“What?” Croaker demanded.
“The fact that Occlumency couldn’t block the connection, combined with the sudden failure of his wand, leads me to believe we are dealing with a Horcrux,” Sandy said grimly.
The three men in the room paled visibly and stared at Harry with renewed wariness.
“Are you certain?” Croaker asked, his voice strained.
“Almost certain. But it’s easy enough to confirm.” Sandy turned to Harry, her tone softening.
“Mr. Potter, I need you to stay very still and remain as calm as possible.”
“What’s going on?” Harry asked, a flicker of fear breaking through his usual composure.
“I’ll explain in a moment,” she promised.
“Just trust me.”
Harry swallowed hard and nodded.
Sandy began casting a series of complex spells, finishing with the same one Dumbledore had used—the one that made Harry feel as though his brain was swelling inside his skull.
“Unbelievable,” she whispered in awe when she finished.
“What is it?” Croaker pressed.
“Give me a moment, Clarence.” Sandy gently brushed Harry’s fringe aside and examined the faint remnants of his scar.
“Has it always been this faded?”
Harry shook his head.
“It used to be much darker. It gave me constant headaches and sometimes even bled.”
Sandy smiled at him, a mixture of respect and wonder in her eyes.
“We can certainly expect great things from you.”
“Will someone please explain what just happened?” Filmore demanded impatiently.
Sandy raised an eyebrow at him before answering.
“It’s gone. Merlin knows how, but the Horcrux is gone. Mr. Potter is completely intact—a damned miracle.”
“What do you mean?” Croaker asked.
“The boy had roughly half of Voldemort’s soul trapped inside him,” Sandy explained.
“It’s almost inconceivable that he subconsciously fought it off for over fifteen years.”
“How is that even possible?” Filmore asked. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“It should have consumed him.”
“Mr. Potter must be an exceptionally powerful wizard,” Sandy replied.
“Most people aren’t even half as strong as Voldemort, yet he resisted him. When the Dark Lord possessed him, the soul fragment likely left with him. I doubt it was intentional— no sane wizard would create a Horcrux in that manner.”
“So it’s truly gone?” Croaker asked.
“Yes,” Sandy confirmed.
“And unless he’s created more since his return, there are no others.”
The three men exhaled in visible relief.
“Will someone please explain what just happened?” Harry demanded, irritation clear in his voice.
“It’s not important right now, Mr. Potter,” Croaker assured him.
“We simply had to be certain. But we now know why your wand no longer works for you—it was never truly yours to begin with.” Tobin nodded in agreement.
“You should consider yourself extraordinarily lucky, Mr. Potter,” Sandy added seriously.
“Very few could have survived what you did.” She gave him one last appraising look.
“I look forward to seeing what you’re capable of.” With that, she bid her colleagues farewell and left.
“Shall we continue?” Tobin asked after a moment of silence.
“Indeed,” Croaker replied, releasing Harry from his bonds.
Harry was still confused by the revelation but pushed it to the back of his mind.
He had grasped the basic idea, but the how of it all remained a mystery he doubted he would ever fully understand.
“Give me your wand arm,” Tobin requested.
Harry extended his arm.
Tobin measured it carefully and jotted down notes.
He then pulled several shrunken trunks from his pocket, restored them to full size, and opened them with a flick of his wand.
“First, we’ll determine the right core for you,” he explained.
“Place your hand inside and let your magic guide you.”
Harry nodded and reached into the first trunk, feeling several small vials.
He felt nothing and shook his head.
“Interesting,” Tobin mused. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“Try the next one.”
The same result.
Tobin frowned.
“You are quite the challenge, Mr. Potter. There is another way.” He held out his hand.
“I’ll need a small vial of your blood.”
Harry hesitated—ever since the graveyard, he had been protective of his blood—but eventually offered his palm.
Tobin made a shallow cut, filled the vial, and sealed the wound.
“This will take a few minutes,” Tobin said.
“In the meantime, try the woods. Start with the largest trunk.”
Harry approached it and immediately felt a strong pull.
He reached inside and withdrew a block of jet-black wood that gleamed in the light.
Something still called to him, so he reached in again and pulled out a piece of rich, dark purple wood.
He brought both to Tobin, whose eyebrows rose.
“Both of them?” the wandmaker asked.
Harry nodded.
“Ebony and Purpleheart,” Tobin said.
“I suspect you’ll need two cores.” He turned his attention to the vial of blood swirling above the table.
After several minutes, it settled, and Tobin examined it closely.
“Very interesting indeed,” he murmured.
“The first core will be the hair of a Thestral—something I’ve never used before. This should be fascinating.”
“Why have you never used it?” Harry asked curiously.
“Thestrals are complex creatures,” Tobin explained.
“They live in herds but remain fiercely independent. They are protective of their own and can be extremely dangerous when provoked. I imagine you share many of those traits.”