"Sorry," Vivian lowered her head, her voice heavy with guilt.
What had happened decades ago had now borne bitter fruit.
"But he broke his Oath. He won't escape its retribution," she quickly added, looking at the corpse lying in the frost. "He will die in the frost."
"He's not dead yet," Harry shook his head.
"No one escapes the Oath," Vivian whispered.
"He will die in the frost."
"Even if he believes his Horcruxes let him cheat death, believes he's evaded the Oath, the Oath never misses its chance to strike back at those who break it."
"He'll end up like the despicable Herpo the Foul."
At this, she paused and looked at Harry. "Now I'll send you out. Do you want to go where... where Riddle went?"
"I know where he's headed," Harry said, reaching into the Sorting Hat. "But first, help me purify the Sword of the Lake. I want it."
Vivian looked troubled and shook her head. "Young wizard, I'm grateful you saved us…"
"But Avalon has its own rules. That's part of the Oath, and we—"
Harry pulled out a golden apple and handed it to her.
Vivian froze, eyes wide in disbelief at the apple.
She had just used one to awaken Avalon after centuries of dormancy. How could he still have one?
"I got three," Harry said bluntly, pressing it into her arms. "Hurry. We don't have time."
Vivian nodded, lifting the apple with one hand and reaching into her jar with the other, drawing out the rusted Sword of the Lake.
She raised the apple above, holding the holy sword beneath it.
Drip—
A single drop of milky juice trickled down from the apple and fell onto the sword.
The golden apple instantly withered, turned gray and lifeless. Vivian tossed it aside—it plopped into the water.
And the sword—burst into radiant light.
It gleamed anew, the blade sharp, an ancient aura swirling around it.
The decayed apple sunk below, took root in the water, and from it sprouted a scabbard woven from applewood.
"This is the Sword of the Lake you wanted," Vivian said, sheathing the sword and handing it to Harry.
Harry didn't take it—he gestured to Geralt.
"This is your prize," Geralt said without moving.
"Borrow it," Harry said simply. "The scabbard will protect you. This world isn't any safer than yours. You saw those spells earlier—far stranger than your sorcery."
Geralt accepted it.
"Send us to the entrance," Harry continued, "Where did Tom go?"
Vivian and the other fairies raised their hands. A calm, mirror-like surface formed on the lake, revealing Dumbledore sitting on a small boat on the other side.
"The exit is in the Scottish Highlands," she said.
"Thanks." Harry grabbed Geralt and Yennefer and dove through the surface.
Outside the mist.
Dumbledore sat calmly in a boat, rod in hand, waiting.
Suddenly, the boat rocked.
Strangers had arrived.
Instantly, Dumbledore raised a hand, surging magic at them.
Just as instantly, the three reacted.
Harry raised his wand—cast Quen.
Yennefer summoned a magical barrier.
Geralt had only Quen—it shattered, and he tumbled into the sea.
"Albus! It's me. Relax," Harry called, flicking his wand to haul Geralt back up.
Geralt shook his head and spat out water. "Thank Merlin. I'm finally awake."
"These are...?" Dumbledore looked surprised.
A trip to Avalon, and Harry returned with two powerful strangers.
One of them—his magical aura, even though only slightly more than a Squib, radiated strength. He felt as formidable as Harry—and most striking, he had the exact same amber vertical-slit pupils as Harry.
"Old friends. The kind I'd stake my life on," Harry said firmly.
"But not now. We have to go to Malfoy Manor."
"Voldemort tricked another old woman and got another way out of Avalon."
"He's now a soul fragment again, just like before. We can't let him carry those memories with him."
Dumbledore nodded, grabbed Harry's wrist—and Yennefer's. Harry took Geralt's.
CRACK—
They vanished.
Next second—they appeared just outside a forest.
Geralt landed, sniffed the air, wrinkling his brow. "Damn portals. I miss Roach."
Yennefer looked uncomfortable too.
This method of Apparition was more violent than her teleportation.
Dumbledore frowned. "Apparition interference... we're a bit off."
"But close."
"Let's go."
They walked. Geralt recovered quickly—within a few steps, he moved as if uninjured.
At the edge of a clearing, Harry and Dumbledore stopped together.
"Harry, this the place?" Dumbledore asked, uncertain.
Harry nodded. "Yes. I've been here."
"Let's hope it's not protected by a Fidelius," Dumbledore muttered, raising his wand and firing a golden spark.
Inside Malfoy Manor.
Bellatrix frowned, wand raised, glaring at the kneeling man before her. "Lucius, good news—your son's escaped us again."
"Again."
"Why is that, I wonder?"
"He's only a fifth-year graduate. Thinks he's Potter, does he?"
"Escaping from several Death Eaters?"
"Lucius, be honest. Have you betrayed our Master?"
The Cruciatus Curse had him writhing in pain. Lucius kept his head low, hiding his twisted face.
"N-no. I am a lowly servant. I dare not betray him."
"Magic monitors the manor. Whether I've contacted Draco—you all know that."
Bellatrix twirled her wand lazily. "Do we?"
"Find your son. Now."
"Potter left days ago. The Master could return at any moment. I won't have him return to find us still failing at this simple task."
"Do you understand?"
Lucius gritted his teeth and stayed silent.
Crucio!
She jabbed her wand forward. "Why don't you answer? Don't want to?"
"Won't even offer your son for the Master?"
"He rejected the Master's call, refused to serve him…"
"Why can't he be more like our Master's precious godson?"
Lucius groaned.
Barty Crouch Jr.?
That monster who proudly bragged about killing his mother and father in the Master's name?
Lucius's eyes burned with hatred.
And hatred only made the pain worse.
In a small room on the first floor, a door cracked open slightly—terrified, hateful eyes watched the scene.
"Lucius! Answer me!" Bellatrix snapped, voice sharp, wand raised. "Will you serve our Master—"
She didn't finish.
A man entered. "Bad news."
Bellatrix turned. "Rabastan, what's worse than finding out we have a traitor among us?"
"My dear sister," he sneered, "Lucius is no traitor."
"The thing our Master and Crouch warned us about—it's happening. Dumbledore and Potter are at the door."
Bellatrix gasped and stood. "The Master!"
She ran upstairs to the master bedroom.
Voldemort had instructed: if Potter and Dumbledore came to the Manor while he was away, go straight to his room.
She pushed the door open, hands trembling.
A hideous infant lay on the bed.
"Master, you…"
"Bella," the infant rasped. "Bring Rodolphus. I need his body."
Bellatrix waved her wand. A paper note flew to the fourth floor.
"My dear Bella," the child continued, voice hoarse. "Like Crouch, I trust you. I have a mission for you."
Bellatrix beamed. "Great Master, I will do anything for you."
"Watch Severus."
The infant lay weak, exposed. "Now's the best chance to strike me—Dumbledore and Potter won't hesitate. Especially now that I know Potter's secret."
Bellatrix's face darkened. "Severus is a traitor?"
"I'm not sure," the child said softly. "He's shown great loyalty, even bared his mind to me."
"But Severus…"
"He's too much like me. More than Crouch."
"Who knows what he truly is?"
He paused, breathing heavily, gathering strength.
"If he's a traitor, and he sends out my memories, do everything to kill him."
"If not, let Crouch try to trust him."
"There are only two chances."
"No—only one."
He rested again. When he spoke, his voice was a mere whisper.
"Potter is the greatest threat."
"Dumbledore is old."
"My Horcruxes lifted me above death, but they took things from me, too."
"Tell the younger me—the one with the clearest, sharpest mind."
"Potter is the greatest threat."
"Even revived again, I can't face him. Especially not when he has Dumbledore—and now Yennefer, and Geralt."
"Wait, learn stronger powers from the memories—then act."
"No matter how I punish you, these words must be spoken. Do you understand, Bellatrix?"
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Powerstones?
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