"What did you say?" Kingsley looked on the verge of losing control. "Dumbledore was returning to Hogwarts… Don't tell me he was planning to—"
Jon let out a quiet sigh and wiped at the corner of his eyes. "Almost a year ago, when we went to destroy the Horcrux at the Gaunt Shack, Professor Dumbledore was struck by a curse from You-Know-Who. He was gravely wounded… mortally so…"
His voice broke, and he couldn't go on.
But both Moody and Kingsley understood. It meant that Dumbledore had been prepared to sacrifice his own life to buy them more time to destroy the Horcruxes.
Kingsley's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. The steady, composed middle-aged wizard had never lost his composure like this before.
Vance and Rosier exchanged puzzled glances, clearly unsure what had just happened—or what these British wizards were talking about.
"Pull yourselves together!" Mad-Eye barked sternly. "Our mission isn't finished yet. Kingsley, what was Rodolphus Lestrange's father's name?"
Kingsley forced himself to steady his breathing. "Just Lestrange—one of the earliest Death Eaters. After Voldemort disappeared last time, he vanished as well and was never seen again. So… he's dead."
"Lestrange…" Mad-Eye's magical eye spun rapidly, scanning one gravestone after another.
A minute later, he shouted, "Found it! Over here!"
Moody limped forward and brought his wand down hard on the grave.
With a deafening crack, the tomb split apart, revealing a marble coffin inside.
...
"Master!" Draco's voice trembled.
Among all the Death Eaters, he was undoubtedly the most terrified. After all, he was the one who had brought Voldemort into Hogwarts.
Even though he had braced himself, facing a Dark Lord who could erupt into fury at any moment still left him teetering on the brink of collapse.
Voldemort slowly opened his eyes. They had returned to their crimson hue.
"Draco, you have done well." A twisted smile curled at the corner of Voldemort's lips.
The fury in him gradually subsided.
Reaching the Lestrange family burial grounds now would not be easy. Apparition was strictly forbidden within Hogwarts grounds.
He could return to the Room of Requirement and leave through the Vanishing Cabinet—but that path would take him past numerous defenders of the castle and almost certainly lead to a fierce battle.
Or he could follow his planned retreat route and leave via the Forbidden Forest, but that would mean abandoning his plan to ambush Albus Dumbledore.
If trading a Horcrux could cost Albus Dumbledore his life, Voldemort considered it well worth the price. Horcruxes could always be created anew.
But once Dumbledore died, the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic—robbed of their guiding pillar—would scatter like birds and beasts.
"Master, look!" Antonin Dolohov pointed ahead excitedly. An elderly man with white hair was hurrying toward them.
The presence around him… it did carry traces of Albus Dumbledore. Voldemort could feel it.
"Master, Dumbledore really has come!" Dolohov said, barely able to contain his excitement.
Voldemort drew in a deep breath.
As the figure of "Dumbledore" came closer—until he reached the base of the Astronomy Tower—
Voldemort raised his wand, aimed straight at him, and cried out almost hysterically, "Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of terrifying green light burst forth. The aged white figure was instantly reduced to ash.
"Dumbledore is dead!" Antonin Dolohov shrieked with manic laughter as he watched Dumbledore vanish in the green glow. "He's dead… The Dark Lord has killed him!"
"Dumbledore is dead!"
"Dumbledore is dead!"
All the Death Eaters broke into wild celebration, reveling in the moment.
...
It was an exquisitely crafted cup.
Its owner had been Helga Hufflepuff. It was once the first vessel at Hogwarts used to assist house-elves in transporting magical food. It had been kept in Hufflepuff House until Helga's death.
Two finely wrought solid gold handles flanked the cup, and intricate symbolic carvings adorned its surface, every detail steeped in history.
But now, it had become one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
Before heading to Hogwarts Castle, Voldemort had entrusted it to Bellatrix Lestrange. She hid it in the Lestrange family burial grounds. Yet less than half a day later, it saw the light again.
"How do we destroy it?" Kingsley asked solemnly, staring at the Golden Cup before them.
"Harry, how are you feeling?" Jon turned to Harry Potter, concern evident in his voice.
"It hurts…" Harry Potter clutched his scar tightly, groaning in pain.
Jon frowned. He had originally hoped that Harry Potter would be the one to destroy this Horcrux. But given the circumstances, that clearly wasn't possible.
Then there was only one way.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a somewhat grimy wizard's hat that had been shrunk by a Shrinking Charm.
Restoring it to its original size, he said softly, "I command you—spit out the sword."
The Sorting Hat looked rather unwilling, but after glancing at Jon, it parted in the middle. A silver object emerged, the ruby in its hilt gleaming brilliantly.
Jon gripped his wand in his right hand and seized the silver blade in his left—Godric Gryffindor's sword.
The Horcrux seemed to sense the danger. Wisps of black mist rose from the Golden Cup, coiling together into a hideous black serpent that hissed and roared at Jon.
"Still Tom's little trick, is it?" A faint smile touched Jon's lips as he immediately recognized it. "Turning into what I fear most? But that's also what I hate most."
The silver sword came down with a heavy crash. Jon sliced through the massive serpent of black mist with ease. The next target was Hufflepuff's Cup.
In that instant, it felt as though someone had opened their mouth in a furious scream—but no one could hear a sound.
Deep fractures spread across the Golden Cup.
"It's over." Jon pocketed what remained of Hufflepuff's Cup and nodded to the other wizards with him.
This was Helga Hufflepuff's relic. It belonged at Hogwarts. That was where it should stay.