The manor was still. Shadows stretched long across the high windows as the sun dipped behind the far hills, casting golden firelight across the marble hearth and deep green velvet drapes. A faint ticking from the clock on the mantel was the only sound as Dumbledore stood, tall and quiet, before the Greengrass family.
Thomas sat stiffly in the armchair opposite, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, knuckles white. Elizabeth stood beside him, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder, her eyes narrowed—not in suspicion, but in the brittle way of someone who had spent years steeling herself against bad news… and worse truths.
Albus folded his hands, his expression grave—but not without hope.
"I have found a way," he said simply.
The silence that followed was taut, like a held breath.
Elizabeth's mouth parted, but it was Thomas who spoke. "A way to break the curse?"
Albus nodded. "Yes. It is not what I had hoped for… but it can be broken. You can be rid of this curse for your bloodline Elizabeth"
"What does it require?" Elizabeth asked quietly, already dreading the answer.
"A willing soul, of one who loves a cursed witch" Albus replied. "Not by force. Not by blood. It must be offered freely— By the one her magic has chosen. The one who returns that love, fully and willingly. Only that bond can shatter the hold this curse has on your line."
A silence settled again—heavy, inevitable. Thomas looked up at his wife, and Elizabeth's eyes, shimmering now with unshed tears, met his. Neither spoke. They didn't have to.
"Very well," Thomas said quietly. "I will do this."
"My love—"
"Elizabeth," he said gently, his voice steady, "this is the only way."
Elizabeth turned to Dumbledore, a plea in her eyes. "How sure are you of this, Headmaster? This is the only way?"
"We've recovered the journals of Marcus Wentworth," Albus said soberly. "He documented his life with Mary Oakhurst… and the curse. It did not work as he intended. And while what he did was monstrous, he tried—too late, —to undo it. That and he was not her match"
He paused. "I wish there were another way, Mrs. Greengrass. I do."
"Harry Potter—" Elizabeth blurted, then flinched as if the name itself cut deeper than she intended. Her hand went to her mouth, the words too late to take back.
Thomas turned sharply. "Elizabeth?"
Albus froze, his eyes narrowing just slightly.
"Daphne's curse," Elizabeth said quietly, her voice trembling. "It chose Harry. And… he returns her affections, at least thats what Daphne told me."
There was a beat of stunned silence.
Thomas stood abruptly, the chair scraping faintly against the floor. "You knew this?" His voice wasn't angry—not yet—but it was taut, wounded. "And you didn't tell me?"
Elizabeth's eyes widened. "I didn't—Tom, I only—"
"You let me speak to our daughter about staying away from him after the New Year," Thomas said, his voice steady but with a deep, sharp hurt. "I told her not to go to St. Mungo's. Forbade her without knowing about the curse. And all the while, you knew? Knew how it would make her feel!"
"I wasn't—" she began, but fell quiet as Albus raised a hand, not wanting to lose the key detail here.
"If I may," he said softly, "if what you say about young Daphne and Harry is true… then I must look into this."
"You cannot be serious, Headmaster," Thomas said, his voice catching. "Has that boy not suffered enough already? You would let him die?"
Dumbledore's heart clenched at the words. He thought of Harry—of the boy who had already faced so much, who had grown up knowing loss and hardship. The boy who had carried the weight of a prophecy, a burden no child should bear. And now, he faced another, even darker path, one where his life—his future—could be sacrificed for the Greengrass family's curse yet if he did not then his life was forfeit anyway. Not if we can offer up Voldemort's soul instead?
Albus took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts back to the present. He cared for Harry deeply, had come to see him almost as a grandson, and the thought of him being forced into such a decision gnawed at him like an open wound. It would be a kindness if they could remove the Horcrux within Harry— which is what set of his quest to locate a reliquary—but he knew it wouldn't be so simple and there would be risks. Many unknowns in that path, many dangers. And as much as he wished to protect Harry from any more suffering, it was either trying this, or- no he dared not repeat it.
"I would not let him do anything," Albus said gently, his voice thick with emotion. "I would ask Harry his view, knowing that young man, he would willingly do this."
Elizabeth looked at her husband, her eyes wet, her voice a whisper. "Thomas, if there is a chance you don't have to do this, we should take it."
Thomas reached for her hand and held it tightly, his gaze never leaving Albus, clearly conflicted.
Albus watched them in silence, the weight of what had passed between them anchoring the room in stillness..
"And what of Daphne?" Thomas asked finally. "How do we tell her we let a young man who she cares for give his life to break our curse, a man who currently—"
"She might not feel love for him once the curse is broken," Elizabeth said softly.
"And neither might you for me," Thomas replied, his voice low. "Yet you seem to reject my offer to break this curse myself"
"Yes, but you have daughters, Tom," Elizabeth said, her voice thick. "Even if the curse lifting shatters my love for you… you have Daphne and Astoria."
"This is a delicate matter, I know," Albus interjected, his voice softer than before. He paused for a long moment, then continued. "Thomas, will you allow me to speak with Harry and his godfather about this? I should add… there is a reason young Harry might be more suitable than yourself, but right now I cannot share that information."
Thomas looked at Albus, his face unreadable for a moment before he nodded.
"How long do you need?"
"I will have an answer for you by tomorrow morning."
…
"Harry will be furious when we tell him," Sirius muttered, pacing back and forth across the newly polished pale wood floor. His voice was low, but simmering with tension. "We've kept this from him for weeks."
"He will be upset," Dumbledore agreed, standing near the hearth with his hands folded behind his back. "But telling him too early—without a solution—would have caused him more harm than good. I did not enjoy keeping the truth from him, Sirius. Believe me."
Sirius shot him a look but said nothing, jaw tight.
Remus leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the scrubbed table. "So… the reliquary, as it stands, is unusable because it's bound by the Wentworth curse. The curse needs to be dispelled with a soul before we can use it to house Voldemort's?"
"Precisely," Dumbledore nodded.
"Clever piece of magic," Remus murmured. "Ensure the curse never lifts unless someone pays a terrible price and the chances of that offer are slim. But wouldn't destroying the reliquary after it holds Voldemort's soul cause the same problem? If we can't just destroy the reliquary because the curse would then be unbound and then completely incurable, wouldn't the same go for the dark lords soul?
"You cannot destroy a curse," Albus said gently, "only dispel it. But a soul—especially a fragmented one—can be destroyed, once separated."
Sirius stopped pacing. "But if Harry offers up the Dark Lord's soul… that wouldn't break the curse, would it? Voldemort isn't the target of her curse - Harry is."
"Technically," Remus added, raising an eyebrow, "Harry is the one who feels for her. Not Tom."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "My belief is this, from my reading of Marcus' words: if a person who truly loves the cursed witch bears another soul within them, and is willing to give that love and their life freely, then both souls are counted in the offering. The curse demands a chosen soul, freely given. The presence of another within the same body—particularly one as twisted and corrupted as Tom's—makes it… uniquely suited."
Sirius stared at him, aghast. "You're basing this on a theory?" he snapped. "A bloody theory? On an interpretation of an obsessed nutcase's words!"
"Sirius—"
"No! I am not gambling away my godson's life on your best guess, Albus!"
There was a long silence.
Dumbledore didn't flinch. His eyes—bright behind the half-moon glasses—remained fixed on the fireplace, where the dying embers glowed gold and red.
"I would not ask it of him lightly," Dumbledore said at last. "You know that, Sirius. But this… best guess gives him a chance to live. The original method—what we once believed necessary— guarantees his death."
"He's just a boy," Sirius snapped, his voice raw. "He's been through hell. And now you're telling me the only other way to destroy Voldemort's soul… is to gamble with his ?" His breath hitched. "What if the curse takes Harry's soul instead?"
"Then Tom's fragment will remain in his body," Albus said quietly. "And we will… have to destroy it."
There was silence.
Then Sirius slammed his palm against the counter. "So it's not enough to send my godson into the void—we'd desecrate his body too? That's what he'd be—a husk. Empty."
His voice broke on the last word, and he turned away, blinking furiously. His shoulders shook once, a tremor he quickly swallowed.
Across from him, Dumbledore flinched. "He is your godson, Sirius. But never forget—I have watched over that boy since he came to Hogwarts. I have failed him… more times than I can bear. And if I'm wrong now—if this takes him—I will never forgive myself, truthfully I don't know if I ever can anyway."
A heavy silence settled over the room, broken only by the ticking clock and the faint crackle of the hearth.
"Does this mean we won't need the soul siphoning spell?" Remus asked, leaning back against the counter, his voice strained but steady.
"Marcus documented the chant in his journals," Albus said. "It activates the reliquary. There's a sigil—drawn on the ground. Harry must stand within it. And then…" He hesitated. "Miss Greengrass must speak the incantation, as she is the cursed which whose affections he returns."
"Do we know what the ritual looks like?" Sirius asked, his voice hoarse.
Albus shook his head. "No. Marcus never completed it. But… from what Remus and I encountered in that manor… whatever is tied to that curse, it is aware . It is old, and it is cruel. It won't want to let go. I imagine it will… test the host. Perhaps both of them."
Sirius gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white.
"Who will you need?" Remus asked after a long pause.
"Naturally, Miss Greengrass and Harry. Myself, of course… in case the worst should happen and Tom's soul remains." Albus's voice dropped slightly on the last words. "I imagine Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass will wish to be present. And I know Harry will want you both there."
He looked at the two men.
"Should the worst happen—"
He faltered.
Remus lowered his eyes, his hand clenched on the table's edge.
Sirius's voice was quiet when it came.
"He won't be alone at the end," he said, and the room fell silent again.
…
Harry stumbled out of the Floo, coughing as he brushed soot from his school robes. The living room at Grimmauld Place was quiet, bathed in pale afternoon light filtering through the high windows. Despite the hour—just past one—the air felt still, as if the house itself were holding its breath.
He straightened up and glanced around. No one had greeted him yet.
His fingers still smelled faintly of the ink from the Ancient Runes project he'd left behind. He and Daphne had been testing the final rune chain against their last batch of materials, deep in focus when Professor Babbling had approached with a folded note.
It was short. Distant. A little too formal.
Harry,
Please make your way to my office once you receive this note.
—Albus Dumbledore
Daphne had frowned, clearly concerned, but he could only shrug. He hadn't been told anything either. He'd squeezed her hand under the desk and began packing up his books without a word.
Dumbledore had been waiting for him when he arrived. The old wizard hadn't smiled as he usually did. Instead, his expression was unreadable—calm, but tight around the eyes.
"There's something we need to discuss, Harry," he'd said softly. "Something that must be done in private."
That was it. No explanation. No hint. Just a quiet gesture toward the Floo.
Now, standing in the too-still sitting room, Harry's sense of unease was beginning to crawl along the back of his neck.
"Headmaster?" he asked, turning as Dumbledore stepped through the fireplace behind him. He heard footsteps as Sirius and then Remus entered the living room, he noted the tense environment, and then dread began to creep in. Has someone been killed? Tonks? Moody?
Sirius stood by the hearth, his arms crossed tightly over his chest his eyes softening at Harry however but he had still not said anything. Remus stood by the sofa, fingers steepled, jaw tight. Dumbledore looked down at Harry as he too brushed off the soot from the floo.
"Harry," he said gently. "Please. Sit."
Harry took a slow step inside, frowning. "What's going on?"
Dumbledore waited until he was seated before answering. "We need to speak to you about something, we would've told you sooner but we- I wanted to investigate all variables before we spoke."
Harry said nothing. His eyes moved from Remus to Sirius, to Dumbledore. The weight in the room was suffocating, he noted the concern behind his godfather's eyes.
"It's Voldemort," Dumbledore said quietly. "A piece of him. A fragment of his soul. That is what rests in your scar"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" The words hung in the air like ash.
"When he tried to kill you as a baby, his curse rebounded. But he had already fractured his soul, Harry. He meant to do it. And when the curse backfired, that broken fragment latched onto the only living thing nearby—you."
"What does this mean?" Harry's voice was low, almost too quiet. The kind of stillness that made rooms uneasy.
That's when he noticed it—the concern in the three men's eyes shifted into something heavier. Guilt. Grief. Sadness. All of it worn openly on their faces, as if they'd been bracing for this moment for far too long.
"It is a Horcrux, Harry," Dumbledore began gently. "A truly foul piece of magic that allows the soul to split, preventing the caster from dying should his or her body be destroyed. It can only be created through murder in cold blood. It means—"
"Voldemort cannot be killed whilst part of his soul is within me?" Harry cut in, his voice even. Still too calm.
Dumbledore nodded once. "Yes."
Harry's heart thudded once—just once—but his breath stayed steady. His hands didn't shake. He wasn't even sure why.
"How do we deal with it?" he asked, noting how the tension in the room sharpened at his calmness, as though they had expected shouting. Denial. Anything but this quiet acceptance.
Dumbledore hesitated.
"This is why we didn't tell you immediately," he said. "The only known way to destroy a Horcrux is by destroying the vessel itself."
Harry sat still. No sinking feeling. No flare of anger. No betrayal rising in his chest.
Just… cold. You were likely going to die anyway.
"So I'd have to die?"
"Yes—if that were the only option," Dumbledore said softly. "For a long time, there was no way to separate it. We couldn't risk telling you without a plan. That would have been cruelty, not honesty."
Harry looked down at the table. The grain in the wood blurred. Somewhere behind him, the fire crackled. His voice, when it came, was steady.
"So what changed?"
Sirius let out a breath through his nose, the sound tight, but he couldn't look at his godfather, couldn't look at his grief. "We found something. In one of the old Black family tomes—Remus tracked it down. There's a way to remove a foreign soul from someone, to draw it out and bind it elsewhere. It's dark magic, but not evil in itself. You need an artifact called a reliquary."
"They were banned decades ago," Remus added quietly. "But… we found one. With the Greengrass family's help."
Harry's eyes lifted slightly. He still didn't feel angry. If anything… he felt detached. Like this had always been coming, and now that it was here, he could finally stop waiting for the sword to fall. In truth it felt like a relief.
And the strangest part was watching the three men watching him. As if they didn't understand why he wasn't breaking. As if his calm was more painful to them than rage would have been.
"It was created to house a soul, .. or a curse" Remus explained. "Old magic. Ancient. It used—twisted by a Marcus Wentworth, the man who cursed Daphne's bloodline. He tied the curse to it, and to break it requires a soul-binding ritual, and it's been carried through women on Elizabeth's side ever since."
"We believe," Dumbledore said carefully, "that if the curse is fulfilled—cleansed—the reliquary can be used as a way to extract Voldemort's fragment from you and destroy it."
Harry sat back slowly, brow furrowing. "And the soul offering?"
Sirius hesitated.
Dumbledore answered. "By offering a soul. One bound to the cursed by love. It has to be freely given, without coercion. That offering… purges the curse."
"The plan," Remus continued, "is to draw out Voldemort's soul to satisfy the curse. Use him. Let his soul be the one consumed."
"But it may not work," Dumbledore added quietly. "There is a risk. If the curse rejects his soul… it may take yours instead. Only you or Thomas Greengrass is eligable, given you have part of a foreign soul within you …
"It makes sense I do it, the Greengrass's don't lose a husband or father, and worst case you destroy my body after my soul is taken and Voldemort is mortal again. He can be killed"
The silence that followed was deafening.
The room didn't move.
Three grown men sat braced—waiting for the boy to shout. They expected Harry to erupt in anger or weep bitterly, to accuse them of keeping secrets or of treating him like a weapon rather than a person. Sirius was on the verge of snapping, his jaw clenched and his shoulders trembling with barely contained rage. Remus refused to meet Harry's eyes, as if the sight would shatter him further. Dumbledore, usually so composed, looked as though he carried the weight of a thousand sorrows.
But Harry?
He simply nodded. Slowly.
"I see."
"Harry—" Sirius began, his voice rough with suppressed fury.
"It's alright," Harry said quietly.
"No, it bloody well isn't—" Sirius started to argue, but Harry cut him off.
"I mean, I understand," Harry interjected, his voice calm—almost unnervingly calm. "It makes sense. At least this way, I have a chance, right?"
They stared at him, stunned.
Harry leaned back in his chair. His voice was calm, almost distant, but each word landed like iron.
"I've lived with this scar for as long as I can remember. With the dreams. The pain. The pull toward him. And I always knew… something was off. Part of me hoped I could just destroy him and be done. But I've never really believed I'd survive it. Truth be told… I never envisioned a long life. Not since he returned fully"
For a moment, the room fell into a hollow, crushing silence.
Dumbledore blinked slowly, his hands folding tighter in his lap as if to contain a tremor within him. In that silent pause, he felt the full, shattering weight of Harry's acceptance—a resignation that spoke of a lifetime measured in losses and sacrifices. This was not the angry outburst he had anticipated; it was a quiet, bitter acknowledgement that the cost of survival had long been paid.
Sirius turned his face away, his jaw clenched until his knuckles turned white on the table's edge. In his mind, Harry was supposed to burn with fury, to scream at him in protest—James's son wasn't meant to be so calm facing his end. Sirius recalled the brutal nights in Azkaban, the dreams of a life where Harry would grow up free and unburdened by curses. Instead, now, he saw only a man who had already counted the price of living.
Remus's heart ached as he watched Harry. He noticed not only what Harry said but what he did not: the expected bitterness, the fury. Remus, who had lived with constant fear and sorrow, recognized in Harry a quiet surrender—a final, heartbreaking acceptance of fate that was more devastating than any scream.
Harry looked down at the table as if the polished wood could offer answers. "What bothered me most—what always kept me up at night—wasn't dying. It was knowing Daphne might have to live without love. That the curse would keep hurting her. That she'd survive me and be left empty inside."
Dumbledore's lips parted, but he said nothing. His eyes shone with regret and responsibility.
"So if this—if this process makes him mortal again, if it gives Daphne a life… and Astoria, and every other woman in her current and future bloodline—a chance at love and a future… then it's worth it."
Sirius's voice cracked, "Don't say that," he choked, "don't act like your life is some coin we can trade for peace. Like its nothing"
"I'm not," Harry replied gently. "But I know the cost. And I choose to pay it."
That quiet resolve fell over the room like a leaden shroud. It was more powerful than any scream—more devastating than rage. The three men felt it deep inside: the crushing realization that Harry was accepting a fate he had never wanted, yet saw as inevitable.
Sirius turned away, biting down a sob that belied his steeled exterior. Remus shifted forward and covered his face with his hands, the sound of his quiet whimpers barely perceptible over the crackle of the fire. And Dumbledore—Dumbledore looked utterly broken, as though every past failure and every burden of responsibility had converged in that single, devastating moment.
After what felt like an eternity, Dumbledore spoke in a voice hoarse with sorrow and unwavering resolve, "You're not alone, Harry. We'll face this together."
Harry's resigned smile graced his young face. "I know."
…
The corridors of Hogwarts were unusually quiet that evening as Daphne made her way toward the Great Hall. The chatter and clatter that usually accompanied dinner were subdued, the slow creeping fear of the war was starting to have an effect on the student body. Light, neutral and dark sides, the children of known death eaters were largely quiet, Malfoy, Nott and a few others keeping to themselves, as deadly as their parents might be they were largely outnumbered by the neutral and light side within Hogwarts. That and after the attack on new years eve in the Alley when rumours of Theodore Notts older brother Matthais being killed by Harry none of the death eater children seemed keen on causing trouble. Even though she knew Harry was struggling with the fact he had killed another person, a small part of her was grateful for the reputation it had given, any class that Harry was in felt safer since
However Daphne's mind was elsewhere—worry gnawed at her. Harry had been absent since he left to see the Headmaster during their Rune's lesson, and each moment that passed only deepened her concern.
As she walked, Daphne's thoughts flickered over voice rising with every word. "I am glad I'm not going to lose my father, but you don't get to sit there—when someone else is potentially giving up their life for us—and deny me the chance to see him."
Her mother's hand reached out as if to comfort her, but Daphne jerked away.
"Does Harry wish to see her?" Elizabeth asked Albus softly, her eyes full of hurt.
Dumbledore hesitated. "I believe he would," he said finally, and Daphne swore his voice cracked. "If nothing else, to say anything that might be left unsaid."
That nearly buckled her knees. The finality in his voice made her stomach twist into knots. Her hands were shaking.
"No. No, he doesn't get to go out like this. Not without— not without knowing. "
Astoria clutched her hand tighter, grounding her just enough to breathe.
"Please," Daphne whispered. "Just let me see him."
...