Chapter 14 — First Horcrux
The air grew foul. I could almost taste it — thick, choking, full of something ancient and wrong. It reeked of rage and hate, the kind that had no body yet filled the room like smoke. Every instinct in me screamed that it was something against nature itself — an affront to life, to magic, to the very pulse of the earth. Even Brigid, who had been quietly pressed against my chest, hissed softly, her fur standing on end.
The ritual circle blazed with shifting light. Runes carved into the stone floor glowed crimson, then green, then an eerie black. The healers and curse breakers worked in a tight rhythm, chanting in Gobbledegook, their voices sharp and resonant. The foul thing within Harry — the shard of another soul — began to tear itself from him.
It screeched.
It wasn't a sound meant for human ears. It was like nails scraping across the bones of the world. Harry convulsed in the circle, his small body trembling, his face twisted in pain. I felt my stomach twist with helplessness. The healers tried to restrain him with spells that didn't hurt but calmed his thrashing.
Petunia cried out his name, but Ragnok held up a hand. "Stay back," he ordered. His face was carved from stone, but his voice held something more — reverence, maybe. Fear. "This is no ordinary curse."
He was right. It wasn't.
The soul shard fought as though it were alive — and I suppose, in a dreadful way, it was. I could feel it. Its emotions weren't human; they were hatred distilled into something solid. I felt them thrash inside me like black smoke pressing against my chest, a desperate, blind rage that clawed for control.
And yet, under all that, there was something broken about it.
I focused through the chaos and sensed it clearly — the shard wasn't whole. It was torn, incomplete, clinging to Harry out of pure instinct. This wasn't deliberate. This was an accident born of madness and desperation. A fragment of what once was a man — the Dark Lord himself.
I could feel Harry's suffering through the magic that bound us. His pain wasn't physical; it was the tearing apart of two souls that had been forced together for years. It was agony on a level few could ever comprehend.
"Hold!" one of the curse breakers shouted, sweat streaming down his face. "It's loosening!"
The light around the circle pulsed violently. Then, with a sound like a thunderclap, the foulness was wrenched free.
A black, wisp-like mass rose from Harry's scar, twisting and writhing, screaming in fury and disbelief. It hovered for a moment — then struck against the invisible boundaries of the ritual circle, shrieking as the magic held it in.
Harry collapsed instantly, breathing hard, his small body limp.
"Get him out!" barked Ragnok, and the healers rushed forward. They lifted Harry gently and carried him to the side table. I dropped to my knees beside him, Brigid slipping from my arms to curl protectively near his side. Petunia fell to her knees too, clutching Harry's small hand and whispering his name again and again. Dudley stood behind her, pale but steady, his hand on Mum's shoulder.
The healers uncorked potions with trembling hands — soothing draughts, restorative elixirs. They poured them carefully down Harry's throat, and slowly, his breathing evened. His eyelids fluttered, then stilled. He was asleep.
Only the foul soul fragment remained.
The curse breakers began their second task. They drew new runes on the floor, lines of gold and silver weaving around the black smoke that pulsed angrily in the circle. The goblin voices rose again, rhythmic and relentless.
Ragnok joined them this time, his voice booming in Gobbledegook — deep, ancient, commanding. Even the walls seemed to hum with the weight of their magic.
I held Brigid close again, feeling her tremble. Her thoughts brushed mine — fear, but also fierce pride. Right thing. Needed thing.
I nodded silently.
The soul fragment screamed louder. The runes glowed, binding it tighter. Bands of magic — blue, green, gold, white — wound around the darkness, pressing it inward. It fought, hissed, clawed at the barriers, but the goblins didn't stop.
They were singing now — a song that sounded like iron and earth and the pounding of hammers. It was the song of creation, of the forge, of life reclaiming what had been stolen.
The air itself vibrated.
Then, with a final, soul-piercing shriek, the thing shattered.
The sound died.
The blackness vanished, leaving behind only a faint shimmer — and then that too was gone.
Silence fell.
I breathed in, and for the first time in years, the air felt clean. Pure. The room seemed lighter. Even the torches burned steadier, brighter.
Ragnok straightened, his chest heaving. Around him, the goblins exchanged glances — tired but triumphant. And then, almost in unison, they grinned.
The grin of those who had done something truly good.
A soft warmth spread through me, deep and quiet. Mother Magic herself was pleased — I could feel it. It was like sunlight against my skin, a whisper of gratitude in the bones of the earth. My own magic thrummed stronger, more alive than ever before.
Brigid purred faintly, eyes half-lidded. Even she seemed to shine faintly in the aftermath.
The healers moved back to Harry, scanning him again with their wands. Their murmurs grew calmer, their faces less grim. One of them turned to Ragnok.
"The dark curse is gone," she said. "No trace remains."
Another added, "The boy's body will need time. His eyes carry magical damage — they'll heal slowly, but they'll heal."
Petunia let out a sob — half relief, half exhaustion. Dudley let out a shaky breath and sat down heavily beside her.
I stood, still holding Brigid. "What about the rest of us?" I asked. "Should we be checked as well?"
Ragnok nodded immediately. "A wise request."
The healers performed a series of scans over each of us. After several minutes, they nodded.
"You are clean," one said. "The protections around you — ancient blood magic — shielded your household. Without it, this corruption would have destroyed you all."
Petunia covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Lily's protection," she whispered. "It's still working…"
Ragnok inclined his head respectfully. "A mother's sacrifice never fades easily. You are fortunate."
He then turned to me. "Mr Dursley," he said, his tone firm but grateful, "you have done more for the magical world today than most wizards will in a lifetime."
I hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging me since the beginning. "Why couldn't Dumbledore sense it? He's supposed to be the greatest wizard alive. Surely he'd know?"
Ragnok's expression darkened. "Power does not always grant clarity," he said. "Only those blessed by magic itself can feel such corruption directly. It is rare — a gift of balance, not of ambition. Perhaps the magizoologist, Scamander, could have sensed it too. You, it seems, share his bond with nature."
I nodded slowly. "That makes sense."
After a moment of quiet, I looked around the room — the shattered circle, the exhausted healers, my family huddled together, and Harry, breathing evenly again.
There was one last thing to do.
I turned back to Ragnok. "I might have information about another similar object," I said carefully. "If I tell you where to find it… what kind of reward does the bank offer?"
The goblin froze. His sharp eyes darted to the healers, then back to me. "Another?" he said slowly. "Within Gringotts?"
I nodded.
He didn't waste time. "Fetch the branch head," he snapped.
Moments later, an imposing goblin entered — older, taller, his armour trimmed with gold. His voice was cool and deliberate. "You claim to know the location of another dark artifact inside my bank?"
"I do," I said. "But before I say more, I want to confirm the compensation."
The head goblin glanced at Ragnok, then back at me. "The standard bounty for reporting such items is one million galleons."
I raised an eyebrow. "For a piece of the Dark Lord's soul?"
There was a pause. The head's expression shifted slightly. "Ten million," he said finally.
I crossed my arms, pretending to think it over. "And the vault itself? What happens to it?"
"If proven to contain a Horcrux," Ragnok said grimly, "the vault is seized and destroyed. The owner's name is struck from all records. It is an act of war to harbour such evil."
"I see," I said slowly. Then I smiled, the sort of smile that always made Dad suspicious at home. "In that case, let's make a counter-offer."
Both goblins blinked.
"I'll tell you which vault it is — but in return, I claim everything inside it. Ten million galleons or the vault's contents, whichever is greater."
Ragnok and the branch head exchanged a look. They murmured in Gobbledegook for a tense few moments. Finally, they turned back to me.
"Agreed," the head said, his voice sharp with curiosity. "Now tell us, boy — which vault do you mean?"
I grinned wider.
"Do you," I asked lightly, "have a vault for Bellatrix Lestrange?"
End of Chapter 14 — First Horcrux