Buried Truths and Cursed Blood
Chapter 15: Buried Truths and Cursed Blood
The silence in the room was heavy. Suffocating.
Harry could still hear the echo of Cassia’s words.
"Then Dumbledore always intended for you to die."
His fingers curled into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms. The rage inside him was no longer wild or chaotic. It was controlled. Sharp.
He felt like a ticking bomb.
Cassia must have sensed it, because she shifted slightly, studying him.
"You’re still with me, aren’t you?" she asked, voice carefully measured.
Harry swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. "Yeah," he said, though it felt like a lie. "I’m here."
Cassia didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she tapped her fingers against the desk, her expression unreadable. "You don’t have to process everything at once," she said. "But you can’t let it drown you, either."
Harry exhaled slowly.
He wanted to scream, to break something, to undo everything Dumbledore had stolen from him.
But Cassia was right. He couldn’t let this destroy him.
Not when there was still more to uncover.
Not when he still had a war to win—on his own terms.
He straightened, turning back to Ragnok. His voice was hoarse but steady.
"What else is there?"
Ragnok barely reacted to his shift in tone. "There is one final matter to discuss," he said smoothly. "Your connection to Lord Voldemort and the… unintended consequences of your shared bloodline."
Cassia’s sharp grey eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
Ragnok’s silver gaze flickered to Harry. "Tell me, Lord Potter," he said, "have you ever experienced… strange magical fluctuations? Sudden surges of power beyond your control?"
Harry frowned, confused by the shift in conversation. "Yeah," he admitted. "I mean, I used to make glass disappear, end up on rooftops, things like that."
Ragnok gave a small, knowing nod. "And have you ever felt moments of extreme anger where your magic reacts violently—perhaps even beyond what should be possible for an untrained wizard?"
Something cold and sharp settled in Harry’s stomach.
He thought of Aunt Marge. The way she had inflated like a balloon when he lost control. The way the air had crackled with energy when the Dursleys locked him in the cupboard. The way he had wanted to hurt Dudley for all the times he had hurt him.
He swallowed hard. "Yes," he admitted, his voice quieter.
Ragnok exhaled slowly. "That is because your magic is unstable."
Harry stiffened. "What?"
"You are not just the heir to multiple powerful bloodlines," Ragnok said smoothly. "You are also the only known living individual to have survived the effects of a Horcrux."
Cassia’s entire body went still.
Harry’s stomach plummeted.
"I—what do you mean?" he asked, though he already knew.
He had known since first year, when he had spoken to a snake at the zoo. When he had felt Voldemort’s presence in his mind.
Ragnok’s gaze was piercing. "There is a fragment of Lord Voldemort’s soul inside you, Lord Potter. That is why your magic reacts violently. Why you can speak Parseltongue. Why you have always felt… different."
Harry felt cold.
The truth settled over him like a weight he couldn’t shake off.
A piece of Voldemort was inside him. Had always been inside him.
He clenched his jaw, his breathing shallow.
Cassia, however, was still watching Ragnok, her sharp mind clearly piecing something together.
"But he’s different, isn’t he?" she said suddenly.
Harry blinked, looking at her. "What?"
Cassia’s gaze flickered to his, then back to the goblin. "Voldemort’s other Horcruxes—they were just anchors for his soul. But Harry’s isn’t just some fragment of his magic, is it?"
Ragnok tilted his head slightly. "Correct. Lord Potter’s connection to Voldemort is… unique."
Cassia exhaled sharply. "Because of their blood."
Ragnok inclined his head. "Precisely."
Harry’s mind raced.
"You’re saying… because he’s my grandfather—because we share blood—his Horcrux affects me differently?"
Ragnok nodded once. "The soul fragment is not just an anchor. It has merged with your magic, influencing its nature. It is both a curse and a source of power."
Cassia crossed her arms. "And if we remove it?"
Ragnok exhaled slowly. "That would be… complicated."
Harry stiffened. "Why?"
Ragnok studied him. "Because your magic has already adapted to its presence. It is not just an invader—it is part of you now. If removed incorrectly, it could leave lasting damage… or worse, it could destroy you completely."
Harry felt his chest tighten.
The piece of Voldemort inside him wasn’t just a fragment anymore. It had been there too long.
It was woven into him.
Cassia’s expression darkened. "There has to be a way."
"There may be," Ragnok admitted. "But it will require time, study, and… unconventional methods."
Harry exhaled shakily, his head spinning.
He wasn’t just Dumbledore’s pawn.
He wasn’t just Voldemort’s grandson.
He was something else entirely.
A weapon forged from blood, magic, and a war that had started before he was even born.
Cassia’s voice cut through the storm in his head.
"We’ll figure it out," she said simply.
Harry looked at her.
She didn’t say I’ll figure it out.
She had said we.
He swallowed hard and nodded.
Because for the first time in his life—
He wasn’t alone in this.