Chapter 5
A Promise Given
Authors Note , Enjoy
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Chapter Five
"How's the studying going, Harry?" Hermione asked as the trio sat around a black iron garden table in the garden of Grimmauld Place. The British summer graced the scene with a warm glow, soft sunlight filtering through the trees.
“Ugh, do we have to talk about studying during the summer holidays?” Ron groaned, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s important, Ron. It wouldn’t hurt you to do a bit more yourself, you know,” Hermione replied, a touch of exasperation in her voice.
“One bookworm was enough. Now there are two of you, I feel left out... but not enough actually to pick up a book,” Ron quipped, sipping his butterbeer.
Harry chuckled at his friend’s antics, sinking further into his chair. His body ached from a week of hard training and dueling, first with Sirius and most recently, with Dumbledore.
Harry stood at one end of the training field, facing Dumbledore, whose expression remained serene and patient, his blue eyes twinkling softly.
Harry tightened his grip on his wand, his body still sore from the last week of intense training with Sirius. Sirius’s style had been raw, fast-paced, and energetic—he encouraged Harry to trust his instincts, pushing him to keep moving and attacking. But dueling with Dumbledore felt entirely different.
"When you're ready, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but full of expectation.
Harry nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. He fired off a quick spell, “Stupefy!” and immediately followed it with a sweeping disarming charm, “Expelliarmus!”, hoping to catch Dumbledore off guard.
But Dumbledore was faster. With the slightest movement of his wand, he deflected both spells as though they were little more than nuisances. The disarming charm fizzled out harmlessly, and the Stunning Spell crashed into the floor beside him. Dumbledore barely shifted his feet.
Harry's frustration mounted, but he didn’t let it stop him. He launched another barrage—“Incarcerous!”, ropes flying toward Dumbledore, followed by “Expulso!”, aiming to knock him back.
Again, Dumbledore moved with the grace of a dancer, stepping out of the path of the ropes and flicking his wand to divert the explosion harmlessly to the side. It was maddening how effortlessly he responded to every attack. Harry’s frustration boiled up, but he forced himself to focus.
Then, an idea struck him.
Dumbledore had been easily countering everything, likely expecting Harry’s next spell to come from the front. But instead of casting directly, Harry darted to the side, aiming his wand downward. “Levioso!” he called, lifting a loose piece of stone from the ground and sending it spinning through the air, fast and sharp.
For just a moment, Dumbledore seemed surprised, and that was all Harry needed. While the stone distracted him, Harry fired another “Expelliarmus!”, aiming straight for Dumbledore’s wand.
This time, Dumbledore had to step back, blocking the stone before flicking his wand to meet Harry’s disarming charm. It wasn’t much—just the briefest hesitation—but Harry felt a thrill of victory. He’d forced Dumbledore to react, even if only for a second.
“Clever, Harry,” Dumbledore said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he settled back into his calm stance. “Thinking on your feet. Very well done.”
Harry’s chest tightened with pride, but he could also feel the weariness setting in. His magic had been pushed to its limits. He could tell Dumbledore wasn’t nearly as strained—there was still an ocean of power and control beneath his calm exterior. But Harry had made him move, and that small win felt like a step in the right direction.
Still, the difference between them was clear.
Sirius had been all fire and unpredictability, pushing Harry to duel with instinct and passion. With him, dueling was fast and dangerous, like a game of chess where every piece could explode at any moment. But Dumbledore was nothing like that. His movements were so controlled, so deliberate, it felt like he was playing an entirely different game—one that Harry barely understood. Dumbledore didn’t need to react quickly; he seemed to anticipate every spell, every move, before Harry had even cast it. It was as if he knew exactly what would happen before it happened.
That calm, unshakeable control—that’s what made him different.
“One more round?” Dumbledore asked his voice kind but giving Harry the option to stop.
Harry, his breathing heavy, nodded, unwilling to give up just yet. “Yeah, let’s go again.”
And then, without warning, Dumbledore struck.
With a gentle flick of his wand, a dazzling stream of silver light burst forth so fast that Harry had barely a second to react. “Protego!” he called, instinctively raising a shield. The spell connected with his shield charm, sending him several feet back across the floor. His shield held, but just barely. He felt the force of Dumbledore’s magic like a wave crashing against him—powerful, controlled, and far beyond anything he could muster.
Panting slightly, Harry lowered his wand, his body aching from the effort. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked completely unruffled, as though the duel had been no more taxing than a walk in the park.
“You're improving, Harry,” Dumbledore said kindly, stepping forward, his voice warm. “Your instinct is strong, and your power is growing. But remember, magic is not just about strength or speed. Control, precision, and timing—these will serve you just as well, if not better, in the end.”
Harry knew he was still far away from Dumbledore’s level, but with each spell, each lesson, he could feel himself learning, growing. And now, having seen just a flicker of Dumbledore’s true ability, he understood how much further he still had to go.
“Harry?” His name being called shook him from memory, and he turned to see Hermione looking at him with a mixture of concern and amusement at his daydreaming.
“Sorry, just a bit tired, that’s all,” he replied, forcing a small smile.
“I know you need to be ready, but I hope you're resting when you can?” she asked, her tone gentle but firm, her eyes scanning his face with worry.
"Rest? We barely see him at the moment!" Ron added with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair. "Just eats, sleeps, trains, reads, and then disappears for half the day. Where is it you're training, mate? It's not here."
Harry hesitated, feeling the weight of the secret tugging at him. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about the Greengrass family, not even his two best friends. Dumbledore had made that perfectly clear—it was for their safety as much as his own. The Greengrasses had taken a huge risk letting him into their home, allowing him to use their ancient wards for protection and training. Revealing that would put them in immediate danger.
“I’m not actually allowed to say,” he replied carefully, feeling his chest tighten slightly as he looked between Ron and Hermione. “It’s for safety reasons—for them. Anyone associated with me now is a target, really.”
Guilt gnawed at him. He hated keeping things from them, especially when Ron and Hermione had already sacrificed so much by staying by his side. They knew they were targets, but that didn’t make the burden on Harry any lighter.
“We know the risks, Harry,” Hermione said softly, reading his unease with her usual perceptiveness. “But we don’t care about that. We’re with you, no matter what.”
Ron nodded in agreement, his expression serious for once. “Yeah, mate. Wherever you’re disappearing off to, as long as you’re safe and it’s helping, that’s what matters. Just… remember we’re here, okay?”
Harry felt a surge of gratitude, but it was tempered by the lingering unease that they couldn’t share everything. He gave them a faint smile, hoping it was enough to reassure them.
"Anyway, fancy some of Mum’s cake, Harry?" Ron asked, making to get up, clearly eager to indulge himself.
Harry’s stomach growled at the mention, remembering how incredible Mrs. Weasley's cakes were. But then he sighed, a bit mournfully. "Ron, I’d love to, but Sirius will come out here and make me do fifty push-ups or something if I eat that."
Ron gave him a bewildered look, as if Harry had just spoken in gobbledegook. "Mental. You’re absolutely mental, mate."
Harry grinned and shrugged, knowing Ron would never understand Sirius' strict training regimen. Just as Ron was about to head inside, Hermione, who had been quietly observing, chimed in.
“You do look better," she said, her eyes trailing over him with a thoughtful expression.
Harry froze, eyes wide in surprise, while Ron, mid-step, turned and stared at her just as shocked. Hermione blushed furiously, realizing what she had just said.
"I didn’t mean that you didn’t look good before—I mean, of course, you did—oh, forget I said anything!" she stammered, hiding her face behind her book, clearly mortified.
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter, their friend’s flustered embarrassment making the moment all the funnier.
Hermione, still bright red, peeked over her book, trying to maintain some dignity as she huffed, “Honestly, you two are impossible.”
Her exasperation only made them laugh harder.
…
The air in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place felt heavy, laden with tension and secrecy as members of the Order of the Phoenix gathered in the dimly lit kitchen. Sirius Black sat at the far end of the table, his face etched with concern as he absentmindedly tapped his fingers on the table. The usual clinks of tea cups and murmurs of conversation were absent; this was no casual gathering. Dumbledore had summoned them for something important, something heavy.
At the head of the table, Dumbledore sat quietly, his eyes looking more tired than usual, as though the weight of his many years had finally begun to wear him down. His half-moon spectacles perched precariously on his crooked nose, but his gaze was sharp, focused. Whatever he was about to share, it wasn’t easy, and that alone made Sirius feel a knot tighten in his stomach.
The rest of the Order—Tonks, Moody, Kingsley, Remus—were seated around the table as well, exchanging worried glances as they waited for Dumbledore to speak. The silence stretched on for a moment longer until finally, the headmaster spoke.
“I have been considering something for some time now,” Dumbledore began, his voice soft yet clear, breaking the silence in the room. “It is a theory I have long kept to myself, but recent events, particularly Voldemort’s return, have made it impossible for me to remain silent any longer.”
Sirius leaned forward, his sharp eyes fixed on Dumbledore. He had always known Albus to be one to keep his cards close to his chest, but for the headmaster to admit to holding back something of this magnitude...it couldn’t be good.
Dumbledore continued, his voice growing graver. “It is my belief that Voldemort...discovered the secret to immortality through dark means, specifically through the creation of Horcruxes.”
A murmur rippled through the room, and Sirius felt a shudder of revulsion run down his spine. He had heard of Horcruxes, albeit only as vague whispers in the darkest corners of wizarding history. It was a kind of magic so vile, so unnatural, that even most Dark wizards wouldn’t dare touch it.
“Horcruxes?” Tonks echoed, her brow furrowing. “I thought those were just a myth.”
Dumbledore shook his head slowly. “Unfortunately, they are all too real. Horcruxes allow a person to split their soul and hide pieces of it in objects, thereby tethering themselves to life. Even if their body is destroyed, they cannot die as long as part of their soul remains intact.”
The revelation settled over the room like a storm cloud. Sirius’ fingers clenched into a fist. “So...that’s how he survived that night in Godric’s Hollow? When the curse rebounded on him?”
Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Yes. It is my belief that Voldemort was in the process of creating a Horcrux that night. In his quest for immortality, he was going to make Harry’s death the catalyst for the final division of his soul, securing his life for all time.”
Sirius felt a cold chill settle in his bones. The idea that Voldemort had chosen Harry, just a baby, to complete such a twisted ritual made his blood boil. He exchanged a look with Remus, whose face was equally grim.
“However,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes reflecting a sadness Sirius had never seen before, “something went wrong. When the curse rebounded, Voldemort’s body was destroyed, but part of his soul...split. And instead of anchoring itself to an object, it latched onto the only living thing in the room—Harry.”
Sirius’ breath caught. His mind raced to comprehend what Dumbledore was saying. "So...a part of Voldemort’s soul...is inside Harry?"
“Yes,” Dumbledore said softly. “That is why Harry has always felt a connection to Voldemort. Why he can sense his thoughts, his emotions. He carries a part of Voldemort with him, though unknowingly.”
A tense silence fell over the room. Sirius felt his pulse pounding in his ears, his gaze flicking between Dumbledore and the others. The implications of this were horrifying. Harry—his godson—had been carrying a piece of that monster inside him for years, and none of them had known.
“And that’s why Voldemort can’t die?” Sirius asked, his voice rougher than he intended. “Because part of him is still...bound to Harry?”
Dumbledore nodded gravely. “Yes. And Voldemort himself likely believes that by killing Harry, he will reclaim that part of his soul and become whole again. That is why neither can live while the other survives.”
The knot in Sirius’ stomach tightened painfully. “So...what does that mean for Harry? Does he have to—?”
“I once believed,” Dumbledore interrupted gently, “that Harry would have to be the one to kill Voldemort. That because he carries a piece of Voldemort’s soul, it would be his burden to bear. But I no longer believe that.”
Sirius felt a flicker of hope at Dumbledore’s words, but it was quickly tempered by the look on the older wizard’s face—one of deep, painful sorrow. “Then how...?” he began hesitantly, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.
“The piece of Voldemort’s soul inside Harry,” Dumbledore said slowly, “must be destroyed before Voldemort himself can be truly defeated.”
The room seemed to hold its breath. Sirius stared at Dumbledore, the implications of what he was saying sinking in like a lead weight in his chest.
“And how do we do that?” Sirius asked, his voice tense with barely restrained emotion.
Dumbledore looked at him, his expression heavy with grief. “The only way I know of to destroy a Horcrux...is to destroy the object it is bound to.”
Sirius felt the blood drain from his face. His hands gripped the edges of the table as the words hung in the air like a death sentence. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “You’re...you’re saying Harry...”
Dumbledore’s eyes dropped to the table, the sadness in his expression so profound that Sirius knew, without a doubt, that this had been weighing on him for a long time. “I do not yet have another solution,” Dumbledore admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But there must be one. There must be another way.”
The silence was deafening. Sirius’ mind whirled with the unbearable thought of losing Harry, of his godson being reduced to an object that needed to be destroyed just to rid the world of Voldemort. Anger and despair boiled inside him, and he clenched his fists to stop himself from lashing out.
“But you don’t know, do you?” he said quietly, his voice shaking. “You don’t know how to save him.”
Dumbledore met Sirius’ eyes, and for a moment, he saw not the wise, unshakable leader of the Order, but an old man—tired and filled with regret. “No,” Dumbledore said softly. “I do not. Not yet.”
Sirius’ heart pounded painfully in his chest. He felt helpless, furious, but most of all, afraid. Afraid for Harry, for the future, and for what they might have to sacrifice before this was all over.
“I will do everything in my power to find another way,” Dumbledore said, his voice steady but filled with a quiet determination. “But we must be prepared for the possibility that...there may not be one.”
The tension in the room was palpable as Dumbledore’s words settled over the group like a suffocating fog. The Order members, who had fought so long and so hard against the darkness, seemed momentarily frozen by the gravity of what had just been revealed.
Remus Lupin, sitting closest to Sirius, looked stricken. His normally calm, collected expression had fallen away, replaced by shock and sorrow. He opened his mouth as though to say something, but no words came out. The very idea that Harry—a boy he had watched grow up, who had already been through so much—might be living on borrowed time hit him like a punch to the gut.
“No,” he finally breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. “There has to be another way. Albus, we can’t—” He stopped, shaking his head, unable to finish the sentence. He looked at Sirius, and the pain in his eyes was mirrored there. They were both thinking the same thing: they had failed James and Lily, and now, they might fail Harry too.
Tonks was next to react. Her usual bright and lively demeanor was gone, replaced by a rare look of seriousness. Her hair had darkened to a somber brown as her emotions got the better of her, and her hands clenched into fists on the table.
“But he’s just a kid,” she muttered, her voice shaking with disbelief. “We can’t be talking about this. We can’t be talking about Harry like he’s some...some weapon!” Her voice cracked, and she looked down at the table, clearly struggling to keep her composure. “He deserves better than that.”
Kingsley Shacklebolt, ever the steady presence, frowned deeply, his eyes locked on Dumbledore. He took a deep breath, his calm voice barely masking the storm of emotions underneath. “You’re saying that the only solution we have right now...is to destroy the Horcrux inside Harry? That’s unacceptable, Albus. We cannot—” He paused, trying to find the right words. “We cannot let that be our only option.”
Across the table, Moody slammed his fist down, the clunk of his wooden leg echoing sharply in the quiet room. “Damn it, Dumbledore! You should’ve told us this sooner. We could’ve been preparing, finding another way!” His magical eye spun wildly, focusing on the others in the room, while his normal eye was filled with a rare flicker of fear. “You can’t expect us to just sit on this and do nothing!”
Minerva McGonagall, who had remained silent until now, spoke up, her voice trembling with emotion. “Albus,” she began, her eyes wide with horror. “How can we even consider this? Harry is just a child! He has already lost so much, and now you’re saying he carries a piece of Voldemort’s soul within him?” She looked around the room, her distress evident as she shook her head, clearly struggling to grasp the implications. “We cannot allow this to happen. Not to him.”
Dumbledore sighed deeply, running a hand over his beard as he turned to face the room. “I assure you all, I want nothing more than for Harry to suffer any further. I do not take this lightly. But we are dealing with forces older and darker than we have ever encountered. The creation of a Horcrux splits the soul so that it cannot be undone by ordinary means.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room, lingering on each of them. “But we are not ordinary people, nor is this an ordinary fight. We have faced impossible odds before, and we will again. I will not stop searching for an alternative or ask you to accept this fate for Harry without exploring every possible avenue.”
Severus Snape, sitting in the corner with an expression that was difficult to read, finally broke his silence. “And if there is no alternative, headmaster? What then? You can’t seriously believe that Potter’s death is the answer.”
Sirius, who had been standing frozen in shock, slowly turned to face Snape, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief.
Snape briefly showed his palm to Sirius before speaking, “Despite what you all believe, I would not wish for his demise. But perhaps it is time to consider that we are not equipped to deal with the monstrosity that the Dark Lord has become.”
The tension grew thick, and it felt as though everyone was holding their breath. McGonagall narrowed her eyes at Snape, her lips pursed, then turned back to Dumbledore, her voice trembling with emotion. “But Albus, if this piece of Voldemort’s soul is indeed within Harry, how can we ensure he is safe? Are we merely hoping for the best? We have to protect him!”
“That’s not enough!” Tonks snapped, her temper flaring as her hair flashed back to pink. “We need to do something now, not just...hope for the best.”
A profound silence followed her outburst. Then, Sirius, who had been standing frozen in shock, slowly turned back toward the group. His face was pale, his jaw clenched, but his eyes were burning with fury.
“You mean hope that we don’t lose Harry like we lost James and Lily? Hope we don’t stand by and let him be sacrificed because we couldn’t figure out another way?”
He was on his feet now, pacing the length of the kitchen with restless energy, hands raking through his dark hair. “I won’t let that happen. Do you hear me?” He looked straight at Dumbledore, his voice cracking with desperation. “I won’t let him die for this.”
Dumbledore’s eyes softened, but his expression remained heavy with the weight of his own guilt. “Sirius,” he began, his voice filled with quiet sorrow, “I understand your pain—”
“No, you don’t!” Sirius cut him off, his voice raw. “You don’t understand. You sit here, with all your wisdom, making plans and calculating risks, but Harry’s not just another piece on your chessboard. He’s my godson!”
“You think I don’t curse myself for this Sirius!” Dumbledore said so loudly that it verged on a shout itself.
The room was tense, and each member of the Order was silent, processing what Sirius and Dumbledore had said. Even Moody, who was usually the first to bark orders or issue grim commands, was unusually quiet. Sirius knew Dumbledore cared for Harry but right now his anger refused to use reason.
Dumbledore sighed deeply, running a hand over his beard as he turned to face the room. “I assure you all, I want nothing more than for Harry to suffer any further. I do not take this lightly. But we are dealing with forces older and darker than we have ever encountered. The creation of a Horcrux splits the soul so that it cannot be undone by ordinary means.”
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room, lingering on each of them. “But we are not ordinary people, nor is this an ordinary fight. We have faced impossible odds before, and we will again. I will not stop searching for an alternative or ask you to accept this fate for Harry without exploring every possible avenue.”
Remus finally found his voice again, though it was strained with emotion. “Albus... what if there is no other way? What if we run out of time?” His question hung in the air like a lead weight.
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly as if the thought physically pained him. When he opened them again, the sorrow in his expression was more profound than ever. “If that time comes, we must be prepared to do what is necessary to end Voldemort’s reign of terror. But until then, I will fight with every ounce of my being to ensure Harry’s survival.”
The silence returned, but this time, it was thick with a shared understanding of the stakes. This wasn’t just a theoretical discussion. This was life and death—Harry’s life and Voldemort’s death.
Sirius, his heart still pounding in his chest, let out a slow, shaky breath. He couldn’t lose Harry. He wouldn’t lose him, not to Voldemort and not to some twisted fragment of a soul. But as he looked around the room, at his friends, at Dumbledore, and felt the weight of their collective despair, he realized that there was no easy way out of this. They were walking a razor’s edge, and Harry was at the center of it all.
“I’m with you,” Sirius finally said, his voice hoarse but resolute. “But we find another way. We have to. Because if we don’t... then we’ve already lost.”
Sirius turned away, his fists still clenched tightly. The weight of Dumbledore’s words pressed down on him like a heavy stone. The thought of Harry’s life being the key to ending Voldemort was unbearable, and yet...there was nothing they could do but continue the fight.
Dumbledore’s voice cut through the silence one last time. “We are not without hope, Sirius.”
Sirius swallowed hard, nodding stiffly. “Then we’d better make damn sure we find another way,” he said, his voice low and determined. “Because I’m not losing him. Not like this.”
“What about telling him?” McGonagall interjected, her voice trembling with urgency. “Shouldn’t we prepare Harry for the truth? He deserves to know what’s at stake.”
Sirius shook his head vehemently. “No! You can’t just drop this on him. He’s already carrying so much. What good does it do to add this weight? He should focus on his training, not burdened with the knowledge that part of him is tied to Voldemort. That he might-” he couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Yet how can we protect him if he’s kept in the dark?” Remus asked, his brow furrowing in thought. “Knowledge is power. He can be better prepared to face the danger if he understands it.”
“But what if he feels destined to be a martyr?” Tonks added, her voice laced with concern. “What if he thinks he has to sacrifice himself? That’s the last thing we need, he would do it, that's my concern!”
Dumbledore listened intently, his hands steepled before him, the weight of their discussion clear on his face. “The decision must be made with great care. I feel it should be kept between us for now unless no other options are available.”
“What if he finds out another way?” Snape interjected, crossing his arms. “Secrets have a way of revealing themselves, and the last thing we need is for Potter to hear about this from an enemy. You think the Dark Lord wouldn’t exploit it? We cannot keep this from him indefinitely.”
Sirius’s jaw clenched at the thought. “Then we’ll have to do everything we can to ensure he doesn’t find out from anyone but us. If we decide to tell him, we need to frame it in a way that he understands it’s not about him being the weapon in this war.” The idea of keeping this secret from Harry was tearing him apart, but telling him would only make things worse until they knew what the outcome would be.
Dumbledore looked at Sirius. The elder wizard did not hide the grief on his face; his blue eyes were filled with compassion and wisdom. “I believe we should approach this delicately. If we tell him, we must ensure that he understands he is not alone. He must know that he has people who love him and will fight for him. It cannot be a burden he carries by himself.”
“Agreed, though I do not like it,” McGonagall said, her tone steady.
“While we protect him and train him to be stronger,” Dumbledore replied firmly. “We must continue to fight against Voldemort and his death eaters, but we will not sacrifice Harry’s innocence. He deserves to be a child for as long as he can. Merlin knows he won't be a child after this war.”
……
Hope you enjoyed!