Chapter 63: Symbiosis
Harry raised a trembling, translucent hand to his forehead. He felt nothing—no scar, no pain. Yet the horrified, frozen stares of Elian and the spectral Dumbledore were fixed precisely there.
"What… what is it?" Harry's voice was a thin whisper. "What's on my forehead?"
No one answered. The silence in the office was profound, broken only by the faint, distressed whir of a silver instrument on Dumbledore's desk.
Elian studied the spiritual form of Harry Potter. It was mostly as he expected—a young, bright echo of the boy. But the scar… the famous lightning bolt scar was not a mark on this spirit. Instead, embedded within the fabric of Harry's forehead, like a grotesque parasite nestled deep in flesh, was a small, twisted, and unmistakably human face. It was shrunken, distorted with rage and agony even in its dormant state, but the features were clear: the snakelike slits for nostrils, the lipless mouth. It was Voldemort.
It wasn't sitting on the surface. It was part of Harry's very spiritual substance.
"Voldemort," Dumbledore breathed, his spectral form gliding closer. His voice trembled with a mixture of revulsion, pity, and grim validation. "Merlin's beard… So it's true. Harry, my boy, don't move. Don't move until I say."
Dumbledore's phantom hands fluttered near Harry's forehead, wanting to touch, to examine, but terrified of disturbing the thing. "A fragment… a piece of his soul… living inside you. The ancient texts… they were right. He mastered that foulest of arts. He split his soul."
His words were a torrent of realization, fear, and awe. This was the horrible proof of his deepest, darkest suspicion about Voldemort's immortality. A Horcrux. And Harry was an unintended one—a living prison for a piece of the Dark Lord's mutilated spirit.
Dumbledore's brilliant mind raced, connecting decades of clues. Voldemort's soul, already unstable from previous, deliberate splittings. The failed Killing Curse rebounding, tearing another piece loose in the chaos. That fragment, driven by a will to survive, latching onto the only living thing in the ravaged room: baby Harry. A parasitic, spiritual symbiosis.
It explained everything. The connection. The visions. The pain. It wasn't just a curse scar; it was a wound in Harry's very soul.
Elian watched, his own task complete. In his mind's eye, the Supreme Mage System glowed:
[Bonus Mission: Help Dumbledore confirm Voldemort's fragmented soul – COMPLETE.]
[Reward: One use of the Eye of Agamotto – AWARDED.]
The power of the Time Stone, now his to wield once. The objective was achieved. But the horror before them remained.
Harry stood frozen, trying to process Dumbledore's frantic muttering. Soul fragment. Voldemort. Inside me. The words swirled, terrifying and incomprehensible. He glanced at Elian, who met his gaze with an unreadable, solemn expression. The casual, powerful friend he ate meals with suddenly seemed like an ancient, distant being of immense and frightening power.
Finally, Dumbledore's spirit drew back. The initial shock had settled into a heavy, grim resolve. He turned to Elian, his luminous eyes intense.
"Mr. Thorne," Dumbledore said, his voice low and urgent. "You have shown us the prison. You have the power to separate spirit from flesh." He gestured toward the vile, sleeping face embedded in Harry's forehead. "Tell me… do you also have the power to remove the prisoner?"
The question hung in the air. Could the symbiosis be broken? Could the fragment of Voldemort's soul be extracted without destroying Harry's own?
All eyes turned to Elian.
(End of Chapter)
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