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HP461- Stay Out of Our Way
🕑 Added 2025-07-04 22:22:20 +0000 UTCThe words landed like a hex in the quiet room. Moody froze mid-scowl. Kingsley’s hand tightened on the back of Amelia’s chair. Tonks blinked
The words landed like a hex in the quiet room.
Moody froze mid-scowl. Kingsley’s hand tightened on the back of Amelia’s chair. Tonks blinked, her mouth half-open. Across the table, Cedric was staring like someone had just slapped him. Su Li and Cho exchanged a quick look, their eyes wide. Lavender’s quill dropped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. The Patil twins shifted uncomfortably, their identical expressions caught between confusion and shock. Angelina raised a brow, mouth set like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard right. Megan and Alicia didn’t even bother to hide their outright gaping.
To anyone outside Harry’s inner circle, the revelation hit like a stray Bludger to the ribs. Moody’s one good eye narrowed as he leaned slightly forward in his chair. “A living Horcrux?” he said, the words flat but edged with suspicion. “That still doesn’t explain half of this.”
Harry shrugged easily, as if they were discussing the weather instead of soul-splitting magic. “For those not in the loop, a Horcrux is a soul anchor. Nasty business. Someone hides part of their soul in an object so if their body dies, the soul tied to the anchor keeps them from passing on.” he drummed his fingers on the table, “The details are grimmer, so we will skip those. But here is the thing, for a Horcrux to work, you got to stash part of your soul somewhere. In my case, as I grew up, A splinter of Voldemort’s soul got jammed in me like a bad curse.”
That earned a sharp intake of breath from the far end of the table. Cho actually covered her mouth.
“I learned how to separate it,” Harry continued smoothly, his tone unbothered. “Even figured out how to tap into the memories that came with it. Convenient, isn’t it?”
Dumbledore shot upright so quickly his chair legs screeched against the floor. “Oh, Harry...” he began, as if he were about to deliver some heartfelt warning.
Harry grinned, “Don’t clutch your wand like I gone dark, Professor. I’m still me.” He waved a hand in a loose, almost lazy gesture. “I am not reckless enough to let a Dark Lord’s memories blend up with my own. I turned them into something like moving pictures and watched them at arm’s length. No contamination. I assure you, Voldy’s memories haven’t made me think cauldrons of snake venom are the height of home décor.”
“Details on how I pulled that off?” Harry added lightly, smirking faintly. “That’s for me to know and for you to guess.”
“Merlin’s beard...” muttered Kingsley.
“Skip to the good parts, I say,” Tonks murmured, resting her chin on her palm. “Did you at least get useful intel out of it?”
“Plenty,” Harry replied. “Where he hid his Horcruxes. Which ones were duds. His little tantrum sessions when plans failed. All very educational.”
Moody’s magical eye whirred, locking onto Harry. “How long have you known this? About the Horcrux in you?”
Harry’s smile didn’t waver. “Long enough to remove it without singing ballads about how hard it was.”
Dumbledore raised a hand slightly, like he wanted to regain control of the room. “Harry, you cannot know how dangerous...”
“I can,” Harry cut in easily. “And I did it anyway. Because letting Voldemort’s soul squat in my head rent-free wasn’t on my to-do list.”
Dumbledore’s eyes swept the room, searching for some sign of surprise, some sharp intake of breath. He found none. Amelia Bones sat still as ever, her sharp gaze cutting across him like she’d been waiting to pounce. The students, Harry’s circle of friends didn’t even blink. Daphne and Tracey looked mildly amused. Hermione was writing in her notebook as if jotting grocery lists. Neville sat stiff-backed, but not confused. Luna was tracing something in the air with her fingers.
They already knew.
“That means I don’t need to die for Voldemort to die, like the prophecy hinted. I am free of the soul tether.”
Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Harry didn’t give him the chance.
“But that is not the important part, is it, Professor?” Harry’s tone was light, almost conversational. “The real question is, how long have you known?”
The old man’s hand paused where it hovered over the table.
Harry had always known Dumbledore was setting him up for something. In his first year, the entire ordeal with the Philosopher’s Stone wasn’t about the stone at all—it was a test. A way to cultivate the “hero complex.” Every little challenge had been carefully placed. Selflessness, bravery, sacrifice. All of it obvious in hindsight. Hermione and Ron hadn’t stumbled into helping him; they’d been nudged, Confunded even, to keep him on that path.
It was painfully clear now. Dumbledore wanted him to die. Willingly. To walk straight into Voldemort’s hands, believing it was the only way to end him.
What Harry still couldn’t figure out was why the old man had let it stretch this far.
Dumbledore’s eyes flicked to him, unreadable for the first time in years.
“How long,” Harry said again, “have you known I was a Horcrux?”
Finally, Dumbledore spoke, his voice was still gratingly soft. “I suspected after the events at Godric’s Hollow. I confirmed it in your third year.”
Tracey let out a short laugh, it was hollow and humourless. “Confirmed it? And you didn’t think to mention it?”
Daphne crossed her arms. “Let me guess. You thought keeping him in the dark would prepare him better.”
Dumbledore’s gaze flicked briefly her way but returned to Harry. “There were reasons.”
“Were they good ones?” Harry asked lightly. “Because from where I am sitting, it looks like you were trying to breed a martyr.”
Moody grunted from his corner. “Potter, you are talking to Albus Dumbledore. The beacon of light.”
Harry snorted. “More like a flickering lantern. He’s been trying to lead people somewhere for years, but no one’s quite sure where.”
Dumbledore didn’t rise to the bait. He clasped his hands in front of him, looking far too calm for a man who’d just been accused of keeping a Horcrux secret for years. “Harry, I acted in what I believed was the greater good.”
Harry tilted his head. “The greater good, was it? Is that what you told yourself when you left me with the Dursleys? Or when you decided to let a piece of Voldemort sit in my head until the right moment?”
Amelia's eyes fixed on Dumbledore. “You knew Potter had a bit of You-Know-Who stuffed in him and did sod all?”
“I had to be certain,” Dumbledore said, voice soft. “And the knowledge...”
Harry couldn't help but laugh, “Let me make this clear,” he started, looking at faces in the room. “Ever since the first train ride, I realised Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were tampered with. The spells weren’t obvious... they were subtle, carefully cast by someone with serious power. Ron wandered into my compartment, singing praises for Gryffindor and badmouthing Slytherin from the start. Hermione, brilliant as she is, arrived with her own script, ready to ‘help’ me. But when she realized that I didn’t need her guidance and was good enough already...”
Hermione snorted. “Good enough, were you?” she teased, quirking an eyebrow.
Harry gave her a smile and continued without missing a beat. “She suddenly changed her approach. Decided to ask me for help instead. Which didn’t line up with her personality at all. It was too forced. That wass when I knew... someone was setting the stage. I just couldn’t see the full picture yet.”
His eyes swept the table, lingering on Neville for a moment. “And then I wondered… why those two? Why not someone else? Ron Weasley, no offense, Ginny, Fred, George, had nothing particularly unique about him. Hermione? Brilliant, yes. Hardworking, sure. But a stranger to magical culture, just like me. Then it clicked. The Weasleys are blood traitors. I am a pureblood, The Boy Who Lived, famous but raised humbled by Muggles. Hermione wass a Muggle-born. It is a perfect cocktail of anti-Voldemort propaganda. Three friends walking hand-in-hand. Like a picture for the front page of the Prophet.”
“And then there was Neville Longbottom,” Harry went on smoothly. “Confunded by a long-term spell.”
Neville stiffened slightly but didn’t speak.
For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed Dumbledore’s face. It vanished almost instantly, but Harry caught it.
“Oh yes, Neville,” Harry said softly. “Quiet, clumsy Neville. Except he wasn’t always clumsy, was he? Someone made sure of that. He was a threat. They needed him distracted. Easy to push aside. And just like that, the path was cleared for me to take centre stage.”
Harry looked directly at Dumbledore. “So my question is, Headmaster… who had the ability to cast all those spells, had access to profiles of all the first-years, and designed everything to turn me into a hero-mentality martyr, one who would willingly die to take Voldemort with myself?”
Dumbledore was as calm as still water. “Those are serious accusations, my boy. Are you perhaps implying I was behind all those spells and manipulations? Not that we are certain of your conjecture.”
Harry stood up, his chair scraping softly against the stone floor. “So be it. Today you arrived to save Voldemort. I know it wasn’t an accident. I know Fawkes could have come without breaking the wards. And I know you thought it was the right thing to do. The Greater Good, isn’t it?” His voice wasn’t raised, but every word landed sharp. “You couldn’t bear him being cornered without your grand finale. Fine. I don’t know why you think the ‘Greater Good’ needs to take both of us, and frankly, I am not interested. But you can rest easy, Headmaster. I’ve destroyed all of his Horcruxes. What’s left of his soul is too weak to make many more. Even if he does, I will find them and finish the job. Just stay out of our way.”
He turned without waiting for a response.
