The moment the false Horcrux was securely hidden within the depths of Malfoy Manor, I watched with satisfaction as Lucius began transforming his ancestral home into an impenetrable fortress. I hadn't revealed the full truth of our scheme - that we were using the diary as bait for Albus Dumbledore. Instead, I had simply informed Lucius that we needed to conceal an object of immense value and strategic importance. Still, I had been careful to advise him to remove his family from the premises and to avoid the manor himself, instructions which he followed with his characteristic efficiency.
To any casual observer, the manor appeared unchanged. The same meticulously manicured hedges lined the winding drive, the same imposing wrought-iron gates stood sentinel at the entrance, and the same pristine white peacocks continued their regal promenades across the expansive gardens. The only visible difference was the increased security presence - guards stationed at regular intervals, their watchful eyes scanning for any threat. Lucius himself had relocated to one of his lesser-known properties, having sent Narcissa and the children abroad under the guise of an extended holiday on the French Riviera.
The Horcrux itself - my carefully crafted imitation of Tom Riddle's diary - rested deep within the manor's most secure vault, protected by layer upon layer of deadly enchantments that grew progressively more lethal the closer one ventured toward it. I had designed these defenses with precision - while they needed to be formidable enough to challenge Dumbledore, I had no desire for unnecessary casualties among the house-elves or guards that might draw unwanted attention. Still, as I examined the magical barriers separating the manor's general protective wards from the specific defenses surrounding the basement vault, I identified several areas that could benefit from refinement. And so I set to work, reinforcing the existing enchantments while weaving additional spells of concealment and misdirection around the vault's entrance.
It was during this meticulous work that the first warning came - a deep, resonant tremor that shook the very foundations of the ancient house.
The explosion that followed sent shockwaves through the manor's stone corridors, and I immediately felt the ancient wards flare to life in response - though notably, not against me. The conclusion was inescapable: we were under attack.
The identity of our assailant required no great deduction. There was only one individual with both the power and audacity to launch such an assault: that meddlesome, self-righteous old man who had been a thorn in my side for decades. Albus Dumbledore, the so-called leader of the light, who clung to power with the tenacity of a limpet despite being decades past his prime. Really, Albus, it was time to step aside gracefully. I was nearing sixty myself - though if one accounted for the years I'd spent trapped within that portrait and my various experiments with Time-Turners, my true chronological age was likely well past seventy.
The old fool had somehow located another of the Horcruxes - or rather, what he believed to be a Horcrux. Everything was proceeding exactly as I had anticipated - with one rather significant exception. I was still inside the manor when the attack commenced.
I had been utterly confident that the Horcrux's defenses would be sufficient to eliminate Dumbledore once and for all. Then again, I remembered with some irritation, I had thought much the same about the protections surrounding the ring, the locket, and even the thousand-year-old Basilisk Horcrux. Each time, against all odds and reason, Albus had somehow prevailed.
Now, as I continued reinforcing the wards while simultaneously tracking Dumbledore's inexorable progress through the manor, I found myself in the unusual position of not needing to worry. Not because the situation was under control - quite the contrary - but because matters had progressed well beyond the point where worry would serve any purpose. Albus was winning. Again.
The true paradox lay in the fact that Albus himself didn't seem to consider this a victory. That, I reflected, was the real danger. Tom Riddle had been convinced of his own intellectual and magical supremacy - look where that arrogance had led him. Severus Snape had once described to me how the Order of the Phoenix conducted their post-mission analyses: they didn't waste time celebrating their successes. Instead, they obsessively dissected every failure, every misstep, every instance where they had been outmaneuvered. Here's where our intelligence failed us. Here's where we underestimated the enemy's resources. And yet, despite this relentless focus on their shortcomings, their morale never seemed to waver. Albus fought with the hard-won wisdom of experience, not the hollow bravado of assumed invincibility.
In truth, Albus wasn't the one who should be concerning me. The real problem was me.
History had shown that Albus typically treated his magical opponents with surprising leniency. He would reason with them, negotiate with them, even hold back in duels. Even during our school days, he had always refused to overwhelm his opponents, preferring to match their level rather than demonstrate his true superiority.
But not with me.
To him, I represented something far more dangerous than a mere rival. I was the embodiment of everything he fought against, the living antithesis of his precious philosophy. And when it came to eliminating me, I knew he would show no mercy whatsoever.
The question now was whether to stand and fight or to make my escape. I had always preferred engagements where I held every possible advantage - where I was stronger, smarter, better prepared. True safety lay in overwhelming superiority. A confrontation with Albus now? The later it could be postponed, the better. Soon, I would complete the refinement of the Horcruxes I had inherited from Tom's work. Soon, I would finish the final integration of the wand into my very being. I absolutely refused to die on the cusp of achieving true immortality!
But as matters currently stood, discretion seemed the wiser course.
Focusing my will, I reached out through my connection to Nagini, summoning her to my side. I watched with satisfaction as she vanished from my residence in the characteristic burst of phoenix fire - only to reappear instantly, her travel blocked. Albus had woven anti-apparition wards over the entire manor complex, stronger and more comprehensive than any I had previously encountered. Phoenix travel? Nullified. House-elf magic? Rendered useless. Even the most powerful portkeys would be ineffective.
How was this possible? This wasn't merely advanced spellwork. Albus had clearly tapped into some external power source - Hogwarts itself, most likely. But maintaining a stable magical channel across such distance should have been theoretically impossible. The energy requirements alone...
I attempted another method, only to find every movement spell fizzling impotently. The house-elves, normally so responsive, couldn't reach me through whatever barriers Albus had erected.
That left only disguise and old-fashioned stealth. I shrouded myself in layers of concealment charms, masking both my physical form and magical signature, then began moving silently through the manor's network of hidden passages. My enhanced speed - one of the more useful benefits of my recent transformations - would have to suffice as my primary advantage now. My sole objective: avoid crossing paths with Albus at all costs.
I had, of course, anticipated the possibility of an attack - this was, after all, intended as a trap for Dumbledore. As an additional precaution, I had constructed a hidden bunker within the manor's structure, a secure location where I could wait out any confrontation should circumstances turn unfavorable.
The problem? Albus had apparently anticipated this contingency as well. My carefully concealed sanctuary was obliterated by his second assault - reduced to rubble by what appeared to be transfigured Muggle explosives detonated from within. A crude but undeniably effective tactic. My personal protective enchantments would have withstood such a blast, but the bunker itself hadn't been so fortunate.
At least I hadn't been inside when it was destroyed.
Moving cautiously through the manor's opposite wing, I could feel the battle raging elsewhere in the house - one supremely powerful wizard and perhaps twenty of his allies against hundreds of mercenaries and guards. Under normal circumstances, such numbers should have been overwhelming, but Albus had come prepared with an army of animated stone golems.
The aftermath of our confrontation at Azkaban had presented Albus with a dilemma: what to do with the captured combatants? Summary execution was, of course, out of the question - too barbaric, even for his tastes. Imprisonment? With the dementors no longer under Ministry control and most secure facilities damaged or destroyed, there were no suitable locations. Simply releasing them? Unthinkable.
His solution had been both pragmatic and ruthless. Each prisoner was subjected to Veritaserum interrogation and Legilimency probing, after which those with existing criminal records abroad were extradited to face foreign justice. The majority fell into this category. The remainder consisted either of inexperienced newcomers who posed little real threat or a handful of hardened Death Eaters - too few to warrant special measures.
Now, facing another assault, the Death Eaters had responded by sending expendable forces - either Ministry pawns with clean records or hired mercenaries. No true loyalists at risk, no significant losses if things went poorly.
But Albus wasn't being stalled as intended. Instead, I felt the very fabric of magic around the manor twist unnaturally. The wards themselves had somehow been transformed into a sort of magical magnet, repelling enemy shield charms with increasing force. Those who resisted found themselves physically expelled from the combat area, while those who lowered their defenses were swiftly stunned. Albus's allies moved efficiently through the chaos, collecting the unconscious attackers and vanishing with them - presumably to some prearranged holding location.
Then something new occurred - pillars of enchanted stone rose from the earth around the manor's perimeter, thrumming with potent magic. Albus himself stood at the main entrance, weaving a final, complex spell.
The world seemed to lurch violently around me.
In an instant, Malfoy Manor - along with myself, Albus, the Horcrux, and all the house-elves - was sealed within what I recognized as a spatial pocket dimension.
A cold, familiar horror settled in my gut. I had spent enough time imprisoned within that accursed portrait to recognize the claustrophobic weight of magical confinement. This had to be temporary. Albus was clearly preoccupied with battling the manor's defenses. If I remained hidden, stayed patient, I might yet slip away unnoticed when the opportunity presented itself.
But my initial reconnaissance proved discouraging. All conventional exits were gone. The secret tunnels I had memorized terminated abruptly in formless gray voids. The only possible escape now lay in locating the spell's focal point - the delicate nexus where Albus's magic anchored this pocket dimension to the real world. I moved swiftly through the shadowed corridors, my senses straining to detect the subtle pulse of Albus's unique magical signature amidst the chaos.
Meanwhile, Albus had apparently reached the vault. The entire house trembled as if in the grip of an earthquake. Distant explosions echoed through the halls, each one sending fresh vibrations through the ancient stonework.
Then - success. I found it. The intricate weave of Albus's spellwork, barely a meter away, shimmering faintly in the dim light. But destroying it would alert Albus instantly, and the pocket dimension wouldn't collapse immediately. He would have more than enough time to locate and eliminate me before escape became possible.
My thoughts were interrupted by the faintest whisper of movement. A presence - carefully hidden behind both physical and magical concealment. An ambush? I struck first without hesitation.
The Cruciatus Curse left my wand before the would-be assailant could react. The figure collapsed instantly, their disguise faltering as they writhed in silent agony. I dispelled the remaining concealment charms with a sharp gesture.
Narcissa Malfoy. And beside her, unconscious but apparently unharmed, lay Draco and their young daughter. This wasn't an assassination attempt then. She must have returned to the manor unnoticed, only to be caught unaware when Albus launched his attack.
I swiftly disarmed her, then used Legilimency to confirm her intentions. Finding no immediate threat, I nevertheless took the precaution of weaving a blood-magic failsafe - should she attempt any reckless action, her own magic would turn against her.
"Where is the exit?" I demanded without preamble.
Her wide eyes told me everything I needed to know before she spoke. She knew nothing. Had found the same dead ends I had.
We retreated to a more secure location as Albus's magical presence reached a crescendo elsewhere in the manor. The diary's destruction was imminent.
That false Horcrux had been one of my finest creations. I had started with a genuine 1930s Muggle diary - the better to withstand any temporal examination Albus might attempt. Into its pages I had poured layers of dark enchantments, creating a construct of malevolent will and pseudo-sentience. The final touch had been binding a fragment of stolen soul within it - not my own, of course, but that of a carefully selected donor.
Now, Albus battled this creation in the depths below. For three relentless hours, I felt their opposing magics clash and recoil, neither willing to yield. Then, without warning, the Malfoy ancestral magic - the ancient wellspring of power that had sustained the family for generations - surged violently, breaking free of whatever constraints Albus had placed upon it.
Time itself seemed to twist and shudder around us. Space warped unnaturally. And then, with terrifying finality, the ancient magic source simply... drained away.
A scream - not human, not even truly alive - ripped through the manor as the diary's destruction became inevitable. Albus's magic flared triumphantly, and then he was moving, rocketing upward through the very structure of the house, shattering ceilings and walls alike as he escaped the collapsing pocket dimension.
The aftermath was chaos. Reinforcements poured into the damaged manor - werewolves, Aurors, Ministry officials of every description. The spatial pocket shattered like glass, returning us abruptly to the real world.
I left without hesitation, pausing only to impress upon Narcissa the importance of absolute discretion regarding my presence. The less Albus knew about my movements, the better.
At my stronghold, I immediately gathered the Death Eaters. "Albus threatens not just me, but all of you!" I declared. "Today it's Malfoy's wealth and property. Tomorrow? Your families. Your fortunes. Your very lives!"
The conflict was no longer just about my survival. It was about theirs. And they needed to understand that.
---
Exhausted beyond measure, Albus Dumbledore slumped into his chair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had nearly died today. That book - older, more vicious than the others, its magic more deeply entrenched - had fought him with unnatural tenacity.
His left arm ached dully, a constant reminder that time was running out. If he failed to destroy all the Horcruxes... He pushed the thought aside. There were other options. A self-sacrificial ritual, perhaps. Not Dark Magic - never that - but a final act of magical surrender. The theory was sound, if untested.
Outside, the first editions of the evening papers were already hitting the streets. He didn't need to read them to know what they would say. The headlines would paint him as the villain, the aggressor, the thief in the night.
"Albus Dumbledore - the wizard who robs his own kind," he murmured to the empty room, shaking his head wearily. This was not how he had envisioned spending his final year.