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Sargeras's gaze was locked firmly on the grand doors of the Great Hall. His eyes didn't stray for a second, fixed on Harry's retreating figure as a storm of thoughts flashed through his mind with the speed and intensity of lightning.
"Was he… controlled by Voldemort?"
No. That possibility, he could rule out without a doubt.
"Could he be carrying one of Voldemort's Horcruxes?"
But Sargeras hadn't sensed even the faintest trace of any dark magical object on him.
"Then… is it inside him?"
His brow furrowed, tightly drawn with the weight of that thought. A wild, deeply unsettling theory crept into his mind, one so absurd it should have been impossible to consider… yet he couldn't push it away.
"Or perhaps… Harry Potter himself is one of Voldemort's Horcruxes?"
The idea alone was enough to send a chill through him.
And yet, he forced the thought from his mind. A living person? How could a living human possibly be turned into a Horcrux?
But then again… what if, all those years ago, on the night Voldemort was vanquished in a blaze of ruin, something had gone horribly, unimaginably wrong? What if, in that final, fateful moment, a dark and terrible accident had occurred, one that forged a fatal connection between the soul of this young wizard and that of the Dark Lord?
"Professor, here are the crystal balls you asked for."
Harry and Ron's voices broke through his spiraling thoughts. The two boys approached carefully, each holding two clear, glassy orbs in their arms. The crystal balls gleamed faintly in the light as they came to a halt before Sargeras.
With a flick of his wand, Sargeras summoned the crystal balls through the air. They floated effortlessly toward him, slipping neatly into the wide sleeve of his robe like marbles rolling into a velvet pouch.
"Thank you," he said simply.
A faint smile touched his lips, so subtle it was almost impossible to read. With smooth, deliberate motion, he tucked the items into his pocket and gave a polite nod.
"I've still got some business to attend to, so I'll be leaving now."
And before the last word had even faded from the air, he had already turned and was striding away, his long steps echoing softly behind him.
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High above, on the eighth floor of Hogwarts Castle, Inside the Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore sat quietly, his gaze resting on the young man seated across from him. The solemn expression on Sargeras's face seemed to carry a kind of weight that made the old wizard suddenly feel the passing of the years more keenly than before.
"So you believe it too," Sargeras said at last, speaking slowly, thoughtfully, his eyes meeting Dumbledore's without wavering. "That inside Harry… a fragment of Voldemort's soul has taken root?"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied gently, his voice hushed.
"Ever since I learned he could speak Parseltongue," he continued, "that suspicion has never quite left my heart."
"Then how can we remove it?" Sargeras asked directly, not bothering to soften the question. "How do we separate Voldemort's soul from within him?"
"Sargeras," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice heavy with age and exhaustion, "this is not like separating two clumps of wet clay. It's more like… pouring one cup of water into another. Once they're mixed, there's no way to draw out the foreign part without damaging what was already there. The truth is… it simply can't be done."
"But isn't that the very purpose of magic?" Sargeras replied evenly, his tone calm but firm. "To make the impossible possible?"
"No, you're mistaken," Dumbledore said softly, shaking his head. His piercing blue eyes, framed by his spectacles, fixed steadily on the man across from him. "I know you possess many forms of magic that defy belief, but in this matter… I'm afraid that only the end of the boy's life can truly destroy Voldemort once and for all."
"Voldemort?" Sargeras let out a short, derisive laugh. His tone was cool, almost scornful. "He's never been the part that worried me."
He leaned back slightly, voice low and steady.
"What I worry about… is the boy himself. That parasitic soul fragment — will it twist his will, poison his mind, and drag him into the abyss? Will it warp him so completely that, in the end… he becomes someone else entirely?"
Dumbledore fell silent. For a long moment, he said nothing. He only gazed at Sargeras intently, as though truly seeing him for the first time.
He studied the face before him with quiet care, and at last, the faintest smile began to form at the corners of his weathered mouth. It was a gentle, bittersweet expression, touched by something far more complex than amusement.
"Sargeras," he said softly, "it seems that in some ways… I may have misjudged you."
"It doesn't matter," Sargeras replied, without the slightest trace of concern. He waved a hand, brushing the notion aside. "What other people think has never meant much to me. I do only what I believe to be right."
"Hmm." Dumbledore gave a slight nod, though there was a glimmer of something sharper in his blue eyes, a flicker of inquiry, thoughtful and probing. "Then… regarding Voldemort, how do you think we should deal with him?"
"That's easy," Sargeras answered with sharp, unwavering certainty. Each word rang out with striking clarity, firm and absolute.
"No matter how many Horcruxes he creates, no matter how many times he manages to crawl back from the dead, as long as he refuses to live like a rat hiding in the sewers, if he dares to show his face and throw the world into chaos again, I'll kill him. With my own hands. Again and again, if I have to."
Then, turning his head slightly, he fixed his gaze on the old wizard.
"And what about you, Dumbledore?" he asked, his voice suddenly low and sharp. "You're pinning all your hopes on a child to defeat Voldemort? A child who, in the end, has to die for your plan to succeed? Is that really the grand design you've been so carefully constructing all this time?"
Dumbledore was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was slowly, with weariness laced through every word.
"Voldemort is far more powerful than you imagine. What you've seen of him so far… that was only his strength after it had been severely weakened."
"Professor Dumbledore," Sargeras interrupted quietly, his tone steady but firm, "perhaps you're the one who doesn't quite understand something. I'm far more stronger than you imagine as well. If you were too much for Voldemort to handle, then when he faces me, the only difference will be how much faster he dies. And believe me, on that point… I never lie."
The elderly headmaster said nothing. His aged fingers remained lightly interlaced on the desk, while his eyes, deep and unreadable behind his half-moon glasses, stayed fixed on Sargeras without a word.
"In your plan… Harry Potter has to die in the end, doesn't he?" Sargeras continued to press, his voice low but unmistakably certain.
Dumbledore gave no reply. But his silence alone was an answer, one that hung in the air like a heavy curtain.
"I suppose you planned to keep that part from him," Sargeras said. "To carry the secret all the way to the very end, until the moment comes when he has no choice but to walk to his death."
He paused, watching the old wizard closely. There it was, that flicker of silent confirmation in Dumbledore's eyes, the truth he could no longer conceal.
"Just as I thought," Sargeras said softly.
"However, this plan won't work with me," he continued, his voice shifting with calm resolve. "I'll tell Potter everything. I'll tell him exactly what's hiding inside his soul."
"My plan…" Dumbledore's voice was quiet now, almost hoarse, worn down by helplessness, "perhaps it never really mattered to begin with. But the truth… the truth is far too cruel for him to bear right now…"
"Hiding the truth from him won't make it any less cruel," Sargeras replied as he rose from his chair. His tone was detached, his words like the settling of dust in a room long sealed. "And if you truly mean for him to face death… then the least you can do is let him know the truth from the very beginning."
Dumbledore opened his mouth, as though searching for a response. But in the end, no words came at all.
"Do not worry," Sargeras added, just before stepping out through the office door. "Potter is a good kid… I think I'll be able to find another way, one that spares his life while still destroying the piece of Voldemort that clings to his soul."
"And what exactly is it you really want?" Dumbledore's voice drifted in from behind him. "Are you doing all this to save an innocent soul?"
Sargeras paused, then slowly turned back.
"To remove certain destabilizing factors… and safeguard peace in the wizarding world," he said evenly. "That is your goal, Albus. And in many ways, it is mine as well. The difference is—"
He lifted his chin slightly, his expression quiet but firm.
"You desire peace like a still and stagnant pond. But what I seek is a peace that comes after fire, a peace that surges with life, vibrant and ever-renewing. Our paths may not lead to the same destination. Our visions of peace are not the same."
"You want revolution? But do you realize how many people would die?" Dumbledore said earnestly, the weight in his voice unmistakable. "You'll face resistance like you've never seen. Because that is the nature of our wizarding world. Wands just become brighter wands. Brooms only become faster brooms. But they fear true, foundational change. They do not believe it is necessary."
"Rivers of blood only flow when there's not enough strength to stop them."
Sargeras's knuckles tapped lightly against the wooden doorframe. His voice remained steady, composed.
"As for whether change is 'necessary'— that has never been a question decided by majority rule, Albus. The power to reshape the rules always rests with those strong enough to wield it."
"But that still means sacrifice," Headmaster Dumbledore said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "There are many more people like Rita Skeeter and Cornelius Fudge…"
"That is only because they deserved to die," Sargeras said calmly. His tone was soft as water, yet carried an undeniable firmness. "And besides, you were not some entirely innocent bystander to their fate. It was your constant 'forgiveness' and 'indulgence' that led them, step by step, to the edge of the cliff. They pushed their luck, provoked me again and again, thinking themselves untouchable. But if you had disciplined them even slightly when they first smeared your name to your face… perhaps they would have learned restraint. Perhaps they would not have been so foolish as to walk themselves straight into their own demise."
"Power needs to be supervised, to be restrained," Dumbledore said, his gaze filled with deep, urgent concern. "Power without control is a disaster waiting to happen."
"I apologize, Albus," Sargeras said as he straightened his back, his voice composed and unwavering. "But I will not be like you, willing to lock away my strength inside that already rusted, crumbling cage you call 'order.' If change must begin with my hand…"
He took a deep breath and spoke again, his voice sharp with steel.
"Then I will personally forge a flawless and indestructible new cage. And I will never allow a pack of incompetent fools to stand outside it, pointing fingers and stirring unnecessary chaos."
And with that, Sargeras turned and walked out of the headmaster's office, closing the door behind him.
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[Chapter End's]
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