Chapter 19: The Boy Who Lied
(General POV)
You could feel the tension in Dumbledore's office.
The usually tranquil space felt charged, a stark contrast to the peaceful portraits of former Headmasters that lined the walls. Even Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, perched on his stand with an uncharacteristic stillness, his fiery feathers ruffled, as if sensing the disruption.
Dumbledore himself, seated behind his grand oak desk, had exchanged his customary twinkle for a pensive frown. Those piercing blue eyes, usually radiating warmth and wisdom, now held a glint of something...unsettling.
Across from him sat Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, Sprout, and Hagrid, the latter squeezed rather uncomfortably into a chair that creaked ominously under his weight.
Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, perched on the edge of a plush armchair, His plump face was the color of a particularly ripe grapefruit, and beads of sweat glistened on his receding hairline. Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, sat beside him, her usual composure replaced by a steely-eyed intensity that radiated both concern and curiosity.
"Merlin's beard, Albus," McGonagall exclaimed "Did you see that boy? He was… dueling Voldemort! He actually held his own!"
"Indeed, Minerva," Dumbledore said, "A most...unexpected turn of events."
"Unexpected?" Snape drawled, his voice laced with a biting sarcasm. "That's one word for it. Reckless. Arrogant. Utterly foolhardy, I'd say. To challenge the Dark Lord …" His dark eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on Dumbledore. "And with a Muggle weapon, no less! The boy has a blatant disregard for the sanctity of magic, for our traditions, for—"
"Severus," Sprout interrupted, her voice uncharacteristically firm, "It was a brilliant strategy! You must admit, none of us would have even considered such a move. And it worked! Voldemort is dead. Dead! I still can't quite believe it."
Snape's lips thinned into a disapproving line. "While I can't deny the effectiveness of his... unorthodox... approach, Pomona, the boy's recklessness is appalling. What if his plan had backfired? What if he'd been killed? The consequences could have been catastrophic."
"Dead is dead, Severus," Sprout said, a hint of defiance in her voice. "And Vincent clearly knew what he was doing. To hold your own against Voldemort, even for a few moments, takes incredible skill and power, even for a fifteen-year-old wizard."
"And let us not forget the audacity of it all," Flitwick chimed in, his voice a high-pitched but steady chirp.
Hagrid, who'd been sitting in stunned silence, his usually jovial face etched with worry, finally spoke. "But what about Harry, Professor?" he rumbled, his voice thick with
"Yes, Hagrid, we saw Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice gentle. "He will need our support. He will be here shortly and we will hear his account of what happened. Perhaps he can shed some light on what transpired at the maze."
Fudge, who'd been fidgeting in his chair,finally spoke. "Albus, this is… this is a monumental event. The implications are… well, frankly, they're terrifying. Voldemort's return, his death, the use of a Muggle weapon… The Ministry is going to have to tread very carefully."
"Cornelius is right, Albus," Amelia Bones said, her voice calm but firm. "We need to handle this correctly and manage the fallout."
"But what about Vincent?" McGonagall asked, her gaze fixed on Dumbledore. "What do we do with him? He's clearly a powerful wizard, capable of great things. But his methods… they're unsettling, to say the least."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, "Vincent Van Doren has challenged our traditions, defied our expectations, and ultimately, saved our world. His actions demand both our gratitude and our… scrutiny. We must understand him, his motives, his… intentions… before we can decide anything."
Amelia interjected, "He is being hailed as a hero among the students, I was told they were chanting his name, I think that even if his methods were questionable we should be glad he is pointing his literal weapon at our enemies, we will lose out if we try and reprimand him."
As she finishes talking they hear knocks at the door, and a person enters it's harry potter, good maybe they can have some more answers.
"Ah, Harry, my boy," Dumbledore said as the door to his office opened and Harry entered.
Harry nodded, his gaze flitting nervously around the room, settling on the faces of the assembled adults. He looked pale and exhausted, the shadows under his green eyes deeper than usual.
"Come, sit down, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, gesturing to an empty chair beside Hagrid. "We'd like to hear about what happened in the maze. In your own time, of course."
Harry sat, his shoulders slumped, his gaze fixed on his clasped hands. He took a deep breath, and began to speak, his voice quiet, hesitant. "The maze… it was… well, it was terrifying."
McGonagall, her tone sharp. "Harry, did you encounter any of the other champions? Mr. Krum, Miss Delacour?"
"No" Harry said, shaking his head. "I didn't see them. I heard someone scream once, but… I didn't know who it was. I just… kept going."
"And the Cup, Harry?" Dumbledore prompted, his voice gentle but probing. "Tell us about the Cup."
Harry hesitated, a flicker of fear crossing his face. He swallowed hard, then continued, his voice barely a whisper. "I… I finally found it. It was in a clearing, glowing. I… I was so relieved. I thought… I thought I could finally go home."
He paused, his gaze darting around the room, as if seeking reassurance, his eyes lingering on Dumbledore for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away.
"But then…" he continued, his voice trembling, "Just as I was about to touch the Cup, Vincent… he appeared out of nowhere. And he… he touched it too, at the same time."
A collective gasp rippled through the room.
Harry proceeded to tell them what had happened at the graveyard, the ritual, wormtail taking his blood and Voldemort coming back.
"Voldemort… He… He taunted me" Harry continued, his voice shaking. "He… he said he knew all about me, about my parents, about… that night. He… he said he could touch me now, that my mother's protection… it was gone."
Harry nodded. "He challenged me to a duel, he used the killing curse and I defended myself with the expelliarmus and our spells clashed… and then… there was this… this blinding light. This… explosion." He shuddered, his voice barely a whisper. "It knocked both of us off our feet… And when I could see again… Vincent was there. Standing in front of Voldemort. And then…"
Harry's voice trailed off, his gaze darting around the room, a haunted look in his eyes.
"What happened, Harry?" McGonagall urged, her voice gentle.
"They… they vanished, Headmaster," Harry whispered. "Vincent grabbed Voldemort's arm… and they were just… gone."
"That's when they apparated here" Flitwick squeaked, his voice high with disbelief.
Harry nodded. "But… but that's not all. After they were gone… I looked around, and… and the Death Eaters… they were… they were all dead." His voice cracked. "They were… terrible. Burnt… mangled… I… I've never seen anything like it."
Hagrid let out a strangled sob, burying his face in his hands. A wave of horror washed over the room, the adults exchanging uneasy glances.
"Death eaters you say, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry nodded, his gaze fixed on his clasped hands. "Yes, Voldemort summoned them using wormtail's mark, I recognized Lucius Malfoy among them."
"I see," Dumbledore said, his gaze thoughtful.
Fudge recoiled at hearing Malfoy's name, Malfoy had a lot of people in his pocket with him gone the power vacuum would be immense.
"But then… How did you get back, Harry?" Professor Sprout asked, her voice filled with concern.
"The Cup, Professor, It had been knocked away by the blas but after a while I managed to find it" Harry said, his voice gaining a bit of its strength. "I touched it… and I was back here."
He paused, his gaze finally meeting Dumbledore's, his green eyes filled with a mix of confusion and accusation. "Vincent… he planned this, Headmaster. He knew about the portkey, about the graveyard, about Voldemort. He used me, Professor. He used me to get to Voldemort."
Anger, raw and bitter, flared in his voice. "He could have taken the Cup himself. He could have won. But he waited. He wanted me to be there. He knew that voldemort would need me to come back, and he let it happen", he ranted, "he needed there so voldemort could come back and he could kill him", he said as if he was finally realizing that.
The silence that followed Harry's account was thick with a mix of horror and disbelief. Hagrid was the first to break it, his voice booming with a fury that shook the very foundations of the office.
"That… that bloody… How could he?!" Hagrid roared, his face red with anger, his massive fists clenched. "Puttin' Harry in danger like that! Usin' him as bait! It's… It's monstrous!"
McGonagall, her face pale, her lips pressed into a thin line, nodded sharply. "Hagrid is right, Albus. How can someone so young be so… ruthless? So uncaring about taking lives"
She shuddered, her gaze fixed on the space where Harry sat, his shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast. "He's just a boy, Albus! How… how is that even possible?"
Snape remained silent, his black eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the window. His lips were pressed into a thin line, a mask of carefully controlled fury that hinted at a storm brewing beneath the surface.
Fudge, however, seemed less concerned with the ethical implications of Vincent's actions and more preoccupied with the political fallout. "Those Death Eaters… Lucius Malfoy… This is… this is a catastrophe! The Wizengamot will be in an uproar. How am I supposed to explain this? How am I supposed to…"
His voice trailed off, his gaze darting around the room, landing on Dumbledore, a flicker of something that might have been malicious glee in his watery blue eyes. "This… this could be quite… damaging… to your reputation, Albus. A student of yours, killing… It doesn't exactly inspire confidence in your leadership, does it?"
Amelia Bones fixed Fudge with a steely glare. "Cornelius, with all due respect, this is not the time for political posturing. Voldemort is dead. That's what matters. And Vincent Van Doren, however… unconventional… his methods may have been is the one who achieved that."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the faces of the assembled adults. "His actions were reprehensible, disturbing… But you can't deny what he accomplished . He rid the world of a terrible evil."
Her words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the complex reality they were facing. The room fell silent once more, each person wrestling with their own conflicting emotions.
Dumbledore, who'd been listening intently, raised a hand, silencing the murmurs that had begun to stir.
"Before we accuse Mr. Van Doren of anything," he said, his voice calm but firm, "we must also hear his side of the story."
He turned to Snape. "Severus, where is Vincent now?"
Snape, his gaze still fixed on the window, replied, his voice a low drawl. "I allowed him to return to his dormitory, He said he needed to… clean himself up."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Severus, I need you to bring Mr. Van Doren to my office. Immediately."
Snape inclined his head, "Very well, Headmaster."
He turned and strode out of the office, his black robes billowing behind him like a storm cloud.
Dumbledore watched him go, his gaze thoughtful, his expression unreadable. The office fell silent once more, the weight of the unanswered questions, the unspoken fears, pressing down on those assembled.
(Vincent's POV)
The silence of the dormitory pressed in on Vincent, a stark contrast to the roaring cheers that had echoed through the stadium just hours ago. He'd left the pitch, the weight of a thousand stares burning into his back, Voldemort's lifeless form.
Dumbledore had been quick to dismiss the students, a flicker of concern in those usually twinkling blue eyes. A necessary precaution, Vincent knew. The Ministry would be swarming soon enough, eager to dissect the events of the night, to assess the damage, to contain the fallout. And Vincent? He was the wildcard, the anomaly, the boy who'd shattered their carefully constructed world with a single, brutal act.
He'd caught Daphne's gaze as he'd made his way towards the Slytherin dungeons, her blue eyes wide with a mix of awe and… something else… a flicker of fear, perhaps? Blaise and Theodore had intercepted him at the common room entrance, their faces a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He'd waved them off, promising explanations later. Right now, he needed time to think, to rest a little, to strategize, to prepare for the inevitable confrontation.
A hot shower helped wash away the grime of the maze and the lingering scent of gunpowder. He dressed carefully, choosing a black t-shirt, faded black jeans, and a pair of boots.
He sat on the edge of his bed, the silence of the dormitory pressing in on him once more. How long before Dumbledore summoned him? Minutes? Hours? He couldn't afford to be caught off guard. He had a plan, a narrative, a carefully constructed truth that would satisfy their curiosity but keep his true intentions shrouded in shadow.
He'd seen Harry Potter's eyes as he'd stumbled out of the maze,Potter knew.
But Vincent was ready. He'd anticipated this moment, had already crafted a story that would deflect their accusations, appease their anxieties. A story that played on their expectations, their fears, their desperate need for a hero.
He went to his bedside table and opened his backpack. He pulled out a book, its cover worn, its pages filled with faded ink and a single, gaping hole where a basilisk fang had pierced in the middle. Tom Riddle's diary.
And then, a knock on the door. Sharp. Insistent. He knew who it was. Showtime.
He crossed the room, his footsteps echoing in the silence, and opened the door. Snape stood there, his black robes billowing around him like a storm cloud, his face a mask of impassiveness that did little to hide the flicker of curiosity in his dark eyes.
"The Headmaster requests your presence, Mr. Van Doren," Snape said, his voice a low drawl. "Immediately."
Vincent nodded, a carefully constructed mask of calm settling over his features.
"Lead the way, Professor," he said, stepping out of the dormitory, the diary tucked discreetly beneath his shirt.
(General POV)
The tension in Dumbledore's office was palpable as Vincent entered, flanked by Snape. Harry watched him with a mixture of apprehension and resentment, while the adults exchanged uneasy glances.
"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Van Doren," Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm. "We have some… questions… about the events that transpired this evening."
Vincent, however, didn't wait for the questions to begin. He met Dumbledore's gaze, his blue eyes steady, he needed to steer this "Interrogation" into a position that would benefit him, so he had to take the lead.
"Headmaster," he began, his voice low but clear, "I'm afraid there's been a… misunderstanding."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Fudge shifted uncomfortably in his chair. McGonagall's brow furrowed.
"Voldemort isn't dead," Vincent continued.
A collective gasp rippled through the room. Hagrid let out a startled grunt, his massive frame trembling. Sprout's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief. Even Snape, his usual composure seemingly impenetrable, stiffened, a flicker of surprise betraying his carefully cultivated mask of indifference.
"What… what do you mean, Mr. Van Doren?" Dumbledore asked, his voice a low rumble, his blue eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "We all saw… We witnessed…"
"What you witnessed, Headmaster, was… a necessary deception," Vincent interrupted, his voice unwavering. "A calculated risk."
"A distraction?" McGonagall echoed, her voice sharp with disbelief. "What are you talking about, boy?"
Vincent ignored her, his gaze fixed on Dumbledore. "Do any of you know what a Horcrux is?" he asked, his voice low, laced with a chilling intensity.
Silence. A heavy, bewildered silence that seemed to amplify the weight of the unspoken question hanging in the air.
"A Horcrux, Mr. Van Doren?" Dumbledore said, his voice a soft but insistent probe. "What does that have to do with… with what happened tonight?"
Vincent reached beneath his shirt, his fingers brushing against the worn leather cover of the diary. He pulled it out, holding it aloft for all to see. The book, with its faded ink and its single, gaping hole.
"This," Vincent said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper, "is a Horcrux. A vessel containing a fragment of Voldemort's soul."
He let the words hang in the air, their impact resonating through the stunned silence. Fudge's face was drained of all color. Amelia Bones leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the diary, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Where… where did you get that?" McGonagall stammered, her voice a mix of fear and disbelief.
"From Ginny Weasley," Vincent replied, his gaze steady. "I was walking through the castle and I… sensed… a dark presence within the book that she was holding." He paused, allowing a touch of dramatic flair to embellish his carefully constructed lie. "Through… careful experimentation… I discovered its true nature. It's a diary, Headmaster. But not an ordinary diary. It… responds… to what is written within its pages."
"Responds?" Snape echoed, his voice sharp with skepticism. "What do you mean, responds?"
"It… communicates, Professor, Probably to manipulate whoever is holding it if that person doesn't have a strong mind" Vincent said, meeting Snape's gaze with a chilling calmness. "It… revealed… secrets. And through… certain magical techniques… I was able to pierce through the diary's barriers, to delve into its depths, to discover its… true owner."
"It belonged to Tom Riddle," Vincent continued, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Or as he preferred to be known in his later years… Lord Voldemort."
"It appears that Riddle was so afraid of dying that he decided that it would be a great idea to split his soul into at least 6 pieces and place them at objects, the diary was really full of information you see, I was able to extract a lot if."
He paused, as no one said anything he continued, looks like they're buying.
"Riddle placed his broken soul in several different objects and even living beings. After extracting the details from the diary, I was able to know what these objects are, and at least one of them was here at hogwarts."
Dumbledore face changes into shock, But vincent continues
"There were six of them, This diary, Rowena's Ravenclaw Diadem, Hufflepuff's cup, The gaunt family ring, Nagini and Salazar slytherin locket."
"It showed me fragments of Riddle's memories, his twisted desires, his plans for revenge."
"Memories?" Professor Sprout asked, her voice a breathless whisper. "But how is that…"
"Dark magic, Professor," Vincent said, his voice taking on a chilling edge. "There are forces in this world that we… barely understand. This diary… it's a window into the darkest corners of Voldemort's mind."
"The diary spoke of a plan, Headmaster," Vincent continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "A ritual. A way for Voldemort to regain a physical form. It even… hinted… at a location, a graveyard, where the ritual would take place.", Vincent lied.
"I… I had to stop him, Headmaster, benign a muggleborn myself. I could not let him return" Vincent continued, his voice taking on a desperate edge, his gaze now fixed on Dumbledore, pleading for understanding or pretending too. "I had to find a way to… to neutralize the threat. That's why… That's why I Entered the Tournament. That's why I went to the graveyard, That's why I used you Harry."
"I found some Horcruxes. The ones I could reach. I… I destroyed them."
A wave of awe, mingled with fear, washed over the faces of the adults. Fudge looked as though he might faint dead away. Hagrid stared at Vincent with wide, disbelieving eyes. Even Snape seemed momentarily speechless, his usual mask of disdain replaced by a flicker of something akin to… respect?
"Destroyed them?" Professor Sprout echoed, her voice barely a whisper. "But how…? What…"
Dumbledore, however, remained calm, a mixture of curiosity and… suspicion. He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Vincent, his voice gentle but firm.
"Vincent, my boy," he said, "Why didn't you come to me? Why didn't you share this information, these… visions, with me or with any of your professors?"
Vincent looked down at the diary in his hands, his expression a carefully crafted mask of somber contemplation. He took a slow, deliberate breath.
"Headmaster" he began, his voice low, hesitant, as if choosing his words with great care, "I couldn't be certain who to trust, Headmaster. The diary hinted at a deep network of Voldemort's followers, even within the Ministry. I feared that revealing this information prematurely would have alerted them, giving them a chance to thwart my plans."
"My only advantage against voldemort was that he did not know that I was aware of his plans, I had to catch him off guard while he least expected it, telling you and you telling others could've his minions at the ministry."
The silence in Dumbledore's office was thick with a potent blend of awe and apprehension. Vincent's words had struck a chord, a disquieting resonance with the ghosts of their past failures.
Vincent let the silence hang in the air for a bit, allowing his narrative to take root in their minds. Then, he continued.
"My plan worked, Headmaster," he said, his voice laced with a quiet confidence. "Voldemort is dead. Or at least, his latest physical form is gone. But his soul… it's fractured, clinging to those objects, those Horcruxes. As long as they exist, he can return."
"But now… now we have a chance to destroy him forever. To eradicate his presence from this world. To ensure that he can never again terrorize our world."
"I've already destroyed three of them, Headmaster," Vincent continued, his voice calm, matter-of-fact. "The diary, of course. Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem and the Gaunt family ring. "
Vincent ignored their reactions, his gaze shifting to Amelia Bones. "Madam Bones," he said, his voice taking on a businesslike tone, "The next Horcruxes… it's Helga Hufflepuff's cup. It's in a vault at Gringotts, the one belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange. You'll need goblin cooperation to access it, of course. And to destroy it… fiendfyre should do the trick. Or… If you can get your hands on a basilisk fang, that would be even more effective, and Slytherin's locket that's on the Black family home."
He paused, his gaze unwavering, his voice laced with a chilling certainty.
"As for the snake… Nagini… You'll have to question Barty Crouch Junior"
"Kill the snake, Madam Bones," he said, his voice cold, devoid of emotion. "Destroy the cup and the locket. with that Voldemort will be gone. Forever."
The tension in the room is almost unbearable. Vincent has just dropped a series of bombshells, revealing his knowledge of the Horcruxes, their locations, and their means of destruction. He's essentially handed them a roadmap to defeating Voldemort.
Dumbledore, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the window, let out a long, weary sigh. "That, Mr. Van Doren," he said, his voice heavy with a mixture of astonishment and apprehension, "is a great deal to take in."
Amelia Bones, however, seemed less overwhelmed and more... intrigued. She leaned forward, her gaze sharp and unwavering as she fixed Vincent with a stare that could have melted dragon scales.
"Mr. Van Doren," she said, her voice brisk, businesslike, "While I find your methods... unconventional, to say the least, I cannot deny the value of the information you've provided. We will look into these matters with the utmost urgency." Her gaze flickered towards Fudge, who seemed to have shrunk in his chair, his face ashen. "Rest assured, Minister, the Ministry will take all necessary steps to ensure the safety of the wizarding world."
Dumbledore, his gaze now returning to Vincent, nodded slowly. "Indeed, Amelia. We must proceed with caution, but also with determination. The threat is not yet over, Voldemort still has followers around" He turned to Harry, his green eyes still wide with a mix of fear and resentment. "Harry, my boy, why don't you go back to your dormitory and get some rest. You've had a… trying… evening, And please what you heard here keep it to yourself at least for now."
Harry hesitated for a moment, his gaze darting between Dumbledore and Vincent. Then, without a word, he rose from his chair and walked out of the office.
Dumbledore watched him go, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. Then, he turned back to Vincent, his expression now unreadable.
"Mr. Van Doren," he said, his voice gentle but firm, "You are dismissed. We will speak again soon. I suggest you get some rest as well."
Vincent nodded, a carefully crafted mask of respectful compliance settling over his features. He turned and left the office, leaving the adults to grapple with the ramifications of his revelations.
As he walked down the corridor, a surge of triumph coursed through him.
(General POV)
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, the weight of the evening pressing down on him like an invisible shroud.
He turned his gaze to the remaining occupants of the room. Hagrid his face buried in his hands. Professor Sprout, her brow furrowed with worry, patted his arm gently, her lips moving in a silent murmur of comfort. Fudge, his face still pale, seemed to have shrunk in on himself, the bravado that usually clung to him like a second skin replaced by a palpable aura of fear.
"Well," Amelia Bones said, her voice brisk, businesslike, cutting through the tense silence, "It seems we have our work cut out for us." Her gaze swept over the faces of the adults. "Mr. Van Doren's revelations… They're… unsettling, to say the least. But we cannot ignore them. We have a duty to act, to ensure the safety of the wizarding world."
"Indeed, Amelia," Dumbledore said, his voice weary. "But this is a matter of… delicate complexity. We must proceed with caution, with discretion. We cannot afford to make any… missteps."
"Those Horcruxes… they must be destroyed, Albus," McGonagall said, her voice a mix of apprehension and a grim determination. "But how… how do we even begin to…"
"We have Mr. Van Doren's… guidance," Flitwick said, his voice a hesitant chirp.
"Guidance?" Snape spat, a venomous edge creeping into his voice. "The boy's a liar, Albus! A manipulator! He's spun a tale designed to… to…"
"To what, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.
"He's trying to control us, Albus," Snape hissed, his black eyes narrowed. "He's using our fear, our guilt, to manipulate us into doing his bidding. Don't you see?"
"Severus, I assure you, I am not easily manipulated," Dumbledore said. "But I believe Mr. Van Doren is telling the truth. At least, a version of it."
He paused, "We will discuss this further tomorrow, when we've all had time to process… everything. Cornelius, Amelia, thank you for joining us this evening. I believe it's time for you both to return to the Ministry. You have much to consider."
Fudge, visibly relieved to escape the tense atmosphere of Dumbledore's office, practically leaped from his chair. "Yes, Albus, of course," he stammered, his voice a touch too high-pitched. "We'll… we'll convene a meeting of the Wizengamot immediately. We must address this… situation… with the utmost urgency."
He hurried out of the office, Amelia Bones following close behind, her expression a mix of determination and a lingering unease.
Hadrig, Sprout, Flitwick and Snape left the office, leaving Dumbledore alone with McGonagall.
She sat opposite him, her expression a mix of concern and a deep, unspoken sorrow.
"Albus," she said, her voice quiet but firm, "That boy… Vincent… He's dangerous. Powerful. And… and I'm not sure… I'm not sure I trust him."
(General POV)
Harry paced the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls. Anger, hot and raw, surged through him, making his hands clenched into fists. He'd waited for Vincent, his patience wearing thin with every passing minute. He had to confront him, had to let him know exactly how he felt.
He heard footsteps approaching, a measured, almost arrogant stride that sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through him. Vincent rounded the corner, his expression carefully neutral, his blue eyes betraying nothing of the turmoil that had just unfolded in Dumbledore's office.
"Potter," Vincent said, his voice cool, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Don't play games, Van Doren," Harry spat, his voice laced with venom. "I know what you did."
Vincent's eyebrows rose slightly, feigning surprise. "Do you, now?"
"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Harry growled, stepping closer, his green eyes blazing with anger. "I heard what you said in Dumbledore's office. You knew about the ritual, about the graveyard. You used me. You used me as bait to get to Voldemort."
A flicker of something that might have been... respect?... crossed Vincent's face. "You're smarter than they give you credit for, Potter," he said, his voice still calm, almost patronizing.
"Smart enough to know you manipulated me!" Harry shot back, his voice shaking with fury. "You let me go through that… that hell… just so you could have your little showdown with Voldemort!"
"It wasn't a 'showdown,' Potter," Vincent said, his voice hardening, his gaze unwavering. "It was a necessity."
"A necessity?" Harry scoffed, his anger bubbling over. "To sacrifice me? To let Voldemort torture me, use my blood to come back to life? That was your idea of 'necessary?'"
Vincent's expression remained impassive. "Voldemort was going to return, Potter, he needed your blood and that ritual gave me the opportunity to end him, and you're forgetting that I Literally saved your life, or do you think you could've won that duel?."
"You could have told someone!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking with a mixture of anger and hurt. "You could have warned Dumbledore! You could have…"
"And what, Potter? It's DONE" Vincent interrupted, his voice laced with a chilling certainty.
"So you decided to play God?" Harry spat, his anger flaring again. "To decide who lives and who dies? To take matters into your own hands?"
"Someone had to, Potter," Vincent said, his gaze cold, unwavering. "Someone had to make the hard choices. Someone had to do what was necessary." He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. "And I did it. I killed him, Potter. I killed Voldemort. While you were cowering in fear, I faced him down. I ended him."
Harry stared at him, his green eyes wide with a mixture of fear, anger, and a grudging… respect? He knew, deep down, that Vincent was right. Voldemort was dead. The threat was over. But the cost… the manipulation… the cold, calculated brutality… it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"You…you're a fucking bastard, Van Doren," Harry said, his voice trembling.
Vincent's lips curled into a slow, predatory smile. "Perhaps," he said, his voice a soft, dangerous whisper.
He turned and walked away, leaving Harry standing there, alone in the dimly lit corridor, the weight of Vincent's words, the truth of his actions, pressing down on him like an invisible shroud.
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