Harry Potter: Fiendfyre and Love

This wasn't the real King's Cross. Harry had arrived here after Voldemort had struck him with the Killing Curse. The space resembled a train station, but it was nothing more than an illusion—a boundary between life and death. It was here that Harry had met the late Dumbledore, who patiently explained what had transpired.

Their conversation was drawing to a close. Harry's eyes once again drifted to the mutilated creature beneath the bench—it quivered, letting out pitiful sobs, its breathing labored. It was the Fragment of Voldemort's soul, its weakness and grotesque nature laid bare for all to see. Harry shuddered. Dumbledore, noticing his unease, began speaking again, as if to dispel his thoughts.

"Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say good-bye for the present."

Harry nodded with a sigh, though a strange sensation lingered in his mind, as if Dumbledore's words had been meant more for himself than for Harry. Harry thought he saw Dumbledore's eyes sparkle with pleasure as the ugly little body stopped breathing. Horcrux was dead, and Dumbledore enjoyed it?

Harry quickly pushed the thought aside. It was the time he needed to leave this place. It didn't seem as daunting as walking to his death in the Forbidden Forest, but still—this place was warm, bright, comforting. And ahead of him, he knew, lay pain and more loss.

Rising to his feet, he saw Dumbledore do the same. They stood in silence, their gazes locked for a long moment.

"Tell me one last thing," Harry said. "Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?"

Dumbledore's smile was radiant, and his voice rang out clearly in Harry's ears, even as the bright mist thickened, blurring the old man's features.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

The mist grew denser. Dumbledore's words still echoed faintly in Harry's ears. He strained to hear, thinking he caught the sound of a distant clatter—or was it the hiss of steam? Was the Hogwarts Express arriving? He listened harder, but instead, a strange hum grew louder, as though someone had cast a muffling charm over the world.

Harry knew he needed to focus on returning—on the Forbidden Forest, on his friends waiting for him. Clenching his fists tightly, he braced himself for the pull back to life. But nothing seemed to change. The sensation of transition never came. He stood in the same spot, surrounded by the dense white mist.

Then came a jolt beneath his feet, like the lurch of a train departing the platform. The whiteness began to fade.

When the mist fully cleared, a chilling emptiness settled over him. Harry realized with growing dread that nothing had changed. The station remained. The benches, the arches—it was all still there. He was still there. Alone.

"What… what went wrong?" The thought shot through his mind as a cold shiver crawled down his spine.

"Harry Potter," came a raspy, unpleasant voice from nearby. "The Boy Who Believed."

Harry flinched, his head snapping toward the voice. The mutilated fragment of Voldemort's soul, which supposed to be dead, suddenly drew in a deep breath. It crawled slowly out from beneath the bench, as if it had only been sleeping under it. Awareness gleamed in its red eyes now, and its rasping breaths sounded almost like laughter—weak, trembling laughter.

"You... you're alive," Harry muttered, disgusted that the ugly creature was speaking.

A feeble laugh—hoarse and intermittent—was its reply. Slowly, laboriously, the fragment dragged itself out from beneath the bench onto the empty station floor.

"Oh, yes. And I'm not planning on dying anytime soon," it rasped weakly, voice barely audible. "That old hypocrite thought he'd silenced me with his clever magic. He was so sure of himself—thought I'd be dead when you'd come to this place. I let him think that. I've been inside your mind far longer than he ever was, so I knew a trick. A little game, really. That's how I played dead... and he fell for it."

"You… you're talking about Dumbledore?" Harry muttered more to himself than to the creature.

"Was there anyone else here?"

Its red eyes narrowed, and the corners of its warped mouth twisted into a mockery of a grin. For a moment, it seemed to consider climbing onto the bench, but decided against it, leaning against it instead.

"I don't understand," Harry said cautiously, glancing around.

"Of course you don't. The boy who clings to love can't fathom that the world isn't split into just black and white. You are stupid, Potter."

The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. Sirius' words surfaced, unbidden. But remembering them did nothing to calm him. Being taught by a fragment of Voldemort's soul only made him angrier.

"Look at yourself… Fragment," Harry spat. "You're disgusting."

His mind wavered—should he destroy it now? But how? The creature only grinned wider, hissing softly, as if it knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Not very wise, Potter, to insult even the fragment of a soul that may hold the answers you need. You're lucky I'm curious about what's happening right now. Let's see."

Suddenly, the station around them shifted, and Harry saw himself lying on the ground in the Forbidden Forest. He'd experienced something similar once before—during his third year, when he lay beneath a tree with Hermione and saw himself across the pumpkin patch.

But this was different. It didn't feel like the past—more like something unfolding in front of him, yet just out of reach. As if he'd been thrown into a strange sort of Pensieve, not showing memories, but something else entirely.

"Is this what's happening right now?" Harry asked gloomily.

"Yes," Fragment answered curtly.

The two of them, flying like ghosts, watched as Narcissa Malfoy approached Harry's lifeless body, which was obviously feigning death.

"Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" Narcissa asked.

Her voice sounded muffled, as though filtering through water. Then Harry saw it—his body began to act on its own—lips parted.

"Yes," the whisper came out of its mouth—of his mouth—now Dumbledore's.

Harry felt a knot of anger tighten in his chest. He couldn't believe Dumbledore could do this to him. How could he? Why? Fragment snorted loudly beside him, watching as Narcissa straightened.

"He's dead!" Narcissa Malfoy announced loudly.

Harry clenched his fists, feeling like a complete fool. That's why he'd heard the sound of the Hogwarts Express. Was his subconscious trying to take him back to the world of the living? Dumbledore had distracted him. He'd clouded his mind. He hadn't boarded the train that should've taken him back. Instead, Dumbledore had taken his place.

"Did you see that?" Voldemort's voice rang out, silencing the crowd. "Harry Potter has fallen by my hand, and from this moment on, there is no one left who can threaten me! Behold!"

"Crucio!"

The curse hit Dumbledore's new body. Internally, Harry hoped that Voldemort—not Fragment—would sense something was amiss. But to Dumbledore's credit, not a single sound escaped as the body twitched under the Cruciatus curse.

"How did Dumbledore do it?" Harry demanded, his voice sharp as he glared at the creature beside him.

"What exactly?" Fragment's voice was flat, almost bored.

"How did he possess my body?"

Fragment's disdain for the situation was palpable. It didn't answer immediately, its red eyes narrowing as it watched the scene unfold with an air of superiority, clearly deciding whether the question was worth its time at all.

The real Voldemort had forced Hagrid to carry Harry's body and parade it in front of everyone at Hogwarts. Fragment's lip curled in disdain at the procession through the Forbidden Forest before its gaze finally returned to Harry.

"The moment you used the Resurrection Stone," it hissed, its voice dripping with a mixture of irritation and something far darker, "Dumbledore slid into your body—so easily, like a snake slithering into a burrow. You were fooled, Potter. So naive, so predictable. Always thinking you're special, always buying into your own nonsense. You believed everything you saw. You couldn't even tell real memories from lies. A dying man, and yet still capable of making a fool of you."

"Wait… Are you saying Snape showed me fake memories?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Of course. Why do you think memories aren't accepted as evidence in the Wizengamot?" Fragment's voice was tinged with mockery, as though Harry was stating the most obvious thing in the world. "I don't know how Dumbledore managed to make that slippery man play along even after transferring part of his soul into the Resurrection Stone, but the deception is undeniable."

"This… This can't be true. Why would Dumbledore do this?" Harry asked through clenched teeth, unwilling to accept the truth.

"For the 'greater good,' of course," Fragment hissed with contempt. "No doubt the old man saw no point in leaving the world in the hands of fools when he was so close to dying himself. To him, everyone else are idiots, incapable of doing things properly. He thinks only he knows what's best. I've heard his mumbling here about that it's a time to consider to take that position of Minister for Magic."

"Dumbledore never wanted to be Minister," Harry muttered, though doubt crept into his voice.

"He said that. He says a lot of things," Fragment sneered. "And you swallowed it all like a good little student. Thought he stuck around at Hogwarts because he loved playing proffesor? No, he was grooming you, Potter. There was no point in ruling from a dying old body. But now? Now he's got a vessel immune to death itself. The moment another me cast that curse, I latched onto you, and, because of that mudblood protection, your body became something more than just a Horcrux. It became a perfect shield from a Killing Curse."

Harry's breath caught, but he noticed something off.

"But—the curse did hit me."

"Are you dead?"

"I'm not alive."

"But you are not dead! Think, Potter. The Killing Curse can't kill you now. It just knocked your soul out of your body. Dumbledore saw the opportunity and used it. Pity that that Voldemort didn't have the brains to use something more practical, like a rock to the skull. Would've spared me all this nonsense. Better to live in a snake than inside your head. The only thing that pleases me is that over time you will look just like me. It would be nice to see your transformation."

Harry's stomach twisted. His fists clenched.

"I will never be like you, Fragment. You should see yourself in the mirror."

Fragment bared its jagged teeth in something between a grin and a snarl. It ran a thin, gnarled hand over its shriveled skin, as if admiring its own grotesqueness.

"The funny thing is you didn't even wonder why others tired out faster than you. All those years, you accepted this as given as something granted, as something you never had to work for. You were so arrogant not to see why you could push yourself beyond normal limits." It let out a rasping chuckle, but than became serious. "That was me, Potter. You were siphoning my magic all along. You made me look like this." Harry felt his stomach lurch. Fragment's voice turned almost playful, but the malice underneath was unmistakable. "Oh, and the best part? Now, your soul is just fuel for the new master of your body—Dumbledore. Soon your beloved, noble, saintly headmaster will make you look the same."

"You're lying… It's all lies," Harry said, more to himself than to Fragment.

The full horror of the situation dawning on him.

They where still flying, following Hagrid as he carried what was no longer Harry but Dumbledore. Harry's eyes suddenly caught something lying on the ground. Something stirred within him. It felt like a thin thread of hope had appeared.

"I just… I just have to go back. Yes, I'll just go back now."

Harry lunged toward the ground, reaching for the black stone that no one else seemed to notice. Even Voldemort himself had stepped over it without a glance. Harry tried to grab it, but his hands passed through the stone as if they were ghostly.

Fragment burst into laughter, watching his futile attempts.

"You can't get out, Potter. You're trapped here with me now. We're both stuck in your consciousness forever, like two anchors keeping Dumbledore alive. And who knows? Maybe an eternity together will even bring us closer. You know, after so many years of loneliness, even you seem somewhat appealing."

"Shut up, you freak!" Harry shouted, which only made Fragment laugh harder.

Then it coughed violently, almost as if it might hack up its lungs, but it subsided. Both of them were pulled forward, as though by a magnet, following the procession. Harry soon found himself silently watching as familiar faces appeared before him. The Death Eaters lined up in front of Hogwarts, while Hermione, Ron, Neville, and the other students, teachers, and a handful of surviving members of the Order, like Kingsley Shacklebolt, Molly, and Arthur Weasley, emerged from the castle.

The Battle for Hogwarts was about to end.