What Do You Want?

Deep into the night, Snape found the silence unbearable. He wished he could force-feed Harry a dose of Forgetfulness Potion to erase today from his memory.

At long last, Dumbledore returned.

"Harry, thank you for waiting," he said, pushing open the door, his tone filled with apology. "And Severus, Minerva."

"Is everything resolved?" Harry removed the hat from his head.

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course."

Harry stared at him, saying nothing, but the meaning in his gaze was clear.

"This concerns adult wizards, Harry," Dumbledore said as he moved toward his chair. "You're still young. The outcome, however, will surely…"

"Lucius Malfoy still owes me money," Harry interrupted, matter-of-factly.

He hadn't forgotten the royalties for the Potter family's potion patents.

"I imagine the Malfoys will have an unforgettable summer," Dumbledore said with a flick of his wand. Drinks appeared for everyone in the room—milk for Harry, as always.

"Lucius has been stripped of his position on the school board. Testimony from a house-elf is more compelling than you might think," Dumbledore said lightly. "He'll also have to compensate every student harmed—at least 100 Galleons each."

"That's all?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Lucius has many connections in the Ministry. I would love to see them all in Azkaban."

"But for now, the Malfoys will be in turmoil. Rufus Scrimgeour is furious—a hit wizard lost their life because of this incident. Their house will be thoroughly searched, with Alastor Moody himself involved. He's an expert at uncovering dark magic."

"I doubt Lucius will have the time or energy to deal with you."

Harry took a sip of milk. "Then let's move on to the most important topic: What exactly was that diary?"

As he spoke, he gently placed his glass on the table, the sound crisp and deliberate.

"Or perhaps more importantly—what's this thing in my head?"

Dumbledore's face darkened. With a wave of his wand, the charred diary appeared before him. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Harry, I never expected this. Truly, I didn't."

"I always thought Voldemort's contingencies would involve other forms of dark magic."

"But not this."

He paused, his tone growing more somber.

"A Horcrux. An exceptionally vile form of dark magic. Cruel and devastating, both to the caster and to others."

"It requires taking a life to shatter one's own soul, storing a fragment in an object."

"Even if the caster's body dies, the piece of soul preserved in the Horcrux can draw upon magic and life to enable resurrection."

Harry's expression darkened. "So, I'm one of his Horcruxes?"

Meeting Harry's gaze, Dumbledore nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so."

Snape's glare pierced through Harry like a blade.

"But why didn't anyone detect it?" Harry frowned.

He couldn't understand.

Yennefer was a powerful sorceress, as was Triss, yet neither had detected anything unusual about his scar.

He recalled the overwhelming, malevolent aura he'd sensed in the Chamber of Secrets.

How could something like that go unnoticed?

"A Horcrux is an abominable object, yes, but its malevolence lies in its creation—the ritual and the process," Dumbledore explained gently.

"Once formed, unless deliberately exposed as it was this time, it becomes no more than a simple, unassuming fragment of a soul."

"It bonds with you seamlessly, appearing as though it's a natural part of your being."

Harry raised a hand to cover his face.

Now he understood.

To Yennefer and Triss, his soul seemed innately powerful. His growth, skills, and abilities, rivaling Geralt's, only reinforced that belief.

His voice was low. "So now Voldemort is a part of me? Can he take control of me anytime he wants, like he did with Ginny?"

"No, it's not that dire," Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't think Voldemort is even aware that you are his Horcrux."

Harry froze, looking up in surprise.

"That's my guess," Dumbledore continued.

"If he knew, he wouldn't have acted as he did in your first year."

"This all seems to be a series of coincidences."

"That night, when that ancient magic reflected the Killing Curse, it unintentionally tore his soul apart. Your parents' sacrifice—the presence of death—fulfilled the conditions for the ritual without Voldemort's awareness."

"A Horcrux created entirely by accident."

Dumbledore paused.

"And it's a fragile one. It hasn't attempted to control you since you were young, nor did it alert Voldemort when you encountered him."

"It may not even have any consciousness."

That was good news, at least.

At least Harry wouldn't have to worry about a noseless, bald-headed voyeur lurking while he conversed with sorceresses or bards.

Lowering his hand, Harry asked, "Is there a way to get rid of it?"

"Having Voldemort planted in my head doesn't exactly sound like a blessing."

Dumbledore pressed his lips together. "Regrettably, there's no solution at present."

"The Horcrux is deeply intertwined with your soul."

"But I can assure you that Occlumency is effective. How is your progress with it?"

Snape interjected, "Potter is exceptionally talented in this area. He can…"

He stopped, biting his tongue, and forced himself to amend his words.

"…he's quite proficient. I find it difficult to breach his mind."

Dumbledore glanced between Harry and Snape, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Despite their frequent bickering, their interactions had always carried a strange semblance of understanding. But now?

Why did they seem so stiff?

What exactly had happened in his absence?

"Well then, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, finishing his milk and stretching. "Let's discuss my compensation."

Dumbledore pulled out a crystal vial. "Phoenix tears. I prepared them in advance."

Fawkes let out a disgruntled cry.

The phoenix had worked hard today—carrying people around and shedding more tears than it cared to remember.

"This is just the initial payment," Harry said, pocketing the vial without hesitation. "But it hardly compensates for facing Tom Riddle."

"A pervert who spies on girls in bathrooms."

"And a chamber filled with Fiendfyre."

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "So, what is it you want?"

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Powerstones?

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