that suggested he understood the significance of returning a Potter family heirloom to its rightful owner. "Been in your family for generations, and it's still as good as the day it was made. Never fades, never loses its magic, never shows any signs of age or wear."
Harry reached for the cloak with hands that were slightly unsteady, his enhanced senses immediately detecting something unusual about the artifact that went beyond its obvious magical properties and historical significance.
The moment his fingers touched the fabric, Drakor's serpentine head emerged beside his shoulder with sharp attention, the cosmic entity's red eyes focusing on the cloak with the kind of intense interest that suggested he was detecting something that challenged his understanding of magical artifact construction.
"*Interesting,*" Drakor murmured, his voice carrying undertones of surprise and what might have been cosmic recognition, "*this isn't just magical, Harry. I can sense Cosmic Energy woven into its very fabric—the kind of power signature that suggests this was created by something that exists on the same level as myself.*"
His enhanced senses were clearly analyzing the cloak's construction and magical properties with the kind of comprehensive examination that was only possible for entities who existed outside normal magical classifications.
"*This was made by a Cosmic Entity, or at least something that had access to cosmic forces that most magical beings never encounter. The energy patterns are... familiar. Ancient. Powerful beyond anything that should exist in normal magical artifact construction.*"
The room fell silent as everyone processed this revelation, the adults exchanging looks that suggested they were reconsidering everything they thought they knew about Potter family history and the significance of heirlooms that had been passed down through generations of wizards who might not have understood what they were actually inheriting.
Sirius frowned, his expression taking on the kind of thoughtful concentration that suggested his memory was providing information that he'd never considered significant until this moment.
"Now that you mention it," he said slowly, his voice carrying the tone of someone who was beginning to recognize patterns that should have been obvious but had been overlooked because they seemed too extraordinary to be real, "it never made sense that this cloak was still perfect after all these centuries."
Remus nodded with growing understanding, his scholarly mind immediately beginning to catalog the implications of what they'd just learned about magical artifact preservation and the true nature of Potter family heirlooms.
"Invisibility cloaks typically lose their effectiveness over time," he said with the precise tone of someone whose academic training was providing comprehensive analysis of artifact preservation patterns and their historical significance.
"The magic fades, the fabric degrades, the invisibility becomes unreliable. But this cloak has been passed down through the Potter line for generations without showing any signs of diminished functionality or physical deterioration."
Narcissa had gone very pale, her elegant features taking on the kind of expression that suggested she was processing information that challenged her understanding of magical history and possibly the fundamental nature of reality.
"A cloak that never ages, never fades, never loses its magical properties," she said slowly, her cultured voice carrying undertones of recognition that suggested her pure-blood education was providing context that made this discovery particularly significant.
"Made by cosmic entities rather than normal magical craftsmanship, passed down through generations of wizards who might not have understood its true significance..."
It was Draco who spoke up from his position behind the sofa, his young voice carrying the kind of excited recognition that suggested his education in magical history was providing connections that the adults had missed because they were too close to the situation to see the broader patterns.
"The only cloak that matches that description," he said with growing enthusiasm, his silver eyes bright with the kind of intellectual excitement that came from solving puzzles that had been hiding in plain sight, "is the Invisibility Cloak from 'The Tale of the Three Brothers.' From the Tales of Beedle the Bard."
Harry looked puzzled, his enhanced consciousness processing this reference but finding no corresponding information in his memory banks or Drakor's cosmic knowledge base.
"I don't know that story," he admitted, glancing around the room to see if anyone else shared his confusion about what appeared to be a significant piece of magical literature that had somehow been omitted from his educational experience.
Drakor's serpentine form coiled with interest, his red eyes gleaming with the kind of predatory attention that suggested he was intrigued by any story that might explain the cosmic signatures he was detecting in the cloak's construction.
"*Nor do I, though if it involves cosmic entities creating artifacts for mortal wizards, I would be very interested in understanding the full historical context. Such interventions are rare and typically involve circumstances of considerable cosmic significance.*"
Narcissa straightened in her chair with the kind of elegant movement that suggested she was preparing to deliver information that would require her full attention to present properly, her expression taking on the focused quality that came from accessing pure-blood educational resources that might not be available through conventional magical curricula.
"It's one of the most famous wizard fairy tales," she began, her cultured voice taking on the cadence of someone who'd been trained in proper story-telling techniques and understood the importance of preserving magical folklore through accurate oral tradition.
"Three brothers were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight when they reached a treacherous river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. But the brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water."
Her voice carried the rhythm of a story that had been told countless times over centuries, each telling preserving the essential details while adapting to contemporary audiences and their understanding of magical principles.
"They were halfway across when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure who spoke to them. It was Death, and he felt cheated because travelers usually drowned in the river, and Death was accustomed to claiming them as they attempted the crossing."
Harry leaned forward with obvious interest, his enhanced awareness picking up undertones in the story that suggested it might contain more historical truth than typical fairy tales, while Drakor's attention sharpened as cosmic recognition systems began identifying familiar patterns in the narrative structure.
"But Death was cunning," Narcissa continued, her voice taking on the kind of ominous tone that suggested the hooded figure in her story was considerably more dangerous than typical fairy tale antagonists. "He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him."
She paused, allowing the significance of this moment to register with her audience before continuing with the systematic revelation of what each brother had requested from an entity that existed outside normal magical classifications.
"The oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence—a wand that would always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death himself. So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother."
Remus was listening with the kind of intense scholarly attention that suggested he was recognizing historical patterns that might explain various mysterious artifacts and their appearances throughout magical history, his analytical mind already beginning to catalog the implications of cosmic entities creating magical objects for mortal wizards.
"The second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further and asked for the power to recall loved ones from the grave. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, telling him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead."
Her voice carried increasing gravity as she approached the part of the story that was most relevant to their current situation and the artifact that Harry was holding with growing understanding of its significance.
"And then Death asked the third brother what he would like. The third brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility."
The room fell completely silent as everyone processed the implications of what they'd just learned, the story's conclusion providing context that transformed Harry's family heirloom from a valuable magical artifact into something that existed on an entirely different level of cosmic significance.
"The three brothers went their separate ways," Narcissa continued, her voice taking on the formal cadence of someone concluding a story that had been preserved through generations because of its fundamental importance to magical culture and history.
"In due course, the brothers reached their respective destinations. The first brother traveled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, he sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible."
Her expression suggested that this particular brother's approach to cosmic artifact management had been significantly less wise than optimal strategic planning would have recommended.
"That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay wine-sodden upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat. And so Death took the first brother for his own."
Harry winced at the casual violence, while Drakor made a satisfied sound that suggested he approved of cosmic justice being delivered to people who made poor decisions about advertising their possession of reality-altering artifacts.
"Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and his delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry, before her untimely death, appeared at once before him."
Narcissa's voice took on a note of sadness that suggested this particular cosmic gift had not provided the happiness that its recipient had anticipated.
"Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her. And so Death took the second brother for his own."
The story was beginning to follow patterns that suggested cosmic entities had very specific ideas about appropriate uses for their gifts and might not approve of mortals who failed to understand the fundamental principles involved in managing reality-altering artifacts.
"But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when the third brother had attained a great age that he finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, departing this life as equals."
She concluded with the kind of formal dignity that suggested this story represented more than entertainment and might actually contain historical information about cosmic entities and their interactions with mortal magical practitioners.
The silence that followed was profound as everyone processed the implications of what they'd just learned, the fairy tale providing context that transformed their understanding of Potter family history and the significance of artifacts that had been passed down through generations without proper appreciation for their cosmic origins.
Drakor was the first to speak, his voice carrying undertones of cosmic recognition that suggested the story had provided him with information that fit patterns he'd been trying to understand since first encountering the cloak's energy signature.
"*If this story contains historical truth rather than mere folklore,*" he said slowly, his serpentine form coiling with obvious interest in the implications, "*then the cloak Harry holds was created by the entity you call Death—a cosmic force that exists on the same level as myself, though with different areas of specialization and cosmic responsibility.*"
His red eyes fixed on the cloak with renewed appreciation for its construction and the level of power that had gone into creating an artifact that could hide its wearer from cosmic entities whose enhanced senses typically made concealment impossible.
"*And if the Cloak of Invisibility exists,*" he continued, his voice taking on the kind of predatory excitement that suggested he was beginning to recognize patterns that could have significant implications for their ongoing cosmic justice campaign, "*then logic suggests that the other artifacts from the story might also exist in this reality.*"
He paused, allowing this implication to register with everyone present before voicing the question that was clearly forming in everyone's minds as they processed the full scope of what they might be dealing with.
"*The Elder Wand—a weapon more powerful than any in existence, designed to always win duels for its owner. And the Resurrection Stone—an artifact capable of recalling the dead from whatever realm they inhabit after their mortal existence concludes.*"
His serpentine head tilted with the kind of contemplative interest that suggested he was already beginning to consider the strategic implications of cosmic artifacts that could fundamentally alter the balance of power in their systematic approach to justice and educational reform.
"*If these artifacts exist, and if Tom Riddle was searching for methods of achieving immortality and ultimate power, then it seems reasonable to assume he would have been very interested in acquiring items that were specifically designed by cosmic entities for exactly those purposes.*"
The adults exchanged looks that suggested they were all beginning to recognize patterns in Tom Riddle's behavior and strategic planning that might explain certain aspects of his approach to power accumulation and his confidence about achieving ultimate victory over normal magical opposition.
"The Elder Wand," Sirius said slowly, his voice carrying the tone of someone who was putting together pieces of information that had seemed unrelated but were beginning to form a comprehensive picture of cosmic artifact distribution and its implications for their understanding of recent magical history.
"If Riddle was searching for the most powerful wand in existence, and if he believed it would make him invincible in magical combat, then his entire approach to conquering the magical world might have been based on acquiring cosmic artifacts that most wizards don't even know exist."
Remus was nodding with growing understanding, his scholarly mind providing analysis of historical patterns and their relationship to contemporary events that were beginning to suggest that their cosmic justice campaign might involve considerably more cosmic artifact management than they had originally anticipated.
"And the Resurrection Stone," he added, his voice carrying the kind of controlled excitement that came from recognizing research opportunities that could revolutionize their understanding of cosmic entities and their influence on mortal magical development.
"If Tom Riddle was obsessed with conquering death and achieving immortality, then an artifact specifically designed by Death himself for recalling the deceased would represent exactly the kind of power source he would consider essential for his ultimate victory over normal magical limitations."
Harry was staring at the cloak in his hands with renewed appreciation for its significance and the level of cosmic power that had gone into its creation, while processing the implications of being the hereditary owner of an artifact that had been crafted by entities that existed outside normal magical classifications.
"So I'm holding something that was made by Death himself," he said with obvious awe, his voice carrying undertones of recognition that his family history involved considerably more cosmic significance than anyone had ever mentioned during his educational experiences.
"And somewhere out there, there might be two other cosmic artifacts that Tom Riddle has been trying to acquire for decades as part of his systematic campaign to achieve ultimate power and immortality."
Drakor's expression carried the kind of predatory satisfaction that suggested he was already beginning to formulate plans for comprehensive cosmic artifact acquisition and their strategic deployment in service of justice, education, and possibly entertainment purposes that would make their opponents regret their life choices.
"*Indeed,*" he purred, his voice carrying harmonics that suggested cosmic justice was about to become considerably more comprehensive and efficiently delivered than anyone had previously imagined possible.
"*And if Tom Riddle thinks he can use cosmic artifacts to achieve victory over entities like myself, he's about to receive some very educational experiences about the fundamental difference between mortal ambition and cosmic authority.*"
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