Chapter 37: End of the Dark Legacy
The sky above the Potter ancestral castle was clear, a strange calmness pervading the air that hadn't existed since Harrison had returned from the third task. For days, he had remained quiet, withdrawn—his focus entirely on one thing: finding and eradicating the final piece of Voldemort's soul.
He knew the soul fragment in the Hufflepuff Cup had been a decoy—cleverly enchanted to mimic the dark signature of a Horcrux. But Harrison, bearer of countless memories from past lives, was not so easily fooled. With his deep understanding of divine, pharaonic, and magical lore, he sought the true final piece, knowing that its destruction would sever the last thread tethering Voldemort to life.
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The Hunt for the Final Fragment
In the Hall of Timeless Echoes beneath the Potter Castle—a secret chamber accessible only to the blood of ancient magic—Harrison stood before a floating projection of the world. The Time Stone, humming gently in his palm, pulsed with awareness.
"Show me," he whispered.
The Time Stone flared. Runes spun wildly around him. The world shimmered, rippling through decades, centuries. Finally, a point of light blinked into existence: a desolate moor outside a forgotten village in the Scottish Highlands.
A Horcrux buried in time. Disconnected from space. Trapped in a temporal fracture.
Donning his dark cloak, Harrison stepped through a portal of starlight, arriving at the site with a snap of power. The air was thick with residual dark energy, and the sky above swirled as if the world itself mourned the magic festering beneath its soil.
He reached into the earth with both hands—not physically, but magically, temporally. He extended his senses and unspooled the threads of time like a loom. Beneath the surface, buried in a hidden stasis bubble, was a crude, broken mirror.
The last Horcrux.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Harrison said quietly. "You were clever, but not clever enough."
He summoned the Time Stone to his forehead. Light bathed the land, illuminating the twisted echoes of magic bound to the mirror.
Then, with a single command—an invocation in Egyptian and Greek—he unmade it.
Unwound. Reversed. Forgotten.
Time swallowed the fragment. Not only was the Horcrux destroyed—it never existed.
The echo of Voldemort's soul vanished from history.
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A World Reborn
The news spread within hours. Wizards across the globe felt it—a shift in the magical currents. The Dark Mark faded from the arms of former Death Eaters. Azkaban's skies cleared for the first time in decades.
And in the Daily Prophet:
"THE DARK LORD ERASED FROM TIME: HARRISON STRANGE POTTER SAVES THE WORLD AGAIN"
At Hogwarts, at Beauxbatons, at Durmstrang—students and professors alike stood in awe. At the Ministry, aurors wept. Even in the remotest magical settlements, people lit blue and silver flames in honor of the young man who had shattered darkness itself.
But Harrison? He was back in bed, exhausted and victorious.
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A Moment of Peace
The grand master bedroom of the Potter Castle glowed softly in golden torchlight. Harrison lay beneath rich emerald sheets, Clarissa snuggled into his left shoulder, Penelope curled on his right, and Bellatrix sprawled lazily across his chest.
"It's finally over," Clarissa murmured.
"Is it?" Penelope asked, her silver hair fanning out against the pillow.
"Yes," Harrison said softly, brushing his fingers through Bellatrix's raven curls. "There is no more Voldemort. Not in body, not in soul, not even in history."
Bellatrix looked up at him, awe and devotion gleaming in her crimson eyes. "You changed the world again. But this time... you gave us peace."
Harrison exhaled deeply, then reached out to the Time Stone again. It hovered above his hand like a sun.
"I've seen what lies ahead. I've fought and died in wars across timelines. But this family? This is what matters now."
Clarissa rested her hand over his heart. "You're not done, are you?"
He smiled. "Just one last gift."
He rose from the bed, still naked but glowing with ancient power. The Time Stone obeyed his will as he whispered an incantation from Atlantis—an unspoken dialect of the Old Ones.
Golden light flowed from the gem, enveloping the three women.
Clarissa gasped as the air around her shimmered. Penelope sat up, trembling with a strange joy. Bellatrix's eyes widened in realization.
"You're extending our lives."
"Not just yours," Harrison said softly. "Everyone I love. A thousand years of youth, strength, and magic."
The magic settled, absorbed by their souls. Their auras brightened and harmonized with his.
"You're mad," Penelope whispered, tears in her eyes.
"I'm yours," he replied.
And they fell upon him—kissing, laughing, crying all at once. Lips found lips. Hands roamed over skin. They pressed themselves against him as if to fuse into one being, one life, one eternity.
He kissed Clarissa deeply, then turned to Penelope and then Bellatrix, who wrapped her legs around him, whispering, "You are my god now."
Their souls intertwined under the starlight pouring from the enchanted ceiling. The world outside moved forward, but within the chamber, time stood still.
The Guardian of Fate had fulfilled his promise.
He had won.