Harry didn't go to Sirius.
Instead, it was with great reluctance that he went to a faraway desert in Africa. He had to fetch a soul piece.
He knew that Fleur wouldn't give him another chance to fight Voldemort alone, and he concluded that if there was a good time to finish everything, today would be ideal.
He quickly snatched the little stone housing the Dark Lord's original soul and tore down the many enchantments that wouldn't have allowed his passenger to leave the place otherwise.
Harry flashed to the Chamber of Secrets.
An ideal place to conduct his fourth soul piece absorption, not counting the scar.
He quickly set up the runes and, without further delay, started the ritual.
Once again, he placed his hand on the soul container.
Unlike the previous times, the room didn't darken immediately, but the runes did begin to glow a deep, sullen red.
The stone beneath his palm grew warm, then hot, then scalding. He didn't move.
He whispered the first words.
"Spiritus interligo, magia necto."
A shiver passed through the Chamber. The carved serpents on the walls seemed to twist slightly, their eyes glinting with a light that hadn't been there moments ago.
The soul within the stone stirred.
Suddenly, Harry felt pressure. A weight pressing down on his lungs, squeezing his heart.
Then, a whisper broke through.
"You're late," said a voice, echoing in his skull.
Harry didn't answer. He drew a deep breath and continued.
"Mors mortem alit, et anima solvitur."
The stone cracked. A thin jet of black smoke leaked out, writhing like a snake seeking air. It stretched, expanded—and from it, a human form began to emerge.
Voldemort's original soul was pale and translucent, but terrifyingly real.
"You've consumed some of my echoes, but I am no shadow, boy," the soul hissed, voice carrying through the stone hall like a knife scraping bone. "I am the will that created them all. You cannot consume me. You will become me, or shall I say, I will become you."
Harry's expression didn't change. "You said something similar the last three times."
"And yet you came alone." The voice almost smiled. "You're learning my ways."
"Surge iterum, donec putrescas, mihi dona vim tuam."
The glow intensified. The Chamber trembled. Water rippled outward in violent waves as the red light crawled up the walls.
The apparition lunged forward and slammed into him.
Harry gritted his teeth, forcing his hand against the pebble even as the impact nearly tore his arm free. He could feel the soul pushing back, trying to invade his own being.
He saw flashes.
A boy in a dark orphanage, staring at the ceiling with hate in his eyes.
A diary whispering to him promises of power.
A snake eating from his hand.
A scream—his own—when he split his soul for the first time.
Then, all those moments folded into one, and the voice in his head became deafening.
"You think you can cleanse me? Fool! You are already mine! You've used my power too long to separate it now!"
"Ego sum vinculum, ego sum portus, ego sum qui manet!"
The light turned blinding. The runes flared white-hot, burning into the stone. The soul screamed, and it wasn't a sound of pain, but of rage.
The Chamber's water turned black, writhing like living ink. Serpents carved into the walls twisted and cracked, some splitting apart entirely.
The black smoke rushed into Harry's body, and for an instant, he was both of them—their voices, their thoughts, their hatred and fear merging into one overwhelming torrent.
He was Tom, the boy who went to Hogwarts all those years ago and yearned for recognition. He had tried his utmost best to impress his teachers and peers, succeeding in the former and failing spectacularly in the latter. Nothing he did was ever enough for the purebloods, and then, in the face of true desperation, he had told the basilisk to roam the castle. It had just been a little game; it wasn't supposed to hurt anyone. But it had killed Myrtle, and everyone in Slytherin was impressed. Right, they weren't afraid of him, just in awe. That's why he continued doing atrocious things again and again, and before he knew it, he had become a Dark Lord.
"Fiat."
The Chamber exploded in silence.
"I did it!" he mumbled, but who was he?
He wasn't sure.
He lay on the floor, unmoving, and tried his best to make sense of his mind.
After a couple of seconds, clarity finally dawned on Harry, and he fearfully pushed the memories of Tom Marvolo Riddle into the darkest corner of his mind.
'Holy fucking hell.'
He had consumed four pieces of Voldemort's soul. That, bundled with the little bit of the Dark Lord which had been in his scar, put Harry well beyond the half mark of what was Tom Riddle.
'Holy fucking hell,' he cursed again.
Something prickled Harry's senses, and he looked up just in time for his world to fill with green.
He realised, just a moment before the spell hit him, that the sight of a killing curse right before his eyes was familiar.
.
.
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Chapter 131: It's Finally Over