firecracker ???

It was late.

The castle was quiet.

The kind of quiet that only came before endings.

Harry didn't knock.

The door to the Headmaster's office opened before he could raise his hand.

Snape was waiting for him.

No dramatics. No clipped sarcasm. Just Severus Snape in his black robes, standing beside the desk, looking like he'd waited for this moment his whole life.

He probably had.

"Sit," Snape said.

Harry did.

There was a long pause.

Snape poured a glass of firewhisky—only one—and held it out.

Harry raised a brow.

"You'll want it," Snape said quietly.

Harry took it but didn't drink it.

The silence stretched.

And then, like something loosening behind his eyes, Snape said, "You already know, don't you?"

Harry didn't flinch. "I suspected."

Snape gave a dry, weary laugh. Not cruel. Not sharp. Just tired. "Of course you did. You're your mother's son."

Harry looked up.

"She would've figured it out years ago," Snape muttered, mostly to himself. "Bright. Clever. Too clever."

He said it with affection this time.

And for once, Harry didn't argue.

"She always looked at people," Snape said, "like she was trying to see the real version of them. She did it with me. With Black. Even with James."

He paused.

Then added, with a strange flicker of softness, "Lyra does the same. Especially with you."

Harry's throat tightened.

He didn't speak.

So Snape did.

"You are the final Horcrux," he said plainly. "A fragment of Voldemort's soul lives in you. It has been so since you were a child. Since the night your mother died."

Harry nodded once. "The dreams. The diary. Nagini."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because Dumbledore wouldn't let me," Snape said. "Because he wanted you to live first. He wanted you to fall in love. Be Head Boy. Win a Quidditch match. Kiss a girl in public. Laugh like your father. Argue like your mother. He wanted you to live, Harry."

Harry stared at the fire, tears burning his eyes.

"And now?"

"Now it's time."

There was a silence.

But not a painful one.

Just weight.

Harry let it settle.

Then said, "It's not even a question, is it?"

"I'll do it," Harry said. Quiet. Calm. "Not because of prophecy. Not because I'm 'the Chosen One.' But because..."

He trailed off.

Snape didn't push.

"For Lyra," Harry said softly. "For Draco. For Sirius. For the Weasleys. For all of them."

Snape looked away.

His jaw was tight.

But when he looked back, his voice was soft.

"You really are better than you should be."

Harry smiled faintly. "And you're not as cruel as you pretend."

Snape huffed.

Then, gently: "I always loved your mother."

Harry nodded.

"I know."

Snape exhaled. "She would've hated me for this."

"No," Harry said. "She would've understood."

Another long silence.

Then Snape stood and turned toward the window.

"You have time," he said.

"How much?"

"Not much."

Harry stood too.

He didn't feel angry. Or lost. Or even afraid.

He just felt... ready.

"Thank you," he said.

Snape looked over. "For what?"

"For being honest."

Snape didn't smile.

But his voice, for once, was kind.

"I'm sorry it had to be you."

"This was the golden year," Harry said quietly. "And all good things come to an end."

Snape turned back toward the fire, the flickering light casting deep shadows across his face.

"When the time comes," he said, voice low, "you won't have to go to him."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We're dismantling the anti-Apparition wards around Hogwarts. Quietly. Bit by bit."

Harry blinked. "Why?"

Snape looked at him. "So he can come to you."

Harry's breath caught.

Snape's tone sharpened—measured, but unflinching. "Voldemort has tied a taboo to his name. You've been saying it freely for months now, shouting it like a dare. You don't realize what that means."

Harry swallowed. "It summons him."

"Yes," Snape said simply. "Or alerts his forces. But once the final wards fall, once the castle is open... that name will bring him here. Straight to you."

Harry didn't flinch. "So I summon him."

Snape nodded. "When you're ready. Time is in your hands. When you have decided."

Harry looked down at his hands. Snape would've laughed if it weren't for the situation.

"And when it is," Snape added, voice quieter now, "we'll hold the line. Regulus. Lucius. Sirius. Lupin. Dumbledore. Myself. The Professors. We'll keep the others safe as long as we can."

Harry raised his eyes again. "They don't know yet."

"No," Snape said. "They still believe in the golden year."

Harry was silent for a long time.

Then, steady as a heartbeat, "Let them."

Snape didn't smile.

But he nodded.

Once. Quietly. With something close to respect.

Harry stepped into the corridor, heart steady, mind quiet.

He walked past portraits. Past tapestries. Past a suit of armor that once shouted at him in first year.

And as he made his way back through the castle he had loved all his life, Harry Potter thought only one thing:

I'm sorry, Lyra.

I broke my promise.