Chapter Text
Albus Dumbledore was used to sleeping undisturbed. A prerogative of having a private bedroom and a Deputy Headmistress, on whom most "urgent response" duties had been dumped long ago.
He came awake slowly and incautiously, attempting to move and stretch, both of which he was unable to do.
This caused his long atrophied sense of self-preservation to kick in and snap him back to wakefulness. He was unhappy to be greeted by the sight of the good looking U.N.C.L.E agent, who had been the last person in his long life to dare to threaten him.
That the threat was backed by royal sanction had not bothered him much, as he considered himself totally safe within the fortress walls of Hogwarts. An opinion which was currently disproven by demonstration.
His attempt to speak, to call for help, whether by elf or by phoenix, proved to have been blocked, too.
"I could easily enough have done what I came to do, and left you to awaken in whatever you imagine the first stage of you so-called 'next great adventure' to be."
The calm deliberate voice, untouched by emotions out of control, chilled Albus' blighted soul.
"The room is silenced, so I could let you talk, but I don't want to hear your prattle. You would still be trying to pass your actions off as being for some nebulous 'greater good'."
"But it would be … unseemly … to simply kill you without you experiencing the whole thing. It seems Voldemort was not the only Dark Lord of this period to play games with the Horcrux ritual, now was he? Play stupid games, win stupid prizes."
"Such an interesting choice of object to gift with a piece of your immortal soul, too."
Here Illya picked up a cloth and uncovered a child's necklace, cheap of make, but rather pretty, now reeking with dark magic.
"Your only sister's I can only presume, given your personal proclivities. Afraid of what SHE is waiting to say to you, coward?"
"The Goblins have tracked your theft of the funds which belonged to the many orphans you have robbed of their inheritance, to live your hidden debauchery, while wearing your horrid robes. Everything you have amassed for yourself, thinking to live beyond you allotted time, will be liquidated to reimburse, so far as possible, your victims. This alone would be reason enough to send you onward."
"Consider, however, your treatment of your 'one true love', whom you have condemned to a life 'not worth living', again because you are too much of a coward to kill him, when that was what he wanted. Your inability to gift him the last grace he wanted from you."
"Worst of all, you continue to try to create a replacement 'Dark Lord' for Voldemort, who I robbed you of, so that you did not get to be the hero again, as people falsely believe you were before. You think for even a minute that you haven't been being watched, as you have tried to twist reality into your own visions, deluded though they were?"
"Headmaster Black, who partially lives on here in his portraits, owes a higher allegiance to House Black than to Hogwarts or to you. He has kept Sirius appraised of every plot you can't help talking to yourself about, and every command given to an elf or staff member."
"Elves sworn to House Black, and not to you or to the school, have been working here at Hogwarts for decades, and reporting to the Lord Black also. You have been careless and sloppy in your old age, and your smug assurance that you had everything under control."
"So this is what it comes down to. It really is a 'good thing' that I didn't simply 'off' you years ago on the royal warrant, since you had 'taken precautions'. Even now you think your OTHER Horcrux will keep you here, since you chose 3 as the most powerful magic number, unlike Tommy Riddle. But I eliminated that other one already. I saved this one so you could witness the destruction of your last anchor."
"Neither Harry Potter nor Neville Longbottom are going to be turned into your faux paper enemy to 'defeat'."
"Your brother's innocence in your sister's death, that lovely crooked nose he broke for you then, and his assistance in tracking your plots and schemes, has earned him safety for his lifetime. His property will be left to him, until his time is up. If your debts have not been paid off then from your ill-gotten gains, only then will his things be taken to satisfy your debts to your victims."
Illya removed a plastic vial from a pocket, and from it dripped a few drops of liquid onto the necklace. Dumbledore's voice was heard, not from him, but from his soul shard, as the Horcrux was destroyed. No elf or bird appeared in response to the cry.
Then, the Elder wand was placed beside the necklace, and graced with a few drops of the corrosive compound in the vial. No spectacle of lights or sound accompanied its death, it was simple burnt into two and both halves left ruined.
Now Dumbledore's hopes and plans were both reduced symbolically to ashes blowing in the wind.
"Now, by Her Majesty's command, and for the good of the people of the Wizarding World, which you have been perverting for most of your life."
Instead of pulling a wand and casting a curse, Illya produced a well worn Fairbairn-Sykes dagger, lovingly maintained and sharp enough to shave with.
A surgically precise and almost painless puncture of the Tibial artery just below the knee, and with each subsequent heartbeat Albus 'next great adventure' came closer to being 'this great adventure'. The spot was chosen to be such that no blood clotting could stop the bleed out, yet the process would take a moderately long time to complete.
Illya wiped his knife clean on the cloth which had covered the necklace and put it away.
The he stood silently watching until the last spark of life left the aged eyes and no more blood came pulsing out of the old man's leg. Then he produced a wand and vanished all of the blood, and the remains of the wand and necklace, leaving the bedroom almost pristine.
Outside the window he used just a touch of magic to relatch the shoddy catch, climbed up the rope he had previously descended to the tower roof, and taking the rope with him, left on his carpet, leaving behind a true 'locked room mystery' for the Aurors.
By the time Albus was discovered, the spell to keep the portraits asleep had dissipated, as did all trace of the sleeping gas which had been used. No remaining traces of magic, much less an identifiable signature, could be found.