Harry managed to dispel the curse on the books and took all of them to his house.
They decided to stop raiding the Greek mausoleum, not only because it was incredibly dangerous, but also sacrilegious. They had found what they were looking for, and everyone knew that greed was a sin.
"How do you want to do this?" Fleur asked.
"I'll start with the cup. After we make sure that everything's as okay as it can be, we'll do Nagini," he said, trying to hide his disgust and not mentioning Voldemort's last soul piece. That'd be last.
"Alright," Fleur said and hugged him. "When do you want to start?"
Harry remained silent, enjoying his girlfriend's warmth and rubbing circles on her back.
They stayed like that for so long that Fleur almost forgot about her earlier question, and guessed that he wouldn't answer.
"Tomorrow," Harry said and broke the hug.
After hearing his reply, she thought that perhaps it would have been better if he hadn't answered.
Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, Salazar had written rituals on consuming souls. The problem, though, was that they were meant for whole souls, not just bits of a soul.
After some thinking, Harry realised that the ritual Salazar had created for him had used the part of Voldemort's soul inside him. After comparing the two sets of runes, he designed a new ritual that was meant to allow him, or anyone else who was stupid enough to do so, to consume a part of a soul.
'Why didn't Herpo just write the ritual when he was rambling for pages about it? I can't understand,' Harry thought bitterly. The search and designing had put him a day behind his plans.
Alas, everything was ready now.
"Why are you acting so hasty, again?" Sirius couldn't help but ask when he started drawing the runes on the floor.
Harry didn't answer Sirius right away. He crouched down, finishing the last curve of a rune with slow precision before leaning back to examine his work.
The air smelled of dust and mildew, which was normal considering its circumstances.
"This place," he finally said, his voice quiet but steady, "is where it started. If there's anywhere that'll help this work, it's here."
They were standing in what used to be Tom Riddle's room at Wool's Orphanage. The place hadn't been touched in decades; the Matron had ordered it locked after Riddle left, muttering that something about that boy's room wasn't right. Over the years, the staff had learned to avoid even mentioning it.
She was right as well.
Voldemort had left a lackadaisical withering curse that would attack and decay a person's body so slowly that they would barely even notice it. Harry guessed that it would take about a month for someone residing in the room to die from the curse's effect.
'He seems to love withering curses,' he had noted curiously, right before dispelling the magic.
The walls were still sickly yellow-grey, peeling in long curls like dried skin. A narrow window looked out over the orphanage courtyard, its glass cracked and grimy from neglect.
The faint light that filtered through the grime gave the room a greenish cast, making the shadows cling unnaturally thick to the corners.
An iron-framed bed sat against one wall, its mattress sunken and torn.
"It's… foul," Sirius muttered, wrinkling his nose as he scanned the room. "You sure this is a good idea?"
Harry finally looked up, having made sure that the design was correct. "I think that doing it will make the soul fragment more… receptive. And how many times have I told you, there's nothing wrong with the room anymore."
Sirius shook his head and looked out the window.
Fleur stood by the door, arms wrapped around herself. Even she seemed unsettled by the atmosphere. "You still haven't answered Sirius's first question," she said softly.
Harry sighed and sat on the bed's edge, which a creaking sound.
"I didn't want to believe it at first, but there's indeed something wrong with my magic. Herpo was right… The first real sign was in Gringotts while I was channelling Defodio to dig through the earth and create an opening for the dragon. The spell had almost fizzled out before I managed to bring it back to its supposed intensity. There were also some seemingly random black patches in my vision, and I don't mean those from exhaustion. You know that I see magic, and well… yeah. If Herpo and I are right, consuming a soul piece would stabilise the magic for a little bit, before it starts spiralling out of control again."
He didn't mention that the more of Voldemort he had inside him, the quicker he'd start losing control again.
Fleur looked away; she couldn't watch Harry and not cry.
Sirius grimaced and nodded. That seemed to be a good reason to act hastily.
Harry sighed again and got up.
He moved toward the centre of the runic circle, where he'd placed the small, ornate cup—Helga Hufflepuff's cup. Its gold surface glimmered weakly in the dim light, and the badger emblem almost looked like it was sneering.
Sirius sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "You know, kid, most people would've picked someone less… Dark Lord, to swallow."
Harry gave a small, humourless smile. "I wish it could have been different, Sirius. I really do."
He knelt before the cup and let his hand hover above it, the magic in the air prickling against his skin. Every instinct screamed at him to stop, to leave, to destroy the abomination, and he knew he could do it; it'd take just a flick of his wand, and a small tendril of controlled Fiendfyre would do the rest.
He drew in a slow breath and looked at Fleur. "When I start, make sure to keep the muggle-repelling ward stable."
She hesitated, lips parting as if to argue, then nodded. "Break a leg."
Sirius folded his arms, leaning against the cracked wall. "If anything happens to you, your parents are going to kill me in the afterlife, so please be extra careful."
Harry smirked faintly. "That sounds like a good cause."
Then, with deliberate calm, he placed his hand on the cup.
The room seemed to darken at once. Dust lifted off the floor in a faint spiral, and the runes began to glow a deep, sullen red.
And from somewhere deep within the walls of the orphanage, something began to scream.
It wasn't human. It was too sharp, too layered—like metal scraping across stone, over and over.
The sound made the air vibrate, and Fleur instinctively covered her ears, wincing as the muggle-repelling ward pulsed around her, keeping the hundred or so muggles in the building from hearing the noise.
The cup trembled under Harry's palm.
A faint black smoke leaked from its rim, twisting into the shape of a snake's head before splintering apart into something amorphous and wrong.
"You think yourself above me-him, boy?" it rasped, the hiss echoing in the room. "You are a fragment already—no better than I. When he dies, so will you."
Harry's jaw clenched.
His hand didn't move. "Spiritus interligo, magia necto," he began, voice steady. The words of the ritual rolled off his tongue with practised ease.
The black smoke coiled faster now, circling him like a predator. The air dropped several degrees, his breath visible in the cold.
The Horcrux laughed—a fractured, high-pitched sound that made Fleur take a step forward before stopping herself. Harry had instructed them not to enter the circle, whatever happened.
"You've already tasted his madness," it sneered. "It plagues you in your dreams, it follows you through the shadows. You know it's waiting for you."
"Mors mortem alit, et anima solvitur."
The runes on the floor flared, light bleeding through the cracks in the boards. The walls seemed to shudder—old plaster cracking and curling away as if something inside the building was trying to escape.
The black mist shifted—and suddenly, Sirius walked inside the circle, and a green light flashed; it connected with him. His body lay before Harry. Charred. Lifeless. His eyes wide open, accusing.
Harry didn't flinch. "Surge iterum, donec putrescas, mihi dona vim tuam."
Fleur ran to check over Sirius, and in the next moment, a huge pike tore through the air and her chest. Her silver hair was soaked in blood, and she was whispering something—his name, over and over, pleading.
The room shook violently, a sound like thunder cracking through the air.
Harry's voice rose above the cacophony, every syllable slicing through the dark. "Ego sum vinculum, ego sum portus, ego sum qui manet!"
The floor erupted in light.
The Horcrux shrieked—a sound that split the air, raw and desperate, as the black smoke folded in on itself, drawn toward Harry's outstretched hand. The golden cup shook violently, cracks spreading across its surface like spiderwebs.
Sirius and Fleur disappeared.
Then—
"Fiat."
The word left Harry's lips in a whisper, but it carried like a command.
The scream cut off instantly. The smoke was gone. The runes dimmed. The air was still again—too still.
The cup lay shattered at his feet, its once-shining gold now dull and lifeless.
Harry remained kneeling, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his temples. His eyes glowed faintly, a storm of green, and he felt cold—too cold.
Sirius was the first to move. "Harry?"
Harry blinked once. The glow faded. "It's done," he said hoarsely.
Fleur rushed from the doorway and smothered him in kisses.
Rough translation of the Latin:
Spiritus interligo, magia necto. / I bind the spirit, I link it through magic
Mors mortem alit, et anima solvitur. / Death feeds on death, and the soul is released.
Surge iterum, donec putrescas, mihi dona vim tuam. / Rise again, until you decay; grant me your power.
Ego sum vinculum, ego sum portus, ego sum qui manet. / I am the bond, I am the haven, I am the one who remains.
Fiat. / So be it.
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Chapter 131: It's Finally Over