"Indeed, you hardly need it," Dumbledore suddenly chuckled. "Your father, your grandfather, generations of Potters have used it to roam the castle at night without a care of being caught.
But you, Harry, you rarely sneak about, or rather, you have no need to hide yourself in such ways. Even my castle caretaker, if he happens to spot you in the dead of night, would hurriedly bow his head and pretend he saw nothing. Not even Severus can faze you."
As Dumbledore pointed out, given Harry's unique circumstances, he hadn't relied on the Invisibility Cloak much at all. In truth, when unexpected situations arose, a Disillusionment Charm was far more practical.
"I know what you're thinking, Harry," Dumbledore said with a shrug. "The Disillusionment Charm, right? I must admit, when I take a moment to tally it up, you've got quite a collection of remarkable items—too many, perhaps, to fully appreciate their value. The Invisibility Cloak, the Philosopher's Stone…"
"If you ever tested that cloak properly," Dumbledore continued, his tone certain, "you'd find that ordinary spells can't penetrate its defenses. That's something no other invisibility cloak can achieve. Setting aside the old tales, I believe it's an exceptional alchemical creation, nearly impossible to replicate."
"Like Ravenclaw's Diadem?" Harry asked. "Any progress on Nearly Headless Nick's restoration work?"
"It's difficult," Dumbledore replied. "He was already prepared to spend his final days with his wife… though even he admits that studying Ravenclaw's Diadem is quite tempting."
"If it's too much, let him be," Harry said, shaking his head. "There's no reason to disturb an old man as he nears the end of his life. Let him go in peace."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a smile. "You've already inherited everything from Nicolas Flamel, including his Philosopher's Stone. You've got plenty of time to study it yourself. But let's return to the Resurrection Stone. In the stories, that's the name of the stone Death gave to the second brother."
"When I realized Voldemort was scouring the world for significant magical artifacts to use as Horcruxes," Dumbledore continued, "I immediately thought of what could rival the relics of Hogwarts' four founders."
As he spoke, Dumbledore traced a peculiar symbol on the ground—a triangle enclosing a circle with a vertical line running through it.
"Decades ago, Gellert used this symbol as the emblem of his organization. To most wizards, it represents the Saints, Grindelwald's followers. But only a few know it also signifies the Deathly Hallows." Dumbledore pointed to each part of the symbol. "The triangle represents the Invisibility Cloak, the circle the Resurrection Stone, and the vertical line—"
"The Elder Wand," Harry finished. "Voldemort managed to acquire relics from three of Hogwarts' founders as Horcruxes. As a latecomer to your and Grindelwald's story, he naturally heard of the Deathly Hallows and sought them out. But I have a question—how many pieces has he split his soul into?"
"No one knows the answer to that, Harry," Dumbledore said, gazing into his eyes. "Just as no one knows how far Voldemort's madness to escape death has driven him. But I suspect seven is a number of great magical significance, don't you?"
"The diary, the goblet, the diadem, the locket, and the Resurrection Stone," Harry listed.
"I must correct you there, Harry," Dumbledore interjected. "We're not yet certain the Resurrection Stone is a Horcrux. It's merely a hypothesis based on Voldemort's behavior and personality. His mother used a love potion to ensnare his father, leading to his birth. When the potion's effects wore off, his father abandoned her and their unborn child. Ultimately, his mother gave birth to Voldemort at the doorstep of an orphanage and died."
"A tragic origin," Harry remarked. "But it's no excuse for his atrocities."
"Quite right," Dumbledore nodded slightly. "Yet those experiences undeniably shaped Voldemort's cruel, loveless nature. He despised his mother for being a witch yet dying so weakly, and he loathed his father's Muggle heritage."
"He also deeply resented his half-blood status," Dumbledore added. "That's why, during his school years, Voldemort always claimed to be a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, citing his Parseltongue ability as proof."
"And others just believed him?" Harry asked.
"Why wouldn't they?" Dumbledore countered. "Parseltongue is indeed a hallmark of Slytherin's legacy, and Voldemort displayed it naturally. More importantly, he was exceptional and powerful—convincing enough in his own right."
"When he shed the name Tom and reemerged as Voldemort, he declared himself pure-blood, burying his half-blood truth entirely. Quite an obsession, wouldn't you say? That's the thread I followed."
"Voldemort cared more about blood purity than anyone," Dumbledore continued, shrugging. "And he was fanatical about collecting significant magical artifacts, like the founders' relics—the goblet, the diadem. Naturally, he'd pursue anything tied to Slytherin. I once thought he might target Ilvermorny, founded by Slytherin's descendants. Rumor has it Slytherin's wand is buried there, transformed into a tree."
"Is the wand safe?" Harry asked.
"Yes, it's not a Horcrux," Dumbledore confirmed with a nod. "Then I followed the trail to Voldemort's mother, Merope Gaunt. The Gaunt family, direct descendants of Slytherin, practiced inbreeding for generations, with many Parselmouths among them. Such an ancient pure-blood line would surely be a target for Voldemort, wouldn't it?"
"And the Resurrection Stone was with the Gaunts?" Harry asked. "It sounds like you've found it."
"Yes, Harry, I have," Dumbledore said, his voice suddenly heavy. "I just… don't know how to face it."
"Why? Did Voldemort set a trap with it?"
"Oh, traps are a given," Dumbledore replied. "You know, Harry, in my youth, I had my share of reckless days. I saw my family as a burden and chased the Deathly Hallows with Gellert. So, the moment I saw it—the ring from the Gaunt family—I knew what was embedded in it."
"I saw Ariana's soul," Dumbledore said, taking a deep breath. "It called to me, urging me to wear the ring. I saw her beckoning."
"You're a shaman, Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice rising. "With your magical talent and sharp mind, I don't know how far you've progressed in the ways of the shaman, but if you wish, you could see Ariana again anytime."
"I know, I know," Dumbledore said with a bitter smile. "Why else do you think I'm still sitting here, talking to you?"
"It was precisely because I realized this at the last moment that I'm here now—not as a corpse lying before you, leaving you to mourn."
"So, where is it?" Harry asked.
After a moment's silence, Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a small box, placing it on the ground between them.
"This is more than just a lead," Harry murmured. He picked up the box and opened it. Inside lay a ring adorned with golden, scale-like edges, sharp and angular, with a glossy black gemstone set at its center.
But there was a clear, visible crack in the gem.
It had been destroyed.
Another of Voldemort's Horcruxes was gone.
"Can I touch it?" Harry asked.
"Of course, do as you please," Dumbledore said, his voice hoarse.
Harry's fingers brushed the gem—the Resurrection Stone—but nothing happened. Dumbledore had destroyed it thoroughly, leaving no chance for the soul fragment to linger.
"Alright," Harry said briskly. "The diary, the diadem, the goblet, the locket, the Resurrection Stone… we've destroyed four of Voldemort's Horcruxes. I'm still searching for the goblet. I hope he hasn't truly made seven Horcruxes. At least, as a demon now, Voldemort no longer needs to create them. Unless he's killed by the proper means, he's already immortal."
"You know, Harry," Dumbledore said suddenly, "I once suspected you might be one of his Horcruxes. Thirteen years ago, that night of slaughter—it was the perfect condition for creating a Horcrux. Given Voldemort's nature, he might well have made one while targeting someone as significant as you."
Harry instinctively touched the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"But later, I dismissed the idea," Dumbledore continued. "From the moment you faced Voldemort's main soul two years ago, to when you destroyed him last year, every encounter showed no unusual signs—no headaches, no strange visions, no unfamiliar memories. There was no connection between you, which means you're not a Horcrux."
"Honestly, that realization was a relief," Dumbledore admitted. "Otherwise, I wouldn't know how to face you, to tell you… well, you understand."
To truly kill Voldemort, all his Horcruxes had to be destroyed. If Harry were a Horcrux, it would mean he'd have to die—a reality few could face easily.
"I understand," Harry said, exhaling softly. Then, abruptly, he added, "Your suspicion was correct. I was one of Voldemort's Horcruxes—once."
"What?" Dumbledore's eyes widened.
"That soul fragment was in this scar," Harry explained, grinning. "When I underwent the Ascension Ritual in Azeroth and became an elemental being, that fragment was exposed and torn to shreds by the raging elements. Honestly, I didn't realize what it was until I faced Voldemort's main soul two years ago. It answered a question that had puzzled me for years."
"Ha!" After a stunned pause, Dumbledore burst into laughter. "So that's fate, Harry! That means we've destroyed yet another Horcrux, haven't we?"
"Exactly," Harry said, clapping Dumbledore on the back. "This calls for a drink. I won't offer you empty comforts—you're wise enough to not need them. You succeeded in destroying the Resurrection Stone, didn't you?"
"Let's head back to Grimmauld Place," Harry said, pulling Dumbledore to his feet. "We've avenged Regulus. Sirius will want to celebrate, you know him—he's not one to dwell in sorrow."
"Oh, he certainly isn't," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "But I'm also certain your motives aren't that simple, are they?"
"Guilty as charged," Harry said with a playful wink. "The Black family home is undergoing a revival, and it could use someone with your magical prowess, capable of casting spells with extraordinary effects."
"Hah, I knew it," Dumbledore said, his expression a rare mix of exasperation and amusement. "You've got me, dear Harry. Is that all?"
"I'm sure you've heard about my recent moves—Dangerous Magical Defense classes and the new Triwizard Tournament," Harry said with a grin. "I'd like your opinion."
"My opinion?" Dumbledore chuckled. "My opinion is to do what you think is right, Harry. I'm an old man, over a century old. My views might not keep up with this changing era. You're not Fudge, are you?"
"No, I'm not."
Fudge always sought Dumbledore's approval, relying on his prestige to bolster his own authority.
Harry didn't need that.
When the two returned to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry's judgment about his godfather proved correct. Sirius had already shaken off his grief. He'd zoomed off on his motorbike to a Muggle restaurant, returning with heaps of food and drinks, ready to celebrate the Black family producing another true hero—and to toast Regulus's vengeance.
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