A Different Halloween

Chapter 19

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Barty wouldn't have been disappointed. Albus currently had bits of scrambled egg dripping out the side of his mouth and sledding down his beard. Poppy was beginning to worry the old wizard may have suffered a stroke while her friend Minerva was fighting a losing battle trying to regain control of the great hall. She was struggling because the students were going nuts in their celebrations.

Not only was Voldemort gone but so was the man that had become the most hated professor inside Hogwarts. This was quite an achievement considering Snape had only been teaching in the castle for a couple of months.

Albus hadn't suffered from a stroke, he was currently surfing through his mind for the stroke of genius it would take to get Severus out from under this catastrophe. He was also more than a bit peeved that the paper hadn't contacted him before printing any of this. Albus would have to add a visit to their office to his already busy schedule for today. He had anticipated a couple of days grace to swing Barty around to his way of thinking, at the very least where it concerned Severus. Now he would be forced to use the direct approach if he was to have any chance of saving his handsome young potions professor.

The headmaster could only imagine the joy that must be sweeping the country at this moment, he though had no intention of celebrating just yet. For one thing, Albus was almost certain the dark lord would return. He was also now denied a weapon to fight against Voldemort with. A muggle child was probably useless and well out of reach under the protection of the Potters. With the prophecy stripped of all its credibility, all that remained was the alcohol-induced ramblings of a sceptical seer. The Potters were lost to him forever and would use their influence to ensure the Longbottoms followed the same path. Albus Dumbledore wasn't too worried, they would all come running back when Voldemort returned.

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Breakfast in the Malfoy family home was fairly typical of those who currently had a specific tattoo imprinted onto their arm. The Prophet headline proclaiming their master was no more also destroyed their appetite. They would all need to prepare themselves for walking the tightrope of getting themselves declared innocent without decrying their lord enough to end their life when the master returned. There was also the question of how much gold it was going to cost each of them, dodging a stay in Azkaban wouldn't come cheap.

At no point did any of them consider they might be in serious trouble here. Their family name, status and gold had allowed these privileged purebloods to literally get away with murder for generations, surely nothing was going to change that? Also at no point did any of them consider they might have seen the last of their lord. He'd told them many times he was immortal and they all believed every word he said.

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The spirit that, until a few hours ago, had been the most feared being in Britain was rapidly trying to leave the country. Trying being the operative word as by no sense of the meaning could its progress be called rapid, the spirit felt as if it still had a body and was trying to wade through waist deep three day old porridge. The spirit sensed something familiar approaching at a very fast rate of knots and was bowled over when this thing crashed into it.

Disorientation ruled supreme for a while until Tom felt another approaching, the impact felt smaller but the spirit suddenly understood what was happening. It now recognised these occurrences as the parts of its soul that he had ripped off and stored inside containers, this wasn't supposed to happen? Any remaining doubts vanished with the arrival of the third piece, the impact may have felt less severe but the effect was electrifying. With no body, magic or wand, the terrified spirit of Tom Riddle's only available options appeared to be hiding or fleeing. Since it was slower now than earlier, the spirit would need to find a cave or something to seek shelter.

The spirit was currently making its way through a small wooded area and was considering the possibility of hiding below some exposed tree roots when the fourth horcrux soul piece slapped into him. There was only one left, how was this possible?

Tom was thinking back over forty years ago when he had first discovered the spell. He had studied it meticulously and could swear he performed it perfectly all five times. He was of course correct, yet it was difficult to remember two small lines of warning within three pages of complicated and complex instructions read over four decades ago by a then young boy.

The ancients who concocted the horcrux ritual had understood they were snubbing their noses at Mother Nature and daren't give her any weapon to fight back with. Therefore there was one day of the year when the ritual shouldn't be performed and, after creating soul containers, it was really not advisable to get killed on this day either. November the second was the day of the dead or more commonly known as all souls day now, not a good day to die if you had parts of your soul stashed about the country.

The day's origin was shrouded in the mists of time but its function was reconciliation for souls that, for whatever reason, hadn't been able to cross over. On the ancient's calendar, this day counted as an amnesty and was celebrated by surviving family members.

Since the ritual that ended his life was one of love and sacrifice, this provided Mother Nature with the opening she needed. As the final piece of soul joined its brothers, the spirit began to be pulled into the ground. The frantic shrieks being emitted by the spirit had every bird within a mile radius taking to the wing, those creatures on four legs all fled in the opposite direction from this abomination. Tom Marvolo Riddle was struggling, screaming and cursing at the top of his voice over this unjust treatment of the greatest wizard the world had ever known. He passed away eventually, unnoticed, unmourned and Tom Marvolo Riddle would never walk the earth again.

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