Hogwarts: Harry Potter's Return from the Witcher World

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course, we will destroy it."

"But before that, we still need to use it for something else."

He looked at Kreacher, his eyes filled with gentle warmth.

Kreacher asked anxiously, "Can I trust you?"

"Why not?" Dumbledore replied patiently, opening his palm.

Kreacher hesitated, then slowly extended his hand, placing the sweat-dampened locket he had clutched so tightly into Dumbledore's. "When you destroy it, can I watch?"

He was old now.

He had lived every day tormented by his inability to destroy the Horcrux.

Haunted by the memory of his young master's death.

And as a house-elf, he had aged into a kind of stubbornness.

"Of course," Dumbledore said. "I promise you."

Sirius tapped the table. "Take this thing away," he said, motioning to the fake locket and the neatly re-folded note.

Kreacher looked at him.

"That's an order. It's a Black family heirloom," Sirius said hastily, irritably. "Protect it with your life."

Kreacher bowed deeply, with the reverence of any Hogwarts house-elf. "Yes, Master."

He gently picked up the inferior replica, closed its lid with deep affection.

Crack!

He vanished before their eyes.

Sirius slumped back in the sofa, eyes closed, expression unreadable—no one knew what he was thinking. After all, he was no longer the 19-year-old who went into Azkaban. Without even realizing it, he was now in his early 30s, stepping from youth into middle age, and heading down that inevitable path.

Harry and Dumbledore sat quietly, saying nothing.

After a while, Sirius blinked open his eyes, as if waking from a nap, and looked at them. "Aren't we investigating the other Horcruxes?"

"What are we waiting for?"

Dumbledore smirked. "Looks like our Professor Black is recovering well."

"Then I suppose you won't be too shocked by what comes next."

Sirius straightened, defensive. "Professor Dumbledore, I'm not that fragile."

Dumbledore placed the locket on the table, murmuring, "Let me take a look, Tom."

He drew his wand, thought for a moment, then moved to the other side of the table and gently waved it.

A wave of dark energy poured from his wand, amplified somehow.

Just a sliver of it, but it magnified the sinister, twisted aura several times over.

Black mist swirled over the locket, accompanied by a piercing, shrieking wail.

Dark magic tied to the soul—immensely evil.

Both Harry and Sirius immediately grew solemn.

Moments later, a wisp of soul was pulled out—finger-length, floating over the locket. A miniature version of Tom Riddle, eyes glowing blood-red instead of black. By this point, he had clearly undergone significant physical transformations.

"Dumbledore," it hissed, eyes full of malice.

Dumbledore flicked his wrist.

The soul clamped its mouth shut instantly.

"We don't need to study Horcruxes anymore. Let's finish this quickly," Dumbledore said, half explaining his actions to himself.

Silver threads spilled from his wand.

With a sound like plsh, Tom Riddle's head split open, exposing his brain.

The silver tendrils burrowed into the folds, spreading and rooting deep.

Tom writhed in agony. Mouth wide open, limbs flailing. His expression twisted in pain, but no sound escaped.

"Let me see..." Dumbledore's face was stern, rapidly searching.

Soon, his expression softened. "Found it."

He withdrew his hand; the magic threads vanished, and Tom's expression eased—only to be forced back into the locket moments later.

"Good news," Dumbledore murmured. "The locket was one of the later Horcruxes he made."

"By the time he created this, he had already made four others."

He paused, exhaled slowly, and continued. "The bad news is—we've already encountered three of those four."

"Your second-year diary."

"The Resurrection Stone we found last year."

"And the Hufflepuff Cup used at Christmas to revive him."

"Only one remains unaccounted for, which we suspect is Ravenclaw's diadem."

He paused again. "And the worse news—"

"He created this Horcrux two or three years after graduating. Back then, he still carried the diadem with him. We have no idea where he eventually hid it."

Harry frowned.

So far, they had leads on five Horcruxes—but two remained unknown.

Dumbledore rubbed his temples. "Perhaps I should visit Albania."

"Hmm?" Harry looked over.

"Harry, the Ravenclaw diadem was hidden in the Albanian forests."

"Voldemort went there after his first defeat. Maybe that place holds something special."

Harry, deadpan, nodded. "Off on another expense-paid vacation, I see."

"Don't worry, I'll make it quick." Dumbledore smiled.

He stood and walked to Sirius, patting his shoulder gently.

"Kreacher," he called softly.

The aged elf reappeared, standing respectfully beside them.

"Now I'm going to destroy the Horcrux," Dumbledore said quietly.

Kreacher widened his eyes, staring unblinking at the real locket on the table.

Dumbledore flicked his wand.

Blue Fiendfyre surged forth, engulfing the locket. Inside the flame, Tom Riddle's soul fragment reappeared, and without magical suppression, his agonized scream finally tore out—only to be consumed instantly by the fire. His wail echoed briefly and was gone. The Slytherin locket turned to ash.

Dumbledore extinguished the fire.

"It... it's destroyed?" Kreacher asked, stunned—an unusual doubt from a house-elf.

Dumbledore nodded, voice soft. "Of course. It's been destroyed."

Kreacher took a deep breath, hugged his head, and wept softly. Tears fell onto the fake locket still hanging on his chest.

Dumbledore bid farewell, left the Black house, and Disapparated.

Silence returned.

Only Kreacher's soft sobs, and murmured calls of "young master," filled the room.

Harry didn't rise. Sirius didn't either.

They sat there quietly the whole night.

Sirius never brought up Regulus again. Sometimes he stared at the ceiling—dark, still a little dirty. Sometimes he closed his eyes, breathing steady, as if asleep.

At dawn, they took Sirius's beloved enchanted flying car and returned to Hogwarts.

Students were surprised—Professor Black had changed.

He was steadier.

His attitude toward dark creatures was no longer so flippant. He taught seriously. While a few bad habits lingered, classroom accidents dropped significantly. Even Professor McGonagall praised him for being more reliable.

Flitwick was less happy—emotionally and otherwise.

Sirius now stuck to him after class, asking for spell and duel advice—twice a week: Friday and Sunday evenings, down by the Black Lake. He didn't care about pride anymore. Far more eager than before.

Snape was still working on the Wolfsbane Potion.

Two weeks later—

He finally made his way to Malfoy Manor.

"My Lord," Snape reported respectfully to Voldemort, "According to Potter, the Horcrux they found in the cave was a fake."

Voldemort sneered. "Of course. I knew that."

"I checked. It had long been swapped. But I believe it's still safe. Dumbledore hasn't found it yet—probably never will."

Snape said softly, "They've already found it."

Voldemort froze.

"In the Black house," Snape continued. "Dumbledore deduced it quickly—and destroyed it."

"Destroyed?" Voldemort frowned, incredulous.

His face stung.

He had just said "Dumbledore probably won't find it"—and before the words cooled, his own servant told him it had already been found and destroyed.

Why couldn't Snape say it more tactfully?

Snape nodded, expression blank.

So...

The Dark Lord wasn't as attuned to his Horcruxes as they had believed?

He couldn't sense their location—or even their destruction?

Why?

Too many Horcruxes?

His soul too fragmented—too dull to feel it?

Or perhaps, the Voldemort who returned was no longer the main soul?

Regardless—it was good news.

Voldemort glanced at Snape, tone regaining its usual calm. "What a surprising turn of events."

"So what is Dumbledore doing now?"

They locked eyes.

Snape answered honestly, "He's in Albania."

A familiar place.

"What's he doing there?" Voldemort asked.

"He believes you may have hidden a Horcrux there," Snape said.

"Is that so?" Voldemort nodded, giving a neutral-sounding reply that revealed nothing of his thoughts.

"I asked you to kill Dumbledore. How's that plan progressing?" he asked, clearly not wanting to linger on the Horcrux discussion.

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Powerstones?

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