So Good He Could Even Have a Child

Dumbledore froze, looking at Harry in confusion.

"He told me you can't wear this ring," Harry said calmly, pressing Dumbledore's hand down. The ring made a crisp clink as it touched the table.

Dumbledore hesitated.

Harry continued, "Besides, you're a little too eager. We should check again."

Only then did he let go, waving his wand to conduct another inspection. Snape joined in.

At first, they didn't take it too seriously, merely using the opportunity to study the Resurrection Stone.

But in the second round of checks—

More traces of dark magic leaked out, dripping onto the table like tar, corroding small, bean-sized pits into the surface.

They nearly broke out in a cold sweat.

There was a deeper curse hidden inside the ring.

Like peeling an onion, one layer wrapped around another.

Without needing Harry's reminder, they immediately started a third round of checks.

This time, even with their extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts, neither of them found anything else.

But it was enough to make Dumbledore wary. He waved his wand, sending the ring back into its box, where it sat like a delicate piece of artwork.

"Aren't we destroying it?" Snape asked, swallowing hard, his voice a little hoarse.

"Not yet," Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry has a piece of a Horcrux in his head as well. We need to study—"

"What did you say?" McGonagall shot to her feet, staring at him in shock. "Harry is a Horcrux?"

Flitwick and Sprout also widened their eyes in disbelief.

"It was an accident," Dumbledore said, waving his hand to calm them. His voice was gentle, reassuring. "Don't worry, Harry has mastered Occlumency. It hardly affects him."

McGonagall's face darkened. "Hardly?"

Dumbledore fell silent, looking at Harry with a plea for help in his eyes.

Harry stepped in smoothly. "Professor, you can relax. Not 'hardly'—completely."

"Besides, now we have a Horcrux to study. With Dumbledore and Snape here, two Dark Arts masters, they're sure to find a way to remove the one in my head."

Flitwick immediately chimed in, "And me, Harry! You can't forget me!"

"I am your Charms professor. No offense to Severus—I may not match him in the Dark Arts, but when it comes to spellwork, I'm superior."

Unexpectedly, Snape didn't argue. He actually nodded in agreement.

"I may not have the magical expertise of Minerva or Filius," Sprout added thoughtfully, "but if you need any rare magical plants for potions, just say the word."

"There isn't a plant I can't grow."

Harry smiled—genuinely.

Snape flinched.

Flitwick noticed his reaction. "Harry smiles just like his mother, doesn't he?"

Snape turned his head sharply, letting out a soft hmph—the emotion behind it unreadable.

"The Horcrux research will take time," Dumbledore said, closing the box. "But right now, I'm more concerned about you, Harry."

The professors frowned.

Now?

Harry had a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head, and only now was Dumbledore worried?

"The Triwizard Tournament?" Harry drained his drink.

That reminder hit them all at once.

Oh, right.

The Death Eaters' conspiracy—that was even more urgent than the Horcrux.

Their frowns deepened.

Dumbledore nodded. "Tom may be in better shape than we expected."

"So good that he could even have a child," Harry said flatly.

Dumbledore blinked—he hadn't meant that, though it was an interesting side note.

Flitwick smirked, as if suppressing laughter.

"And he has more Horcruxes than I imagined," Dumbledore continued, staring at the box. "Leaving one behind as a trap… If it weren't for you two, I fear…"

Perhaps he would have resisted the first temptation.

Perhaps he would have thought to check the ring once.

But he would never have checked twice.

What worried him the most—

Was how easily Voldemort had sacrificed a Horcrux.

He had nearly succeeded in exchanging one piece of his soul for Dumbledore's life.

"The Four Founders' relics," Harry counted on his fingers. "Leaving out Gryffindor, that's three. Add this ring and the diary—that's five."

"Yes. Maybe more," Dumbledore said grimly. "I originally thought there were only two or three at most. Creating Horcruxes requires ripping the soul apart—it's an exceptionally evil and exceptionally painful process, unbearable just to imagine."

"But Tom is… determined."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he made seven."

Seven—a number with great magical significance, frequently mentioned in The Standard Book of Spells.

"So that makes me number eight?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I don't know. Severus?"

"I do," Snape muttered, still refusing to turn around. He was staring intently at Godric's portrait, nodding impatiently.

McGonagall's expression hardened. "Harry, I was going to let you have the holidays off, but it seems we don't have time for that. From now until the end of the break, you'll have daily tutoring with one of us. How does that sound?"

Flitwick, for once, didn't object. His face was as serious as McGonagall's.

Unsurprisingly, Harry agreed at once. "Of course. Is Moody still at Hogwarts?"

"I'll convince him," McGonagall nodded firmly. "That way, you'll have one free day each week—"

"Dumbledore gets two lessons per week," Harry interrupted.

McGonagall beamed. "Even better. Albus is an excellent teacher—you should learn as much as you can from him. Magically speaking, of course."

Dumbledore sighed. "But I still need to research the Horcrux with Severus."

"Albus, you'll only be teaching two days a week," Flitwick said with barely concealed amusement. "You still have five other days. Plenty of time."

Snape's tone was ice-cold. "Albus, now is not the time to be resting. You need to stop wasting time on foolish distractions."

"I'll write to the Wizengamot," Dumbledore sighed. "Cancel all my upcoming evening events."

He clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone—go get some rest. And have the house-elves prepare dinner. We've missed mealtime, haven't we?"

Then, his gaze settled on the wooden box.

"As for this…"

"Pomona, I think we'd all feel safest if you kept it."

Sprout grinned. "Finally thought of me? I'll take good care of it."

She waved her wand, and a vine slithered out from her robes—not a Transfigured object, but a living magical plant.

It wrapped around the box and whoosh!—retracted.

A moment later, a massive mouth opened up, swallowing the box whole.

—

They left.

The Sorting Hat bid Harry farewell, wanting to stay behind in the office, eager to keep boasting to Godric.

Nothing compared to the thrill of flying freely through the sky.

Harry allowed it. He didn't need the motorcycle anytime soon.

McGonagall was still worried about Harry, personally escorting him back to Gryffindor Tower, reassuring him that the professors would solve everything.

Until Harry casually admitted that he had known about the Horcrux in his head since first year.

McGonagall was furious.

Dumbledore had known and hadn't told her?

This was her student!

She spun on her heel and stormed off—straight back to the Headmaster's office.

—

Inside the Gryffindor common room, most students were still outside playing in the snow.

Only the older students remained—mostly fifth and seventh years, studying by the fire.

Ron was by the fireplace, tending to his bruised face and nose.

Hermione sat beside him, absorbed in a thick book.

She was the first to notice Harry's return, looking up with a delighted smile.

"Harry! I thought you'd be gone for days."

"Everything went smoothly," Harry sat beside her. "No surprises. What happened to Ron?"

"Got in a fight with Malfoy," Ron muttered.

Harry sighed.

Of course he did.

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Powerstones?

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