"What's wrong?" Neville asked, puzzled, as he noticed Harry suddenly freeze.
"Nothing... nothing." Harry shook his head, feeling a bit disoriented.
All he did was go to the headmaster’s office—how had the war ended so suddenly?
"Hermione... I'm not dreaming, right?" Ron asked, unable to help himself. "We really defeated the Dark Lord?"
"I think it's safe for you to say his name now," Hermione replied.
She could hardly believe it herself.
Of course, it wasn’t that the end of the war wasn’t welcome—it was just... so unexpected.
And more than that, Hermione had a strange feeling. It was as if they hadn’t done anything at all.
Even Neville beside them was covered in dust and grime, with dried blood still faintly visible. But when she looked at the three of them...
Hermione couldn’t see herself, but Harry and Ron, though their robes were filthy, still looked relatively clean. Standing next to Neville, they felt oddly out of place.
"As long as you're okay." Neville had no idea what Hermione was thinking. He, too, had spotted Kyle ahead and walked over to him with barely contained excitement.
"I heard all about it. You actually beat the Dark— I mean... Voldemort." Neville shuddered but still forced himself to say the name, which left his face pale as a sheet.
"It wasn’t just me. We all did it," Kyle corrected him. "I alone couldn’t possibly take on Voldemort. Without Mikel’s help, I’d have been dead in the Great Hall before it even started."
"Oh? Really?" Neville blinked in surprise.
He certainly knew the name Mikel. The two of them hadn’t interacted much, but that name had left a lasting impression.
Because in Potions class, the line he heard most often was, "Your talent for Potions is even worse than Derrick's."
Derrick—Mikel Derrick—was a name Neville had been hearing for seven years. Of course it stuck.
What he hadn’t expected was that Mikel was hiding that kind of power—strong enough to blast Voldemort clear out of the castle with a single spell.
Neville hadn’t seen the scene in the Great Hall himself. He had only heard about it from others. It all sounded unbelievable, but surely Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout wouldn’t lie about something like that.
Clicking his tongue in disbelief, Neville thought to himself that Hogwarts really was a place full of wonders.
People bustled past in every direction, all busy with their own tasks. After exchanging a few brief words with Kyle, Neville headed upstairs, his expression somber.
He still had to retrieve the bodies of those who had died inside the castle—a task no one could find joy in...
...
After Neville left, Harry and the others began hearing from others about what had happened during their absence.
The three of them listened, mouths agape—especially when they heard about everyone joining forces to attack Voldemort by the Black Lake. A wave of indescribable tension and inexplicable excitement swept over them.
"We really should’ve stayed," Ron muttered quietly.
The final battle against Voldemort—and they hadn’t even been part of it. If Harry, the Boy Who Lived, had been there, maybe Voldemort wouldn’t have escaped.
"Yeah," Harry agreed with a nod.
He truly wished he had been there, right at the heart of the battle—so he could have stood in front of Voldemort and let him kill him.
Because only then could Voldemort be destroyed completely.
Harry couldn’t help thinking back to the vision he’d seen in the Pensieve just minutes ago—what Snape had been trying to show him.
He was a Horcrux...
Yes—just like the diary, the Ravenclaw Diadem, and the Slytherin Locket... Voldemort’s talismans.
As long as he was alive, Voldemort could never truly be killed.
It all went back to that night more than ten years ago, when Voldemort was struck down by his own Killing Curse. A fragment of his soul was blasted free and latched onto the only living soul left in the collapsed house.
And just like that, without Voldemort even realizing it, Harry became his Horcrux...
Every time Harry thought about it, a cold shiver ran through him—like he was submerged in the Black Lake in winter, his very soul on the verge of freezing solid.
He had told Hermione and Ron, but they had both urged him not to believe it, insisting that what he saw might just be one of Snape's tricks, trying to deceive him into sacrificing himself.
But Harry knew—it wasn’t a trick. Deep down, he could feel it. Everything he had seen in the Pensieve was real.
And after accepting that truth, so many things that had never made sense before suddenly became clear.
Part of Voldemort lived inside him—that's why he could talk to snakes, why he could connect to Voldemort’s thoughts.
Because in some twisted way, they were the same.
In fact, when he left the headmaster’s office, Harry had already made up his mind to face Voldemort head-on—just like Sirius’s younger brother.
What was his name again... Oh, right. R.A.B. Regulus.
Regulus had risked his life for a Horcrux, hoping Voldemort would one day be destroyed when he met his match. Harry believed he could do the same.
Kyle pressed his lips together, trying hard not to look too amused. “And how did the professors handle it?”
“Slytherin lost fifty points.”
“That’s it?” Kyle couldn’t believe it. She basically turned the entire house into a walk-in freezer, and they only lost fifty points?
Was Hogwarts really that lenient back then?
Nowadays, getting caught out after curfew would cost you ten points.
“What else could be done? Don’t forget—Diana was a Slytherin too.”
Professor Flitwick chuckled. “If it hadn’t caused such a stir, they might not have even lost the fifty. Horace… well, he’s always been very forgiving when it comes to talented students.”
“Fair enough.” Kyle nodded.
Now he finally understood where Snape had learned his favoritism—from a long line of Slytherin Heads?
...No, why am I thinking about that greasy git?
Kyle quickly shook it off and changed direction.
Professor McGonagall was examining the shattered stone suits of armor. After being destroyed by Voldemort, they’d been scorched again by Fiendfyre. Most were completely beyond repair, though a few pieces could still be salvaged with some effort.
She stood there, heart aching. These were thousand-year-old artifacts—how had it come to this?
What if they needed them again one day?
...Well, maybe they wouldn’t.
Then again, most of the Death Eaters Voldemort had brought were never leaving Hogwarts. Even if he somehow returned, the school wouldn’t need those statues just to make up the numbers.
It was the British wizarding world that might be in for a major upheaval... There hadn’t been many wizards to begin with, and now there were even fewer. No wonder Amelia Bones had rushed off with the others the moment things ended.
But that was the Ministry’s problem—not Hogwarts’. And most of the fallen had been Dark wizards anyway. With them gone, maybe the wizarding world would finally get a little better.
Professor McGonagall conjured a cart and began loading the twisted suits of armor onto it, planning to try repairing them if possible.
Kyle wisely kept his distance. After all, he was one of the reasons those suits were destroyed in the first place.
As he made a loop back toward the castle, a sudden flash of silver caught his eye—a phoenix-shaped Patronus disappearing into the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.
A silver phoenix... a Patronus?
Kyle stopped in his tracks and looked around.
Students and professors bustled back and forth, busy with their own tasks. No one else seemed to have noticed that unusual Patronus.
Narrowing his eyes, Kyle didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the tunnel again—for the third time that night.
The winding passage was familiar by now, and soon he saw a faint glow ahead.
Voldemort had blown the door open, so from a distance Kyle could already see the light spilling from the room—and the person sitting quietly beneath it.
“Professor Dumbledore,” Kyle said as he approached, his voice flat, “don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”
Dumbledore, seated across from him, looked slightly embarrassed. “Kyle, I can explain.”
“Go ahead, I’m listening,” Kyle said. “But really, Professor—while you sit here eating ice cream, you send me—a freshly graduated, not-yet-twenty-year-old wizard—to deal with Voldemort? Isn’t that just a little over the top?”
“But you did it,” Dumbledore said, with sincere admiration. “You defeated Tom and protected Hogwarts.”
“That’s only because I had help!” Kyle snapped. “If it hadn’t been for Mikel, I’d have been dead ages ago!”
“Ah, I know,” Dumbledore nodded. “Actually, I was there too—but Mr. Derrick acted faster than I did, and his execution was flawless. So I chose to handle something else.”
“Something else...” Kyle looked at him. “What could possibly be more important than killing Voldemort?”
“Well... nothing,” Dumbledore admitted. “But it did have something to do with you.”
“With me?”
“More precisely—with your mother, Diana.”
Dumbledore went on, “You might not be aware, but Unspeakables hold many secrets and wield certain powers that are not meant to be seen. They are strictly forbidden from taking part in major conflicts. That’s an unbreakable rule.”
“My mother already resigned,” Kyle said.
“No Unspeakable can resign of their own accord,” Dumbledore replied calmly.
Kyle frowned.
“But don’t worry,” Dumbledore said suddenly, smiling again. “Tonight, Diana simply went out with a few colleagues to deal with some Death Eaters who were eyeing the Department of Mysteries. That’s all. She didn’t even have to take a pay cut.”
“It was you?” Kyle looked at Dumbledore.
“Ah, I’m still quite confident in my Transfiguration skills,” Dumbledore said with a light chuckle. “No one would’ve noticed. Rest assured.”
“And by colleagues… you don’t mean Ariana, do you?”
“Of course I do,” Dumbledore replied, smiling.
“Even so, I still want an explanation.” Kyle’s voice remained firm—he wasn’t about to let Dumbledore shift the topic.
“We gave everything we had, and in the end, all we did was drive Voldemort away. That’s not enough.”
“Don’t forget—you also took down more than seventy percent of the Death Eaters,” Dumbledore said, his tone deep and measured.
He had been nearby the entire time, witnessing everything firsthand. Yet even so, part of him still couldn’t believe what had happened.
So many Death Eaters—nearly all of them—gone. Whatever else it was, this had been a victory.
And after this, it would be far harder for Voldemort to make another return. The threat he posed had drastically diminished.
No wizard—Voldemort included—could survive an onslaught of hundreds, even thousands, of spells. Not him, not Dumbledore, not even Merlin himself.
That was why, the moment he came back, Voldemort’s first priority had been to summon his Death Eaters.
But after today… he likely wouldn’t find many left.
“He’s still a threat,” Kyle said, eyes narrowing. “And, Professor—you still haven’t actually answered my question.”
“Fine, then let me rephrase it: before you went to the Department of Mysteries, what were you doing?”
“I was hesitating,” Dumbledore said with a sigh. “When you destroyed Tom’s Horcrux and struck the first major blow against him, a thought occurred to me.”
“What thought?”
“That maybe… I didn’t need to come back,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I realized I wasn’t as essential as I’d believed.”
“Hogwarts was still Hogwarts without Dumbledore. Everything ran just as it should.”
“Without Dumbledore, you still managed to fight the Dark Lord, protect the school, protect the people you cared about. In fact, you did better than I did when I was here.”
“If that’s the case… then why should I return at all?”
Dumbledore’s voice was soft, like a whisper carried on a breeze from far away. Faint and elusive—only by listening carefully could one truly hear him.
“Forgive my selfishness, Kyle. That was what I was thinking at the time. More than anyone, I wanted you to defeat Tom. That way, I could quietly enjoy my retirement—without being drowned in Howlers.”
“So I hesitated. I didn’t step in right away to help. I kept convincing myself, just a little longer, telling myself maybe… maybe you could win.”
Kyle didn’t say a word. One hand subconsciously gripped his wand, the other resting on the latch of the suitcase beside him.
If he wanted to, he could open it instantly.
Dumbledore remained silent as well, his head bowed, looking like a child who knew he had done something wrong.
“If that’s your reason…” Kyle narrowed his eyes. “Even if that’s true, when Voldemort was escaping—when Snape tried to take him away—you could’ve stopped them. Or at the very least, waited until they were outside Hogwarts grounds before acting.”
As he spoke, the hand behind his back quietly released the suitcase latch.
“I didn’t stop them,” Dumbledore continued. “Because the Horcruxes weren’t all destroyed yet. We couldn’t kill him—not truly. At best, it would’ve turned everything back to what it was ten years ago. And that would’ve meant nothing.”
“Horcruxes…” Kyle raised an eyebrow and paused his movements.
“The last Horcrux,” Dumbledore said. “It wasn’t that Runespoor you killed—it’s Harry Potter.”
Thud! A loud noise sounded from behind them, as if something had dropped to the ground.
Kyle turned and saw Harry sitting at the entrance to the secret passage, his face frozen in horror.
That sound just now had been him collapsing to the floor.
“Dum… Dum—Professor Dumbledore?!” Harry practically shouted.
He was completely stunned, like he’d seen a ghost. In an instant, all color drained from his face, and his lips went dry.
By Merlin… he was looking at Dumbledore—Dumbledore, who had been dead for so long. Was this a dream?
He desperately wanted to ask someone, to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, but Ron and Hermione—who had come with him—were in even worse shape. They stood there, completely dumbstruck.