"But Ron, he's a lot braver than us," Harry said. "What do you think you would have done if you saw Voldemort when you were eleven?"
Harry was fairly sure Ron would have been traumatized for life.
Ron shut up at that. If he'd seen You-Know-Who at eleven, he probably would have ended up in the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's. He shuddered just thinking about it.
"Yeah, if you put it like that, he is crazy brave," Ron admitted.
Harry sighed. Ron couldn't just leave it at brave; he had to add crazy.
Ron leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But isn't Hufflepuff's cup one of the founders' treasures? It must have been incredibly valuable. You guys really just destroyed something like that?"
"It didn't matter what it used to be," Harry said, flat. "You didn't feel it, Ron. It was practically radiating Dark magic. Just being near it made my scar burn."
Ron grimaced. Growing up with his dad working in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, he knew better than to mess with cursed objects. "Right. Still... Helga Hufflepuff's actual cup. Binns would have a fit if he knew."
"It wasn't a founders' treasure anymore. It was just a weapon." Harry pushed the blankets off and stood up. "Where are Hermione and Victor?"
"Hermione went down to the Great Hall for breakfast," Ron said, shrugging. "As for Victor, who knows. Down in the Slytherin dorms, I expect."
Harry nodded, pulling his shirt over his head, mind racing. Lately he was seeing Voldemort more and more, and he didn't understand why. Worse, when the Horcrux was destroyed last night, the pain in his scar had nearly blinded him.
Why did his own body react to a piece of Voldemort's soul dying? Why was he suddenly seeing the man's memories? What exactly was the connection between them?
***
In the headmaster's office, Victor placed the blackened, twisted remains of Hufflepuff's cup on the desk.
"So this is Hufflepuff's cup?" Dumbledore asked, looking down at the ruined metal.
"Well, what's left of it, anyway."
Dumbledore sighed, disappointed. "Tom really corrupted all the founders' relics, didn't he?"
"Yeah. Ravenclaw's diadem, Slytherin's locket, and Hufflepuff's cup. All valuable artifacts turned into waste." Victor crossed his arms, his tone shifting. "But let's not talk about the past. What's done is done. You know why I'm here, don't you?"
Dumbledore looked over his half-moon spectacles. "This is about Harry, isn't it?"
"Yes. You know what the relationship is between Harry and Voldemort. Why he can feel him. Why Harry can talk to snakes." Victor leaned forward, voice dropping. "We both know why."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, leaning back, the silver instruments around them whirring in the silence.
"On the night James and Lily Potter died," Dumbledore said quietly.
"Voldemort's soul was already deeply unstable. Mutilated, fractured by the murders and the dark magic required to create the other artifacts. When his Killing Curse rebounded on him, a piece of that maimed soul broke apart." He looked over his spectacles, eyes locking onto Victor.
"That fragment sought out the only living thing left in the ruins of that house. It latched onto Harry."
"Yes," Victor said, hard. "Harry is a living Horcrux of Voldemort."
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly. "Yes. I came to that conclusion after you first told me about the Horcrux."
Victor stared across the desk. Dumbledore stayed still, hands folded in his lap.
They both knew exactly how Horcruxes worked. To destroy the soul fragment inside, the vessel containing it had to be destroyed beyond all magical repair. But this time the vessel was a teenage boy.
For Voldemort to finally die, Harry Potter had to die too.
That was why neither spoke. The silence settled over the office, the grim truth hanging between them.
"History has shown us that fate sometimes allows for a miracle," Dumbledore said, breaking it. "Let us hope that, when the time comes, a miracle occurs for Harry."
Victor let out a harsh breath, expression hardening. "A miracle isn't a strategy, professor. Are you going to tell him?"
Dumbledore looked away, watching Fawkes sleeping on his golden perch for a long moment.
"When the time is right," he said, heavy with age. "Not a moment before. If I tell him now, the burden of that knowledge will crush him. He must know only when Voldemort is at his most vulnerable."
Victor's jaw tightened. "You are going to let him sacrifice himself."
"I am trying to give him the best possible chance to defeat Tom," Dumbledore corrected gently, though the sorrow in his eyes stayed.
"He will need unimaginable courage when that day comes. But for now, our focus must remain on Voldemort."
Victor pushed off the desk and stood, adjusting his coat, turning toward the door. He had nothing more to say.
"Victor," Dumbledore said.
He stopped and looked back.
The weariness on Dumbledore's face eased slightly, replaced by a faint, genuine smile. "Thank you. For all your help. I am proud that Hogwarts has such a student. You may be the finest student I have ever seen."
Victor scoffed dryly, thinking of Umbridge. "Well, to you, maybe. But to some, I am nothing more than a nuisance."
Dumbledore's smile reached his eyes. "I believe Professor Umbridge's definition of a nuisance is exactly what this school needs right now."
Victor gave a curt nod, didn't reply, and walked out.
The door clicked shut, leaving Dumbledore alone in the circular office. He sat back, staring at the empty space where Victor had been standing.
"Severus, you can come out."
The shadows near the bookshelves moved. Severus Snape stepped into the light, face paler than usual, staring across the desk with a slight sheen of tears in his dark eyes.
"Tell me what you said was a lie," Snape demanded, tight, barely above a whisper.
Dumbledore met his gaze, sorrow returning to his face.
"No, Severus," he said softly. "It is the fate of Harry."
*****
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