Harry did not rush.
The decision had been made long before, but action required precision. He had no intention of disappearing and leaving rumors in his wake. Rumors always favored those who stayed behind. He refused to grant them that luxury.
So he wrote a letter.
Not an open appeal.
Not a confession.
Not a justification.
A statement.
The portraits did not interfere. They only watched the phrasing.
"Write as if it will be read by people who don't want to believe you," one of the Slytherins advised.
"And as if every word can be used against you," a Black added.
"Then they won't be able to use anything," Lily concluded.
Harry wrote slowly.
He did not describe emotions.
He did not judge motives.
He did not label anyone a monster.
He documented facts.
He laid them out point by point.
That Albus Dumbledore had staged his own death.
That after the war, he continued operating unofficially, without authority, relying on old connections and fear of a power vacuum.
That there had been an attempt at an illegal ritual of subjugation, conducted without trial, without Wizengamot approval, and without the consent of the subject.
He did not write they tried to enslave me.
He wrote:
"An attempt was made to perform ritual interference with the magical autonomy of an adult wizard without consent."
It sounded clinical.
That was the point.
Next came the Weasleys.
Harry did not generalize. He named names and actions.
Financial manipulation.
Unauthorized access to family vaults.
Agreements made in secret, with promises they had no right to offer.
He did not write betrayal.
He wrote:
"Illegal actions committed for personal gain through coercion, deception, and conspiracy."
Hermione's section was the shortest.
Not out of mercy.
Out of completeness.
Conscious facilitation.
Participation in ritual preparation.
The choice of knowledge at the cost of another's will.
No insults.
No epithets.
Only verifiable facts, supported by:
testimony
magical residue
contracts
Gringotts seals
One paragraph stood alone:
"I am not requesting a trial. I am not demanding punishment.
I am documenting events to prevent their repetition under the guise of necessity or concern."
And another:
"As of this moment, I am no longer a participant in British magical society.
My name, my magic, and my inheritance may not be used as a symbol, tool, or argument."
It was not an abdication.
It was a severance.
When the text was finished, Harry read it once.
Then again—with the portraits.
"There's no anger here," James observed.
"And no hope that they'll repent," his grandmother added.
"That's good," a Black said. "Hope is what they've always used."
Lily was silent the longest.
"You didn't slam the door," she said at last. "You sealed it."
Harry nodded.
That was exactly the intent.
The letter was delivered to The Daily Prophet not by owl.
But through Gringotts.
Filed as a certified document, sealed, copied into bank and Wizengamot archives. It could not be lost. It could not be altered. It could not be dismissed as rumor.
The Prophet printed it the following morning.
Without commentary.
Without embellishment.
And the magical world woke up changed.
The reaction was chaotic.
The Ministry delayed too long.
The Wizengamot convened in emergency session.
Owls flooded the sky, carrying questions, demands, invitations.
Dumbledore did not appear.
And this time, the absence was noticeable.
The Weasleys vanished from public view almost immediately.
Hermione issued no statement.
And for the first time in years, the magical world confronted a thought it had carefully avoided:
Harry Potter was no longer part of the game.
The Black estate was quiet.
The portraits did not celebrate. They did not gloat. They accepted the reality.
"Now they know," a Potter said.
"And they can't pretend nothing happened," a Slytherin added.
"And you?" Sirius asked.
Harry looked at the packed equipment.
"I know too," he said. "That's enough."
When he stepped toward the boundary, the world behind him was already loud.
Ahead, there was silence.
And that silence was honest.
End of Chapter 4