In a secluded chamber deep within the cavern, far from the entrance.
Hodge, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood in a tense circle. In front of them was a stone table conjured by magic, upon which rested a diadem and a ring. The two Horcruxes had been recovered at different times—the diadem much earlier—but because Hodge had once used it to manifest his own subconscious, it had never been destroyed. Now, however, he no longer needed it.
He could now, through his own power, freely gather "individuals" capable of conversation from the sea of his subconscious. This magic was an immense help to him. Hodge had read far too many spellbooks, yet unless he deliberately focused, most of that knowledge simply lay dormant, offering him no assistance.
But with the ability to condense "individuals" from the sea of his subconscious, Hodge could temporarily possess multiple minds at once—like loading a multi-core processor. Even so, a faint regret lingered in him. In this final battle against Voldemort, he would probably only be able to play a supporting role… maybe even get a moment in the spotlight? The original plot had long since collapsed beyond recognition. Tonight, all Hodge cared about was that Voldemort died.
He glanced at Ron and Hermione. These two were the real ones here to… ahem, "gain experience." As Dumbledore had put it, "Horcruxes are profoundly evil. When they sense a threat, the soul fragment stored within may awaken and attempt to seduce or corrupt the mind." Hodge was only half-convinced. When he destroyed the diary, a young Voldemort had indeed leapt out on his own, but that was because of the diary's unique nature. When the locket was destroyed, Harry had needed to command it to "open" in Parseltongue.
At that moment, the magical door at the entrance rippled like water. Dumbledore stepped inside from the corridor beyond. He paused in the doorway, stood silently for a few seconds, then spoke gravely to Harry.
"It is time, Harry."
Harry's whole body shuddered. He had heard too many secrets lately—even the Tale of the Three Brothers and the Deathly Hallows—and in this moment, Dumbledore truly seemed like the Grim Reaper from a fairy tale.
"You may remain here—"
"No," Harry cut in at once. He steadied himself and said, "I won't stay behind." As soon as the words left his mouth, a wave of intense fear crashed over him. His insides churned. He swallowed hard, trying desperately not to think about what was coming. "Is Sirius and the others safely hidden?"
Dumbledore nodded wordlessly.
Harry took a few shuffling steps forward; his limbs felt as if they had been filled with lead. He had no idea what he would do if he didn't come back. Dumbledore had promised him… but this was death. He had to die—once! No one came back from the dead. Even Voldemort had only cheated death by splitting his soul into multiple intact pieces through Horcruxes… Yet Harry himself had rebounded the Killing Curse as a baby, and he was the heir to the Invisibility Cloak of the three brothers; soon he would possess the Resurrection Stone… Harry tried desperately to convince himself, but his heart only beat faster, and his body felt like a punctured balloon, growing weaker by the second.
"P-Professor Dumbledore," Hermione suddenly spoke up, her voice echoing off the empty rock walls. She startled even herself, but gathered her courage and pressed on. "Harry is… he's just a student. Why does he have to—"
"Yeah," Ron snapped out of his daze, his eyes darting between Harry and the diadem. "If you need extra hands—"
Dumbledore had never felt so torn.
He had told himself many things, made countless preparations, yet did he truly have certainty?
Harry stepped forward.
"I have to go," he said. "This is my destiny." He steeled himself and refused to look at Hermione and Ron, even though their concern warmed his heart and gave him fresh strength. He shot a glance at the silent Hodge beside him.
After the funeral, Harry had sought out Hodge privately and entrusted him with certain matters.
There was simply no one else. Dumbledore? Harry respected him deeply, but he could not bring himself to say anything resembling last words to the man—Dumbledore already carried enough guilt. Hagrid? Harry never doubted his loyalty, but telling him the full truth would only make everything worse. Harry needed someone who could stay calm. That ruled out Sirius as well. As for Ron and Hermione—they were too young; they probably wouldn't be able to grasp the meaning of "having to die once." Harry could practically picture their reactions: Hermione would fuss and protest loudly, "Die once? Absolutely not, Harry—magic can't bring people back from the dead, that's an ironclad rule!" Ron would freeze for a moment, then reel off a string of sensible and not-so-sensible suggestions: "Anyway, let's try something else first. We could ask Dad—he might know a way."
That left only Hodge, his fellow seventh-year, as the sole possible confidant.
Harry and Dumbledore left the chamber, taking the ring with them—a "greeting gift" for Voldemort. In the hidden room carved out by magic, Hodge watched their retreating backs and was mildly surprised to realize: the one walking toward death looked vibrantly alive, while the one whose magic was immensely powerful and who still had many years ahead of him seemed shrouded in the aura of twilight.
When he came back to himself, he found Hermione staring at him.
"You know something, don't you, Hodge?" Hermione's eyes gleamed as she stepped closer and lowered her voice.
Ron whipped his head around so fast he nearly cricked his neck.
"Yeah," Hodge admitted.
"Can you—" Hermione started, then stopped herself and let out a long sigh. "Never mind. Now's not the time." She was terribly worried, but she also knew nothing could stop what was coming; Voldemort might appear any second.
Hodge thought for a moment, then said, "It's not that I can't tell you."
Aside from the random jumble of small requests Harry had left him—some of which Harry himself hadn't fully thought through—like whether to inform the Dursleys of his "death" (Harry had gloomily remarked that they might throw a party to celebrate, a mental image that depressed him just to think about)—there was actually quite a lot Hodge could share.
"You already know this much," Hodge beckoned them closer. Two heads immediately leaned in as he whispered, "It's just that… Harry himself is technically an inadvertent Horcrux."
"WHAT!"
"Shh—keep it down," Hodge hushed them. Ron and Hermione's eyes were practically bulging. "You've heard of Horcruxes, but you probably don't know how they're made—" He caught their odd expressions and gave a small cough. "Actually, I don't know the exact ritual either, but one thing is certain: creating a Horcrux requires murder. That night more than sixteen years ago, Voldemort murdered the Potters. When he turned the Killing Curse on Harry, it rebounded onto himself, and a fragment of his soul broke away…"
"That's the problem Dumbledore and Harry are going to fix."
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