The first week back at Hogwarts was a careful dance of deception.
Dean maintained the appearance of traumatized Harry, quiet and withdrawn, spending most of his time in the hospital wing. But in his mind, he was anything but passive. He was absorbing Harry's memories, understanding this new world, and most importantly, learning about the Horcruxes.
The knowledge came from multiple sources. Harry's fragmented memories contained information about Tom Riddle's diary, about Dumbledore's theories on Horcruxes. And the Horcrux in his scar, despite being contained, whispered information about its creator. Voldemort's memories, fragmented and distorted, but valuable nonetheless.
There were six other Horcruxes still out there. Dean knew this with certainty. The Horcrux in Harry's scar wasn't the original one. It was one of seven, created intentionally by Voldemort to achieve immortality. And somehow, Dean had to find and absorb them all.
But first, he needed to understand what that meant.
On the seventh day, when Dumbledore finally released him from the hospital wing, Dean made his way to the library. Hermione tried to accompany him, but he managed to convince her he needed time alone. He could see the hurt in her eyes, but it was necessary. He couldn't let anyone get too close, not until he understood what he was becoming.
In the restricted section, using a combination of Harry's knowledge and pure luck, Dean found what he was looking for: books on Horcruxes, on the nature of soul magic, on the consequences of splitting one's soul across multiple objects.
The information was disturbing. A Horcrux wasn't just a magical artifact. It was a piece of the creator's soul, bound into an object. And if someone consumed a Horcrux, they would absorb not just the magic, but the piece of soul contained within it.
Dean realized the danger immediately. If he absorbed all seven Horcruxes, he would have absorbed seven pieces of Voldemort's soul. The question was: would that make him Voldemort, or would his own will be strong enough to remain in control?
There was only one way to find out.
But he needed to be careful. He needed to understand the mechanics of what he was doing. And he needed to do it without Dumbledore finding out.
Over the next few weeks, Dean began his research in earnest. He created a mental map of what he knew: Voldemort had created Horcruxes, but how many? Harry's memories suggested there were multiple, but the exact number was unclear. Dumbledore seemed to know more, but the old man was keeping his knowledge close.
Dean also began to understand the extent of his new abilities. The Horcrux in his scar wasn't just a piece of Voldemort's soul. It was a conduit to power. As he learned to better control and integrate it, he found that his magical reserves were expanding exponentially. Spells that should have exhausted him barely made a dent in his power.
And there was something else. A feeling in his mind, like another presence trying to communicate. Not quite Voldemort, but an echo of him. A voice that whispered knowledge of dark magic, of rituals and spells that went far beyond what was taught at Hogwarts.
Dean began to listen to that voice. Not to be controlled by it, but to learn from it. He was building a bridge to the dark magic that Voldemort had mastered, absorbing the knowledge without being corrupted by it.
It was a dangerous game. And if he made one mistake, it could all fall apart.
Hermione noticed the change first.
"You're different," she said one afternoon as they sat in the common room. "Since the Tournament, you're just... different."
Dean looked at her carefully. In Harry's memories, Hermione was one of his most loyal friends. But Dean wasn't Harry. And he couldn't afford to let anyone get too close to the truth.
"I nearly died," he said, which was true enough. "I'm still processing it."
"It's more than that," Hermione said, her sharp eyes studying him. "You're colder. More distant. And sometimes, when you think no one's looking, there's something in your eyes that's not... Harry."
Dean felt a chill run down his spine. Hermione was perceptive. Too perceptive. He needed to decide: was she a threat or an asset?
"I'm just trying to figure out who I am," he said carefully. "Everything's changed. I need time."
Hermione seemed to accept this, but he could see the doubt in her expression. She would keep watching him. And eventually, she might figure out the truth.
The question was: what would he do when that happened?
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