The room was dead quiet for about five seconds before Tonks absolutely lost it. She let out a loud, snorting laugh, doubling over and clutching her stomach. Bill Weasley quickly covered his mouth, coughing violently to mask his own smirk.
"I live alone in a massive, empty mansion!" Ethan defended himself, his face still burning. "I'm a growing guy! It's completely natural! Blame the memory extraction, it's not an exact science!"
"Please, Mr. Williams," McGonagall interrupted, her voice incredibly tight and her cheeks flushed pink. "We require no further context."
Harry was staring blankly at the floor, looking like he desperately wanted to Obliviate himself just for being in the room.
"Right. Well. Moving on," Ethan said, clapping his hands together and aggressively pivoting the conversation. "The point is, I'm not a Death Eater, I'm not a Ministry spy, and I know exactly what's going to happen next in this war if we don't flip the board."
Dumbledore waved his wand, clearing the Pensieve and placing it back in the cabinet. When he turned around, the grandfatherly amusement was gone. In its place was the calculating, hardened gaze of a general who had just realized his entire battle strategy needed rewriting.
"You mentioned soul pieces downstairs," Dumbledore said quietly.
Lupin frowned, his demeanor instantly turning serious. "Soul pieces? Albus, what are you talking about?"
Dumbledore looked at Ethan, silently asking how much they should reveal. Ethan didn't hesitate. If he was going to speedrun this war, he needed the Order operating on full disclosure.
"He's talking about Horcruxes," Ethan said flatly.
McGonagall inhaled sharply, taking a physical step back as if Ethan had just spoken a terrible curse. Lupin went completely pale, and Bill swore under his breath. Only Tonks and Harry looked confused, though Harry recognized the word from his private lessons with the Headmaster.
"Voldemort didn't just survive that night in Godric's Hollow by pure luck," Ethan explained, leaning against Dumbledore's desk. "He anchored himself to the living world by splitting his soul into objects. Seven of them, to be exact. As long as they exist, he cannot be killed."
"Seven?" Dumbledore breathed, his blue eyes widening in genuine shock. He had suspected a multi-part soul, but hearing the exact number confirmed was a heavy blow. "Are you absolutely certain? Can a human soul even be fractured that many times without collapsing entirely?"
"Positive," Ethan nodded. He started ticking them off on his fingers. "The diary Harry destroyed in his second year. That was one. The ring you put on your hand, which nearly killed you. That was two. So, there are five pieces left to deal with."
"Wait," Harry interrupted, stepping forward. "You know what the other ones are? And where they are?"
"I do," Ethan said. "One is a locket. One is a cup. One is a diadem. And one is a giant, extremely venomous snake that he keeps as a pet."
Lupin rubbed his face, looking exhausted. "He put his soul inside a living snake? The man is insane."
McGonagall, however, was staring at Ethan with narrowed eyes. Her sharp mind was already doing the math. "Mr. Williams... the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the diadem, and the snake. That is only six. You said there were seven."
The room went still. Everyone turned to look at Ethan, realizing the discrepancy.
Ethan didn't answer her directly. Instead, he looked at the teenager standing near the desk. "Harry, do you still get visions of Voldemort's mind?"
At the mention of the name, Bill and Tonks flinched slightly, but Dumbledore and McGonagall remained entirely focused on Ethan's question.
Harry, suddenly becoming the center of attention, shrank back a little. He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Sometimes. I get memories or feelings that aren't mine. The first clear one was a few years ago... I watched him murder an old Muggle named Frank Bryce in a house."
Ethan held up a hand to stop the room from reacting. "Hold the gasps, guys. We have a lot of ground to cover and not enough oxygen in here for everyone to keep hyperventilating."
Ethan looked back at Harry. "Have you ever wondered why you get those visions? Why you can speak Parseltongue, a trait strictly tied to Slytherin's bloodline, even though you have no relation to him? Why your scar burns when he's near?"
Dumbledore closed his eyes. The sorrow that washed over his face was profound and heavy. He had already guessed the truth long ago, but hearing it laid out so plainly in front of the boy was devastating.
Ethan didn't sugarcoat it. He dropped the bomb.
"Harry, you are the seventh Horcrux."
McGonagall let out a strangled gasp, gripping the edge of the desk to steady herself. Lupin stared at Harry in absolute horror.
"The night Voldemort attacked your family," Ethan explained, his voice calm and steady to cut through the rising panic in the room. "When he hit you with the Killing Curse, it rebounded. But by that point, his soul was already so unstable, so mutilated from making the previous Horcruxes, that a piece of it simply splintered off from the blast."
Ethan pointed at the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead. "A soul fragment looks for a container. It latched onto the only living thing left in the room. You. It wasn't intentional. Voldemort doesn't even know he did it. But as long as that piece of him lives inside you, he can't truly die."
Author's Note:
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