75 Chapter 75: Riddle Manor!

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Since his discovery of Voldemort's location—Riddle Manor—he had been planning and plotting his attack. He didn't want to wait for Voldemort's Horcruxes to be destroyed—to allow Voldemort to regain his power and practise with any new magic he might have stumbled upon due to Harry's blood.

No, striking as soon as possible was the best option with the prophecy hanging over Harry's head. He most certainly didn't want to die and stalling for any longer risked just that.

And so he and Loki had devised a way of eliminating Voldemort that did not involve the long and tedious process of going around and systematically destroying soul-containers.

Then they had put their plan into motion. For a few days, they had spied on Riddle Manor; the coming and going of people dressed in black robes had confirmed Lord Voldemort's presence. In the meantime, both Harry and Marco's men had tracked down a few Death Eaters to interrogate and kill.

Their testimonies had ensured them that their intelligence was correct.

Marco hadn't brought many people—only a dozen: others hadn't exactly volunteered, and a lot of Marco's "employees" actually worked for his father.

And that was why, as well as the dozen members of the Order of the Phoenix, there were fifteen men dressed in black combat gear, assault rifles slung about them.

Dumbledore sighed, looking over them. And then said to Harry, "Have you no regard for the Statute of Secrecy?"

"Oh, relax," Harry said. "These people are professional mercenaries. They don't tell other people stuff…except maybe if they get paid more." He glanced at them. "I haven't told them about Obliviation or anything, so you can do it to them afterwards. I wasn't planning on killing them, or anything."

For once, he was telling the truth. The organisation he had hired the men from wasn't one that you messed with.

They specialised in the hunting and or elimination of superhumans and had many government connections.

Harry didn't want to find himself going up against airstrikes. Or private armies made to kill people with superpowers, for that matter.

Dumbledore was still looking at the men, or, more specifically, their guns.

"Don't tell me you're morally opposed to guns!" Harry shook his head. "They're basically big metal wands with only one spell."

'By that definition, most things are big wands.'

'Quiet, you big wand.'

Dumbledore glanced at Harry, eyebrow raised. "I think you'll find, by that definition, most things are simply big wands."

'What the fu—'

"Anyway," Dumbledore continued, "this is not the time to be debating such matters. Lord Voldemort's fall will save many lives, and, as much as I resent admitting it, the killing of some of those who have chosen to join him is inevitable."

Harry decided not to mention that Dumbledore had just copied Loki's wording. It was a coincidence—probably, a coincidence…

He cast a slightly nervous glance at Dumbledore before looking to the horizon, where Voldemort's mansion was. "We might as well get going, then."

No more fighters would be arriving. There were probably about an equal number with Voldemort; no others would be able to get in once Dumbledore had torn down Voldemort's wards and brought up his own.

Harry nodded to the commander of the mercenaries, who went to rally his troops. Marco and Dumbledore followed the procedure with their own fighters. The wizards would be arriving by broomstick, whilst the muggles would be taking cars.

Harry leaned back against a wall. 'So, what do you think happens if I die?'

'You're not going to die,' Loki said. 'You're far too much of a coward for that—no wards will stop your escape. And then there's your massive amount of good luck.'

'Yes,' Harry agreed, 'good luck basically makes one immortal. Me being the Chosen One also probably has something to do with it; if there's a prophecy about me, that means I'm probably the protagonist of the story, so have lots of plot armour and can't die. That might explain how I pull off stuff I probably shouldn't.'

'What if Voldemort's the protagonist?'

'Na.' Harry shook his head. 'Protagonists are always attractive—snakes are decidedly unattractive, whereas I am basically an Adonis.' He paused. 'If the prophecy's true, I wonder if that means I am literally incapable of dying unless Voldemort kills me. If I can't die, perhaps I should just run away and assume a new identity.'

'Even if you cannot die, you can still end up being encased in concrete and dumped to the bottom of the Mariana Trench.'

'Yeah, that would be bad.'

Harry was wrenched from his thoughts as someone placed a broomstick in his hands. He glanced down at it, still not entirely trusting that it would send him plunging downwards mid-flight. He had practised with it before, but who knew what would go wrong with wizarding engineering?

A few minutes later, the operation had begun. Twenty-six wizards rose into the air almost as one and engines rumbled. And then the wizards shot forwards into the sky, Dumbledore at the lead. They flew low, as not to be seen by any lookouts. It was the dead of night, and in a town like this, there weren't many people out; any who saw them would be dismissed as maniacs.

They neared the mansion in less than any minute, and hovered just outside where the wards were. Dumbledore waved his wand over them.

"They are strong, but not so much so that I will not be able to handle them." He narrowed his eyes, as though he could actually see the wards where there appeared to be nothing but air. "They will detect us as we pass through, and if they are not taken down now, they might be turned against us once we get inside."

Harry nodded. "Will they detect inanimate objects?"

"No, only magic or humans."

"Very well."

All conversation halted as too people came strolling from a side door of the mansion, clad in black robes. They would see the wizards, no doubt, if they looked even slightly to their right and upwards. The wizards flattened themselves to their brooms and stayed as still as possible.

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