The changes in Harry became impossible to hide as the summer approached.
For one thing, his academic performance skyrocketed. He was now answering questions in class that even Hermione had to think about. He was performing magic that sixth-year students struggled with. His defense against the dark arts had become so proficient that even Professor Moody had commented on it.
More concerning to those who knew him, his personality had shifted. He was colder, more calculating. He spent less time with Ron and Hermione and more time alone, or in the company of people they didn't know. He'd developed a reputation for being distant, almost arrogant.
Dumbledore called him into his office near the end of term.
The headmaster's office was exactly as Dean had expected from Harry's memories: cluttered with magical artifacts, filled with sleeping phoenixes and sleeping gargoyles, and dominated by a massive desk covered in papers. Dumbledore sat behind it, his expression grave.
"Harry, I've been concerned about your recent behavior," Dumbledore said without preamble. "You've changed since the Tournament. Changed in ways that trouble me."
"I've grown up," Dean said simply. "I nearly died. That changes a person."
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, studying him carefully. "But I sense something more. There's a darkness in you now. A coldness that wasn't there before."
Dean met the old man's gaze steadily. "Are you going to accuse me of being possessed by Voldemort? Because I can assure you, I'm not."
"I'm not accusing you of anything," Dumbledore said. "I'm merely expressing concern for a student I care about. You're carrying something, Harry. A burden that you're keeping hidden. And I want you to know that my door is always open if you need to talk."
It was a trap, Dean realized. Dumbledore was offering comfort and understanding, but what he really wanted was access to Harry's mind. He wanted Dean to confide in him, to reveal his secrets.
"Thank you for your concern, sir," Dean said. "But I'm fine. I just need time to adjust."
Dumbledore seemed to accept this, but as Dean left the office, he could feel the weight of the headmaster's suspicion. Dumbledore knew something was wrong. He just didn't know what.
And that meant Dean had to accelerate his plans.
Over the summer, while Harry's friends and family believed he was recovering from his ordeal, Dean was actually conducting a systematic search for the remaining Horcruxes.
He'd learned from Harry's memories that Dumbledore had found one: a ring that had belonged to Tom Riddle's family. The headmaster had destroyed it, but in doing so, he'd been cursed. The curse was slowly killing him.
That left five more Horcruxes unaccounted for.
Using a combination of research, magical tracking, and pure detective work, Dean began to narrow down their locations. He found hints in old newspapers, in historical records, in the whispered conversations of Death Eaters that he heard through his expanding magical senses.
One was in a locket, hidden in the home of a Death Eater family. Another was in a cup, kept in a vault. A third was a diadem, hidden in a castle. And there were two more, their locations still unclear.
But Dean had time. And he had power. And most importantly, he had the knowledge of a man from a different world who had learned never to accept limitations.
By the time he returned to Hogwarts for his sixth year, Dean had already absorbed four of the remaining Horcruxes. He'd done it carefully, using the same ritual he'd perfected with the first one, always in the privacy of the Room of Requirement.
With each Horcrux absorbed, his power had grown exponentially. He could now perform magic that should have required years of study and practice. He could sense things that no normal wizard should be able to sense. And most importantly, he could feel his connection to Voldemort growing stronger.
But he was in control. Always in control.
When he walked into the Great Hall for the Sorting Feast, Dumbledore took one look at him and frowned. The old man could sense the change. He could feel the power radiating from Harry Potter.
And he was afraid.
Dean smiled slightly as he took his seat at the Gryffindor table. Let Dumbledore be afraid. Fear would make the old man careful, cautious. It would buy Dean time.
Time to become strong enough that no one, not even Albus Dumbledore, could stop him.
_______________________________________________