Chapter 257: The Meaning of Seven Horcruxes, and Harry Taking an Avada Kedavra Head-On

After realizing that Harry himself was also one of his Horcruxes, Voldemort did not expose it.

He maintained a blank, unmoved expression, as if he had already accepted his fate.

But Arthur saw straight through him.

He spoke slowly, his tone calm and cutting.

"What—resigned already? Or are you thinking you still have a way to turn things around?"

"I only listed five of your Horcruxes just now," Arthur continued. "But surely... there are more than that."

Voldemort’s heart sank.

Don’t tell me... he even knows how many Horcruxes I made?

Arthur’s next words confirmed his fear.

"Seven is a very magical number, isn’t it?" Arthur said, eyes fixed on Voldemort.

"The musical scale cycles from one to seven. God created the world in seven days. The seven-pointed star is one of the most elusive and dangerous formations in mysticism."

"And then there are the Seven Deadly Sins."

Arthur stared directly at him.

"You split your soul according to the seven sins, didn’t you?"

"The diary that represents pride—recording the ’noble’ pureblood’s contempt for so-called Mudbloods."

"The locket that represents envy—corrupting the mind, breeding suspicion and distrust in its bearer."

"The diadem that represents sloth—granting wisdom, yet tempting its wearer to take shortcuts rather than think for themselves."

"The ring that represents greed—the desire to resurrect the dead, the most insatiable wish of all."

"And the cup that represents lust—I hear you seduced the old woman Hepzibah Smith, that distant descendant of Hufflepuff?"

Arthur clicked his tongue.

"Honestly. That’s... pretty grotesque."

This analysis left Voldemort utterly stunned.

Even he had never considered such a framework.

To him, seven was simply a powerful number—one that promised success and immortality.

And splitting his soul into seven parts was already his absolute limit. Any further, and his soul would destabilize completely.

If not for that restriction, Voldemort would likely have made even more Horcruxes.

When it came to clinging to life, few in the wizarding world could rival him.

Under Voldemort’s shocked gaze, Arthur continued,

"All of the Horcruxes I just mentioned have already been destroyed."

"That means you only have Wrath and Gluttony left."

"I don’t know where Gluttony is," Arthur said calmly.

"But Wrath? That one, I know very well."

He stepped behind Harry and gently pushed him forward.

"This is it."

Harry froze.

How did the gossip end up landing on me again?

"...What do you mean, ’this is it’?" Harry asked blankly.

He pointed at himself.

"Arthur, you’re not saying that I’m the Horcrux representing Wrath... right?"

Arthur nodded lightly.

"Mhm. Your tendency to charge in when you’re angry—don’t you think that might be related?"

In truth, the true embodiment of Wrath was Voldemort himself.

After becoming the Dark Lord, his moods were violent and unpredictable, his cruelty boundless, his disregard for life absolute.

No one could ever fully strip themselves of all seven sins.

If someone truly did, they would become a being without desire or attachment.

Even those fools in Kunlun couldn’t manage that—after all, they were still chasing immortality.

Because of this, Harry hadn’t been completely overwhelmed by Voldemort’s Wrath.

Otherwise, the Boy Who Lived might have grown into a permanently furious madman.

The moment Harry learned that he was also a Horcrux, panic set in completely.

The thought of Voldemort’s soul fragment living inside him sent a chill down his spine.

He feared that at any moment, Voldemort might seize control of his body.

He looked desperately at Arthur.

"Can you help me remove Voldemort’s soul from me?"

Arthur spread his hands.

"Your souls are entangled. Even I can’t separate his fragment without damaging yours."

"...But."

Harry’s heart, which had just sunk into despair, leapt at that single word.

"But what?" he asked urgently.

Arthur pointed at Voldemort.

"He resurrected himself using your blood. That means the two of you now share the same blood."

"Your mother’s protection still works on you—but it does not protect the soul fragment inside you."

"In other words, if Voldemort tries to kill you—if he casts the Killing Curse on you—there’s a very good chance it won’t kill you."

"Instead, it will destroy the fragment of his soul inside your body."

Harry understood immediately.

To free himself, he would need to take an Avada Kedavra—letting Voldemort kill his own soul.

The theory made sense.

And yet—

Absolutely not.

This was the Killing Curse.

One of the three Unforgivable Curses.

The most lethal spell in existence.

If Arthur’s theory was wrong, Harry wouldn’t just be injured—he’d be dead.

Seeing Harry’s hesitation, Arthur added casually,

"Oh, right. You can have Voldemort use your wand."

"A wand won’t truly harm its own master. You don’t need to worry about being killed by his curse."

Harry’s eyes lit up.

That did sound far safer.

Still, another concern surfaced.

"But... how do we make Voldemort cooperate?"

Arthur waved his hand.

"Easy. Just control him with the Imperius Curse."

At that, Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly.

"Ahem. I feel obligated to remind you—Imperius is also one of the Unforgivable Curses. Its use is strictly forbidden."

Many spells in the wizarding world were tied to emotion—especially Dark Magic.

Dark Magic drew power from intense negative emotions, and in turn warped the caster’s mind.

A weak-willed wizard could easily be twisted into a dark wizard.

Dumbledore did not want Harry—or Arthur—to use such magic.

Especially Arthur.

A darkened Arthur would be an outright catastrophe for the wizarding world.

Possibly worse than Voldemort had ever been.

Arthur, however, shrugged.

"Then I’m out of ideas. You figure it out yourselves."

He had already done more than enough by offering a solution.

After all, it wasn’t his body housing Voldemort’s soul.

Harry could only look pleadingly at Dumbledore.

...

Dumbledore remained firm—but Harry’s gaze made someone else waver.

Snape stepped forward.

"I’ll cast the Imperius Curse."

He had used Unforgivable Curses countless times under Voldemort’s command in the past.

One or two more hardly mattered.

And this time, casting it on Voldemort was... strangely appealing.

There was only one thing that concerned him.

He looked at Arthur.

"Are you certain this will work?"

"Whether it works or not, we’ll only know by trying," Arthur replied calmly.

"But don’t worry. Even if Harry dies, I can bring him back."

Hearing that, both Dumbledore and Snape relaxed.

Harry, on the other hand, felt his scalp tingle.

We haven’t even started yet—why are we already talking about me dying?

Despite his fear, Harry made his decision.

No one wanted their mortal enemy’s soul lodged inside their body.

It was a ticking bomb.

Harry didn’t want to wake up one day only to find Voldemort wearing his body.

Snape stepped up to Voldemort and cast the Imperius Curse.

Under normal circumstances, controlling Voldemort would be nearly impossible.

But now—half-broken from Hermione’s beating and immobilized by Arthur—it was effortless.

Arthur lifted the Binding Spell.

Then he turned to Harry.

"Give him your wand."

Harry took out his wand and placed it in Voldemort’s hand.

Snape hesitated.

This was Lily’s child.

But the deed had to be done.

Better short pain than a lifetime of dread.

Under Snape’s control, Voldemort raised the wand, pointed it at Harry—

—and fired.

"Avada Kedavra."

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