Discimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Hellsing

  A streak of early morning light slipped through the tall windows of Hellsing Manor, illuminating the polished corridors and stirring faint motes of dust in the stillness. After the tense events of the previous night, a quiet hush now clung to the estate, as though every surface and hallway held its breath, waiting for the day's revetions. In her private study, Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing sat at her desk, dressed in a crisp suit, her gloved fingers steepled under her chin. She had spent most of the night in thought, repying her encounter with "Marvolo Slytherin," the self-possessed wizard who had arrived unbidden at the manor's gates. The more she considered his words, the more she sensed that he was not a mere traveler seeking sanctuary. There was a presence about him, a reservoir of knowledge and something deeper that resonated like an echo of countless secrets. Now, in the pale light of dawn, Integra intended to cim those secrets for herself and her household.

  A faint distortion in the corner of the study announced Alucard's arrival. The vampire emerged from a swirl of shadows, the tails of his crimson coat settling around his tall frame. He said nothing at first, simply observing Integra's posture. She lifted her gaze, meeting his orange-tinted gsses with steady eyes, and he inclined his head in quiet acknowledgment. He had already offered his opinions about Marvolo the night before, but in the hush of this morning, he reiterated his suspicion. There was something ancient and knowing lurking behind that wizard's polite facade, and Alucard found himself both intrigued and wary. His exact words, uttered in a low murmur, were: "There's a weight to him, Master. Not just magical power—history."

  Integra did not disagree. She rose from her chair, crossing to a window that overlooked the dew-glistened wns. Last night's confrontation at the gate pyed through her mind again. She had seen how Marvolo carried himself, how his dark eyes watched everything, missing no detail. She had caught the mild formalities in his speech, the hints of a once-aristocratic bearing woven into each gesture. What unsettled her most was how quickly he had discerned that Harry was the heart of this household. He had come seeking the boy. Yet so far, he had shown no overt hostility, even surrendering his wand without a fight. Integra had to decide whether to treat him as a guest or a prisoner. Still, a new day brought resolution: she needed the full truth, no half-measures. If Marvolo expected hospitality or even tolerance, he would have to expin himself—completely.

  She turned from the window, her gaze sweeping over Alucard's tall form. "Walter," she said briskly, knowing the butler was likely already within earshot. The door to her study opened on cue, and Walter stepped inside. "Fetch Mr. Slytherin," Integra instructed. "Bring him here under armed escort, but do not harm him unless he attempts something foolish." Walter nodded respectfully, departing at once. Alucard melted back into the dim corner, satisfied that his master's approach mirrored his own instincts: caution, readiness, and the expectation of a frank confrontation.

  The minutes ticked by. Integra resumed her seat, pcing her sidearm in easy reach atop the desk. She was never one to rely solely on Alucard's protection if matters came to violence. That said, a part of her strongly doubted Marvolo would provoke such a confrontation. His arrival, and the manner of it, spoke of a man who valued negotiation over an open fight. Perhaps that was a sign of hidden cunning, or perhaps it indicated a genuine desire for peace. Either way, Integra intended to find out.

  Outside, the day brightened. In a smaller reading room adjacent to the study, Harry Potter sat perched on a cushioned chair, absentmindedly thumbing through a book on wizarding history that Integra had gifted him on his ninth birthday. He was reading about the Founders of Hogwarts, about Sazar Slytherin's rumored legacies, but his mind refused to settle on the words. His thoughts churned with confusion and curiosity about the man who had appeared st night—Marvolo. There was something vaguely familiar about that name, and although Harry couldn't pce it precisely, the voice in his mind, the voice he called "Marvolo," seemed to respond with a hush of anticipation. Over the st two years, that voice had become an occasional mentor, a source of strange knowledge. Now the physical presence of a man sharing the same name felt surreal, as if all the half-formed daydreams and half-whispered lessons were converging at once.

  A subtle sound made him look up. Walter stood in the doorway, bowing slightly. "Sir Integra wishes you to join her in the study, Master Harry," the butler said softly. His expression was calm, but Harry sensed the current of tension beneath the surface. The boy nodded, setting aside the book and following Walter down the corridor. Each step he took felt heavier, as though he were approaching a crossroads of destiny.

  They arrived to find Integra seated, Alucard leaning against one of the towering mahogany bookcases, and between them stood Marvolo. The wizard was fnked by two armed men from Hellsing's security detail, each holding an automatic rifle at the ready. Harry hesitated in the threshold, meeting Marvolo's gaze. In those dark eyes, he saw something like relief, as though the man had waited for this moment. When Harry sat beside Integra, he felt the comforting presence of her hand settling near his own. Even that small gesture felt protective.

  Alucard watched the exchange from under the brim of his hat, arms folded, saying nothing. He was content to let Integra take the lead, though he remained poised to strike if necessary. The silence stretched a beat longer. Then Integra's voice, cool and sharp, broke it. "Mr. Slytherin," she said, letting each sylble ring with authority, "I intend to ask questions. You will answer honestly. If you lie, or evade, or try to manipute us, I will know. You cimed st night that you wished to protect Harry from Dumbledore. Now, I want the entire truth of who you are, why you came, and what you intend. Is that clear?"

  Marvolo stood perfectly still, hands resting at his sides in a posture of surrender. He inclined his head. "Completely clear, Sir Integra."

  Integra gestured for the guards to stand back slightly. They obeyed, though they kept their weapons close. She then nodded toward Alucard, who tilted his head in silent acknowledgment, as though to confirm that he was ready. Harry watched them all, heart hammering. A feeling of strange inevitability bloomed inside him, as though everything that followed was predestined. He swallowed, steeling himself for the revetions that he suspected were about to unfold.

  Marvolo cleared his throat gently. "There is much to tell," he began, voice calm, resonant with a surprising warmth. "And I do not doubt that some of it will be difficult to hear. Still, I give you my word that what I share now is the unvarnished truth. If you find it difficult to believe, you are free to question me. I will not hide any longer."

  He paused, drawing a breath as though gathering courage. When he spoke again, the measured courtesy had a solemn, almost regal tone. "The name you know me by—Marvolo Slytherin—is a partial truth. My full birth name was Tom Marvolo Riddle. I was born on December 31, 1926, in a Muggle orphanage in London. My mother, a witch descended from Sazar Slytherin's line, died shortly after giving birth. My father was a Muggle, though I loathed that fact for many years. In time, after discovering my magical heritage, I crafted a persona known as Lord Voldemort."

  He paused. Integra's expression did not flicker, but she nodded for him to continue. Alucard leaned forward slightly, intrigued. Harry's eyes widened. He had heard the name "Voldemort" before in passing, whispered in fragments of wizarding history that Marvolo's mental voice had shared with him, but it had always been accompanied by dread. Now, to see the man stand before him, calmly speaking of a horrifying title, felt surreal.

  Marvolo pressed on. "To put it pinly, Lord Voldemort was the dark wizard responsible for terrorizing magical Britain from the 1960s through the 1980s. I rose to power fueled by ambition, by a vision of a separate and superior wizarding society, and by a deeply ingrained mistrust of Muggles. In part, that mistrust began during the Blitz in World War II, when I was still a child living in an orphanage. I witnessed the bombs falling over London, saw the devastation wrought by Muggle warfare, and believed that wizards must remain apart, safe from such brutality. Over time, my obsession with power eclipsed whatever good intentions I once had."

  He looked toward Harry then, searching the boy's expression for a reaction. Harry, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions, only nodded for Marvolo to go on. It was startling to think that the soft-spoken "Marvolo" in his head was the same figure who once terrorized an entire society.

  Marvolo shifted his stance, inhaling slowly as though steeling himself against old regrets. "The name Voldemort was, in many ways, a reflection of my arrogance, a means to distance myself from my Muggle lineage. I cimed the mantle of a dark lord, gathered followers known as Death Eaters, and championed pureblood supremacy. Yet at the root, it was about ensuring that I would never be helpless again, as I'd once felt during my childhood. Over time, that motivation twisted into cruelty and tyranny. I was, by all accounts, a tyrant who inflicted unspeakable harm on wizarding families. Many died, including innocents caught in the crossfire."

  He paused, eyes drifting to the rug beneath his feet. "Still, for all my sins, I was not the only maniputor at py. Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, was adept at guiding events from behind the scenes. He had once seen in me a potential weapon against Gellert Grindelwald, another dark wizard, or so I believe. But I broke free of his oversight and pursued my own path. That set the stage for the tragedy that unfolded."

  Harry listened, hardly breathing. He could feel Integra's hand tighten on his shoulder, anchoring him. Alucard's stare bored into Marvolo like a hawk analyzing prey. The silence in the study felt almost alive with tension.

  Marvolo closed his eyes briefly, then lifted them again. "Eventually, at Godric's Hollow, I came face to face with a prophecy—a prophecy that cimed a child born at the end of July would have the power to vanquish me. I believed this prophecy implicitly, because Dumbledore all but ensured I would. I learned of it from an informant who overheard its partial recitation, and in my arrogance, I targeted the Potters—Lily and James, who had a baby born on July 31, 1980. I went there, intending to kill the child, thus preventing him from ever rising against me. That child was Harry."

  His words hung in the air. Harry's breath caught in his throat. He had known, abstractly, that his parents were killed by a dark wizard, that he was somehow involved in a prophecy. But hearing Marvolo confess to it directly was a blow. For a moment, Harry's vision blurred with unshed tears. Still, he forced himself to listen, gripping the armrest with white-knuckled intensity.

  Marvolo's voice trembled slightly. "I killed James first, then confronted Lily, who tried to protect her son. My curse struck her down. In the next instant, I cast the Killing Curse at Harry, expecting to end his life. But the curse rebounded. I have since come to believe that Dumbledore maniputed events so that Lily's sacrifice would amplify an ancient protective magic. The curse struck me instead, tearing my spirit from my body. Harry survived, marked with that lightning-bolt scar, and I was reduced to a wraith."

  He swallowed, meeting Harry's eyes directly. "I do not say this to absolve myself of guilt. I murdered your parents, Harry. That is my crime, and I cannot undo it. I only hope you will understand that I, too, was a pawn—driven by my own hatred, yes, but also by Dumbledore's orchestrations. That prophecy, I now realize, was crafted or staged by him to lure me into attacking your family."

  The weight of that revetion pressed down on everyone in the room. Integra's composure remained ironcd, though a flicker of pity for both Harry and Marvolo moved across her features. Alucard's expression was inscrutable, but the set of his jaw suggested tension. Harry felt tears slip down his cheeks. He had always wanted to know more about that night, to understand how his parents died, yet hearing the words from the very man who had done it was almost too much to bear. However, he also sensed the raw remorse in Marvolo's voice. It perplexed him. Could the same wizard who once relished terror now stand here speaking with regret?

  Marvolo cleared his throat, pressing on, voice thick with old anguish. "That night caused me to lose everything. My body was destroyed, my followers scattered, and Dumbledore positioned himself as the wise guardian of wizarding Britain. Meanwhile, Harry was hailed as 'The Boy Who Lived.' But behind the scenes, Dumbledore pced him with neglectful Muggle retives to ensure the boy remained broken, subservient, ready to die at the appointed time to destroy me fully. Or so the Headmaster believed."

  He looked to Integra, acknowledging her unwavering gre. "When I was torn from my body, I clung to existence as a disembodied spirit. It was only ter that I discovered a horrifying truth: I had created multiple Horcruxes—vile anchors made by splitting my soul through murder. One of those anchors lodged itself in Harry, making him an unintended Horcrux. That link forged a subtle connection between us, allowing me to occasionally speak to him, or sense his presence, even as I drifted in the shadows."

  Harry felt a chill rush through him, recalling those strange dreams and the voice in his head that taught him about wizarding lore. All along, it had been the man who killed his parents, the same man who now stood in the flesh. The contradiction was staggering. He looked up at Integra, whose face had grown taut with anger. Not anger directed at Marvolo alone, but at the monstrous maniputions that had shaped Harry's entire life.

  Marvolo's voice grew quieter. "I know this is difficult to hear. Yet it is also crucial you understand that Dumbledore intended for Harry to remain ignorant and pliable. The boy would grow just enough in magical skill to confront me—our Horcrux bond ensuring that when I was destroyed, Harry would also be a casualty. Dumbledore's final triumph, tying up loose ends so that no evidence of his maniputions remained."

  Integra exhaled, pcing both hands on the desk. "You cim Dumbledore wanted Harry dead, just not too soon?" Her tone was cold, but beneath it, something like fury simmered.

  Marvolo nodded. "Yes. He orchestrated events so that, at the age of seventeen, or thereabouts, Harry would willingly face me in some orchestrated duel, believing it his heroic duty to die for the greater good. That death would shatter the Horcrux, ensuring I was gone, and leaving Dumbledore with unimpeachable glory. Meanwhile, he would inherit the Potter fortune, or at least control it by legal guardianship, along with the admiration of the entire wizarding world."

  Alucard let out a slow hiss. "He sees the entire wizarding realm as his personal chessboard, with children as pawns."

  Marvolo gnced at Alucard, acknowledging the vampire's words. "Yes. He's done it before, or so I suspect. He maniputed me in my youth as well, though I turned against him before he could shape me fully. My regrets lie in not realizing how deeply he meddled from the start."

  Harry's breath came in shallow gasps. "You... you said I'm a Horcrux. That means... part of your soul is inside me?" The boy's voice shook with dread. "All this time, that was you talking to me?"

  Marvolo's expression was gentle, tinged with sorrow. "Yes, child. The piece of my soul tched onto you that night, forging a tether. When I recovered enough to sense your existence, I began to guide you, though my reasons were not entirely altruistic at first. I wanted to ensure you lived, that you grew strong enough to survive, because if you died prematurely, that Horcrux would be lost. But then..."

  He broke off, exhaling. "But then I saw the cruelty inflicted on you by the Dursleys, recognized the pain of neglect that mirrored my own youth. It awakened... something in me, a vestige of compassion I thought long dead. Over these two years, as I taught you bits of wizarding lore, I found myself caring about your well-being in a way I never expected. This is part of why I sought you out now. Not merely to ensure my own survival, but because I refuse to let you become another pawn in Dumbledore's game."

  Harry stared at him, tears still hovering in his eyes, unsure whether to feel gratitude, confusion, or anger. A swirl of emotion churned in his stomach: betrayal at how his life had been maniputed, heartbreak over his parents' deaths, and a reluctant empathy for this man who spoke of regret and shared pain. He felt Integra's touch on his shoulder again, a reassuring pressure. He was not alone now, not powerless as he might have once believed.

  Marvolo pressed forward, voice gaining a raw edge. "There is more—Dumbledore didn't just manipute your living conditions. He imposed blocks on your magic, your memory, your very identity. I sensed them when I probed our connection. Over a hundred obliviations, removing any moment where you showed self-assertion or advanced understanding, ensuring you remained docile. There are loyalty charms meant to bind you emotionally to him and his allies. And, most shockingly, a gender block. You were meant to be a girl, Harry. Dumbledore apparently decided that a female hero would not serve his narrative. He twisted your essence, using gmours and transfiguration to make you male."

  Those words fell like a hammer blow. Harry trembled, mind reeling. He had never questioned his body or identity, never had reason to suspect such a massive alteration. But hearing it spelled out churned his insides with rage and fear. "Why?" he croaked, voice cracking. "Why would he do that to me?"

  Marvolo's gaze brimmed with pity. "Because he is consumed by his 'Greater Good.' He needed someone pliable, heroic in the public's eye, but also matching the wizarding world's entrenched traditions. He concluded that a boy hero would be more accepted, easier to manipute. And so he took away your truth, your choice, your identity."

  Integra made a strangled noise in her throat, rising abruptly from her chair. Her eyes, usually icy calm, now bzed with righteous fury. She pressed one hand against Harry's back as if to steady him, and with the other, she reached across the desk to grip Marvolo's arm. The wizard did not flinch, though the armed guards tensed reflexively.

  When Integra spoke, her voice was low but seething. "He altered a child's very nature to fit his narrative." She turned to Alucard, who gave a curt nod of understanding. Then she pulled Harry closer, wrapping her other arm around the boy. It was a rare gesture for her, a sign of raw emotion that made Alucard's eyes widen fractionally. "This is monstrous," she whispered. "No child under my roof will be shaped by anyone's maniputive desires. We will undo what has been done, if that is your wish, Harry. And Dumbledore will answer for his crimes."

  Harry leaned into her side, tears spilling. He had never felt such a maelstrom of emotions, but beneath it all was a gratitude so profound he could scarcely put it into words. Integra's promise sounded absolute, more solid than any vow he had ever heard. He nodded shakily, breathing in her steady presence.

  Alucard shifted from the bookcase, coming forward so that his imposing figure loomed over Marvolo. The vampire's crimson eyes burned with a lethal intensity that few could endure. "If you speak the truth," he said softly, "then you have been both monster and victim. You murdered Harry's parents, yet you also suffered under Dumbledore's maniputions. That is... complicated." He paused, a slight curve twisting his lips into a dangerous smile. "I do not care for complications. But Hellsing is about more than my preferences. We protect innocents from nightmares. This child is one of ours now. If you try to harm him—or lead him astray—we will destroy you. Understood?"

  Marvolo held Alucard's gaze, a fsh of ancient power flickering in his own eyes. Yet he did not rise to the provocation. Instead, he inclined his head, acknowledging the terms. "I have no intention of harming Harry. I am here to protect him from the same maniputive cycle that once ensnared me. If that means submitting to your scrutiny, so be it."

  Integra exhaled, releasing Marvolo's arm but keeping a supportive hold on Harry. She asked softly, "What do you propose now? We know about the Horcrux, about the blocks on Harry, and about Dumbledore's vile schemes. Where does that leave us?"

  Marvolo straightened, his expression resolute. "First, to remove or alter the blocks, we need specialized knowledge. I have studied enough to attempt undoing them, but it will require caution. The gender block alone is a complex web of transformative magic. The memory modifications and loyalty charms will also need delicate unraveling, or risk damaging Harry's mind further. I would prefer to consult with whoever in Hellsing has expertise in advanced arcane matters. Possibly, we can integrate wards to preserve Harry's psyche as we lift the constraints. It will not be quick or painless, but it must be done if he is to live freely."

  Harry swallowed hard, a surge of hope mingling with fear. "Will I... have to become a girl?" he asked in a trembling voice. The idea frightened him. Despite everything, he had lived nine years as a boy, and the prospect of changing felt overwhelming. Yet he also sensed that living a lie was equally daunting.

  Marvolo's tone was gentle. "That choice is yours. The magic Dumbledore used forcibly locked you in one form, but we can remove that lock. You may decide to remain as you are, or to embrace the physical truth you were meant to have. We can even proceed gradually if you wish. The key is that it becomes your choice, not someone else's."

  Harry nodded slowly, heart pounding. Integra caught his eye, offering silent solidarity. It moved him to realize that, for the first time, he had a say in his own life. Even in this byrinth of revetions, that sense of agency mattered. He brushed away tears, mustering a small nod of determination.

  Integra resumed her seat behind the desk, though she kept Harry's hand in hers. She faced Marvolo squarely. "We can discuss the specifics of removing these blocks in due time. What about the Horcrux? If part of your soul is lodged within Harry, doesn't that endanger him?"

  Marvolo's expression darkened. "In theory, a Horcrux is dangerous. It can exert influence, corrupt the host. However, our connection has been tempered by my regrets and by Harry's innate goodness. It has not festered into a malignant presence, as Horcruxes often do. Still, it must eventually be separated if Harry is to be free of the prophecy's shadow. Doing so, though, is complex and potentially fatal if mishandled. Typically, to destroy a Horcrux, one must use destructive magic that can kill the host if it's a living being. I believe there may be another way—perhaps a ritual to reabsorb that soul fragment into me, or a cleansing that severs it peacefully—but the details are not well-documented. Historically, Horcrux creation is considered the bckest of arts."

  Alucard gave a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. "So you dabble in the bckest arts, yet you now cim to seek redemption of a sort."

  Marvolo's gaze flicked to the vampire. "Redemption might be too strong a word. I seek to ensure that neither Harry nor I remain pawns of a maniputive old man. Whatever else happens, I refuse to follow the path I once took. If that leads to a measure of redemption, so be it."

  Integra cut in, her voice steely. "We don't require contrition from you, only honesty and a commitment not to repeat your past horrors. As long as you stand with us in protecting Harry from Dumbledore's maniputions, you will have our grudging acceptance. That is the extent of our goodwill. Betray that trust, and no amount of regret will save you."

  Marvolo nodded solemnly, understanding that this was as much acceptance as he could hope for. "I agree to those terms."

  A pause settled. Harry looked at Marvolo with a turbulence of feelings: the sorrow of knowing this man had killed his parents, the unexpected gratitude for how he had protected Harry in small ways over the st two years, and an odd empathy for a childhood marred by fear and manipution. Slowly, Harry stood, walking across the short distance until he stood just a foot away from Marvolo. The guards tensed, but Integra waved them off.

  Harry's voice quavered. "You... you hurt me more than anyone else ever has by taking my parents. But I also see how Dumbledore hurt both of us. I don't know what to feel. Part of me hates you, part of me wants to thank you for not letting me die, and part of me is just... so confused."

  Marvolo's eyes shone with a mixture of remorse and a trace of fondness. "You have every right to feel that way. I will not ask for your forgiveness. Only that you allow me to help you free yourself from the shackles Dumbledore pced upon you. And if, in time, you find it in your heart to see me as more than a monster... that will be your choice alone."

  For a moment, Harry hesitated, then gave a single, shaky nod. He returned to Integra's side, swallowing tears. Integra brushed a reassuring hand over his hair. She felt an urge to comfort him, to shield him from this entire grim reality, but she knew Harry needed the truth to move forward. Deception had ruled his life for too long.

  Alucard, stepping forward, broke the heavy silence with a quiet observation. "You mentioned the Blitz," he said to Marvolo. "You survived that chaos as a child. It shaped you, yes?"

  Marvolo nodded. "I was about fourteen when the worst of the bombings reached us. Old enough to remember the sirens, the terror, the rubble. Magic had only begun to flourish in me, but I was trapped in a Muggle orphanage. I couldn't protect anyone, not even myself. Those nights in the air-raid shelters... they left scars."

  Alucard's eyes glowed red with a flicker of understanding. "War," he said quietly. "I have seen more than I care to remember. Men can be beasts, wizard or Muggle. Perhaps we have that in common."

  Marvolo inclined his head in acknowledgment. It was a small moment of kinship between two beings who had roamed the dark corners of conflict, albeit in different ages. Integra watched with a measured gaze, then stood up fully, drawing the meeting to a more formal close.

  "All right," she said decisively. "We know enough to act. Marvolo, you will remain within these walls as our guest—under guard, yes, but I will not keep you in a cell. You will assist us in undoing the spells on Harry. You will help us prepare for the inevitable csh with Dumbledore. If you prove yourself, we may consider deeper trust. Are we agreed?"

  Marvolo bowed slightly. "We are."

  She turned to the guards. "Escort Mr. Slytherin back to his quarters. He is free to move about certain areas of the manor under supervision, but ensure he is never without watch. Dismissed."

  They saluted. Marvolo gave Harry one st, lingering look, then allowed himself to be led away. The tension in the room did not abate so much as shift, as though the air itself recognized a fragile truce had been struck. When Marvolo was gone, Integra sank back into her chair with a slow exhale, pressing a palm to her forehead.

  Harry, trembling, found himself overwhelmed. He rose abruptly, muttering, "I need some air." Integra gave him a nod of permission, and Alucard stepped aside, letting the boy slip out. Walter hovered near the door, ready to follow if needed, but Harry waved him off, insisting he just needed a moment to breathe. The corridor felt too narrow; he made for the manor's side entrance, pushing through into the garden. Overhead, the sun was rising, bathing the hedge maze and manicured wns in gold. Yet the beauty felt distant. Harry's mind reeled with the truths that had just been id bare.

  He wandered aimlessly among the flower beds, eventually stopping before a stone bench near a low fountain. Sitting down, he stared at the rippling water. His parents, murdered by a wizard who now stood a few corridors away, ciming to want to protect him. Dumbledore, the venerable Headmaster of Hogwarts, revealed as a master maniputor who had stolen Harry's very identity. A piece of that murderer's soul lodged in Harry's scar. It was too much to process. The sting of betrayal wove itself around his grief. He pressed his palm against his temple, feeling the faint throb of the scar beneath his hair.

  Minutes passed. Footsteps crunched on gravel behind him, and he gnced over his shoulder. Integra approached, her stride measured, her hair gleaming in the sunlight. She took a seat beside him. They said nothing for a time, letting the fountain's gentle murmur fill the silence. Then Integra spoke, voice subdued yet resolute.

  "I'm sorry you had to learn everything in one tidal wave," she said, gaze fixed on the water. "I would have spared you the worst details if I could. But ignorance is a shield that can shatter at the worst possible moment. Better you face the truth with eyes open, and with people who care about you to guide you through it."

  Harry nodded, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. He whispered, "I don't know what to do with it all, Mother. I hate that he killed my parents. I hate that Dumbledore changed me. I'm scared about the Horcrux, about... everything." His voice trailed off, trembling.

  Integra reached around him, pulling him gently against her side. The contact was firm, protective. "You don't have to figure it out all at once," she said, her tone uncharacteristically tender. "We'll take it step by step. As for Marvolo—he may have the knowledge we need to break Dumbledore's spells. And if he truly regrets what he did, then perhaps we can find a way for him to atone. Ultimately, the decisions are yours to make. About your body, your identity, your magic. I will stand by you. So will Alucard. You are not alone."

  Harry buried his face against her shoulder, letting the tears flow. For all the fear and anger swirling in him, there was also a fierce sense of relief. He belonged here, with Integra and Alucard. That sense of safety did not erase his pain, but it fortified him. He thought of Dumbledore's pn to sacrifice him. It incensed him. He would not meekly walk into any scripted destiny, not now that he had a real family. That knowledge fanned the embers of a new determination in his heart, though the road ahead looked daunting.

  They remained like that for a while longer, until Harry's tears subsided. Then Integra ruffled his hair gently. "Come," she said, voice firming with authority. "We have work to do. If Marvolo is correct, we'll need to prepare to face the wizarding world on our terms, not Dumbledore's."

  Harry sniffled, nodding. "Yes, Mother."

  They rose from the bench, walking back into the manor. As they passed through the corridors, staff bowed in respect. Word had spread quickly that the new guest was no ordinary wizard. Under Integra's direction, the household had begun heightening wards, reinforcing security. Alucard was nowhere to be seen, but that meant little—he tended to appear and vanish at will. Harry felt comforted by the knowledge that the vampire's watchful eyes were never far.

  In the days that followed, Marvolo kept his promise of cooperation. Under supervision, he pored over ancient tomes in the library and cross-referenced them with knowledge gleaned from his own memory. He shared an initial pn for carefully dissolving the lesser blocks on Harry's magic. The complexities of the gender block would require a separate approach, perhaps a specialized ritual only performed with the synergy of multiple wards. Integra involved her staff who specialized in arcane defenses, forming a discreet circle of knowledge around Harry's plight. Alucard, for his part, occasionally hovered over these sessions with a sardonic smirk, as though intrigued by the wizard's schorship.

  During this time, Harry found himself wrestling with waves of emotion. Some nights, he dreamt of his parents' final moments, reliving them with more crity than ever before. In those dreams, the figure of Marvolo, or "Voldemort," loomed, wreathed in greenish light. Yet when Harry awoke, he remembered the remorse in Marvolo's modern expression, how the man now seemed weighed down by the ghosts of his past. On other nights, Harry dreamed of Dumbledore's face, benignly smiling, while behind him a byrinth of puppet strings ensnared Harry's arms and legs. He would wake gasping, only to find the steady hush of his room in the manor. Before long, these turbulent dreams fueled his resolve to recim his life, to become strong enough that no one could ever manipute him again.

  Marvolo, in his allocated quarters, lived under watch but found a strange measure of peace. It was surreal, being in a stately manor under the protection of people he would once have dismissed as "mere Muggles." Yet these so-called Muggles possessed an organization and discipline that rivaled any wizarding group he had encountered. The irony was not lost on him that he, once dedicated to wizard supremacy, now relied on an elite Muggle family for sanctuary. Perhaps that was part of his slow penance.

  When Integra allowed short, supervised conversations between Harry and Marvolo, the boy's initial wariness gradually gave way to cautious curiosity. He asked direct questions about his parents, about the wizarding world, about how magic functioned. Marvolo answered with candor, never shying from the ugliness of his own role. The honesty, paradoxically, earned him more trust than any soothing half-lies would have. Over time, their dialogues grew more comfortable, though the shadow of Lily and James's murders still hovered. Harry could not forgive that, not yet—perhaps never fully—but he found a flicker of compassion for the broken man who had walked a path shaped by fear and cunning.

  Meanwhile, Alucard observed all from the periphery, stifling the occasional urge to tease Marvolo for his contrition. He sensed a profound shift in the manor's dynamic. Harry was no longer just a child in their care; he was a vortex around which ancient secrets and conflicts now revolved. At times, Alucard teased Harry about "collecting monstrous guardians," referencing himself and Marvolo. Harry only smiled ruefully, not entirely disagreeing.

  As the days bled into weeks, the hush of pnning deepened. Integra convened private councils with Marvolo, Alucard, and the handful of staff proficient in magical theory. They mapped out steps to begin unraveling the first set of memory modifications on Harry. The boy would be shielded by wards anchored by Alucard's presence, while Marvolo carefully dismantled the magical tampering. The process required patience, as each unraveling risked mental shock. Harry steeled himself for the ordeal, clinging to the knowledge that beyond this pain y truth and freedom.

  In the te hours, when the manor's corridors turned silent, Marvolo often found himself reflecting on his childhood during the Blitz. He remembered crouching in bomb shelters as sirens wailed overhead, gazing at the terrified faces of other orphans. Now, decades ter, he was helping another orphan, ironically unmaking the cruelty inflicted by a revered wizard. History did not repeat so much as echo: a young Tom Riddle had once believed that acquiring power was the only way to never be that helpless again. Now, an older, wiser Tom Riddle—calling himself Marvolo—realized that sometimes power needed to be shared to protect what mattered. Perhaps that was the ultimate lesson he had refused to learn all those years ago.

  When the time came for the first partial unlocking of Harry's memories, the entire household was on edge. Under the watchful eye of Integra, Alucard, and a circle of wards, Marvolo stood before Harry, wand in hand. The boy trembled, not from fear of Marvolo, but from anticipation of what might surface in his mind. Slowly, the wizard chanted a soft litany of unbinding incantations. Ribbons of faint light shimmered around Harry's head. For a moment, his expression contorted in pain. Then came a flood of recollections: shards of the Dursleys' abuse that had been hidden, moments where he had shown surprising sparks of magic or intelligence, promptly suppressed by a wave of Obliviation. Harry gasped, tears streaking his face. Integra knelt beside him, arms wrapped around his trembling form.

  Marvolo ended the spell, sweat beading his forehead. The wards crackled softly. Alucard, who had been poised to intervene if anything went wrong, rexed minutely. Walter stood at the edge of the room, hand near a tray of potions, ready to administer them if Harry showed signs of distress. For a long minute, nobody spoke. Then Harry exhaled, burying his face in Integra's shoulder. "I... remember," he managed in a shaky voice. "I remember them locking me in the cupboard for days. I remember... me, trying to stand up for myself once, and then everything going bnk. They must have... used that memory charm."

  Integra's hold tightened protectively. She gred over Harry's head at Marvolo. But the gre was not entirely directed at him. "Are you satisfied with the result?" she asked. "Have we removed all that we intended?"

  Marvolo nodded wearily. "It's a start. Just the first yer. The real test will be unraveling the loyalty charms and the deeper illusions that tie him to Dumbledore's emotional constructs. We should proceed in stages, allowing him to recover between each."

  Harry breathed raggedly, clinging to Integra's sleeve. He felt a swirl of sorrow at the recalled miseries, but also a wave of relief, as though a part of himself had been returned. Through blurred vision, he saw Alucard's concerned gaze flick to him, then away. The vampire, never one to show overt softness, settled for a curt nod. "He's strong," Alucard murmured. "He'll endure."

  During the next few days, Harry's nightmares became more vivid, reflecting the newly unveiled memories. But he also found a renewed sense of autonomy, slowly shedding the insidious weight of enchantments that told him he was worthless, or that he owed blind loyalty to figures he hardly knew. At times, he seethed with anger at Dumbledore, and at times, he struggled with a complicated swirl of empathy for Marvolo. The older wizard had once been the ultimate vilin in Harry's mind, yet now was painstakingly helping him recim his autonomy.

  In conversations with Integra, Harry voiced his confusion about the gender block. She reassured him that no immediate decision was necessary. "We can remove it fully when you're ready," she told him gently, "and only once we've mitigated any possible harm. This is about giving you the choice."

  Late one night, unable to sleep, Harry wandered the manor's halls and found Marvolo in the library, perched at a desk with volumes of old magical lore stacked around him. The older wizard looked up, surprise flickering across his features. "Should you be roaming around alone?" he asked quietly, though with no real reproach.

  Harry approached, pushing aside a knot of anxiety. "I can't sleep. Mind if I... sit with you?"

  Marvolo exhaled softly. "Of course." He gestured to a chair, and Harry took a seat across from him, eyeing the open text that dispyed runes describing soul magic. For a moment, neither spoke, letting the silence stretch. Then Harry asked in a small voice, "Did you ever have anyone who tried to help you, back then? Before you became... this?"

  Marvolo rested his elbows on the desk, fingers steepled. "Not really. Dumbledore might cim he tried, but his help was always maniputive. He taught me enough to pique my ambitions, then withheld real guidance. I was left to fend for myself in a world that mistrusted me, and I mistrusted them. By the time I realized I was a pawn, I was too far into darkness to care."

  Harry nodded, gaze drifting to the candlelight dancing on the desk. "I don't want to be that. I don't want to become twisted like that. But I also don't want to be used. Is it possible to be strong without being cruel?"

  Marvolo's eyes flickered with a mournful warmth. "Yes. I believe it is. I just never chose that path, and I paid the price. You have a different chance, thanks to Integra, Alucard, and your own spirit. You can be strong, keep your compassion, and refuse to let others dictate your fate."

  Harry swallowed, feeling the sting of tears. In that moment, the hatred he might have felt for this man mingled with empathy, forming a cautious bond. He murmured a quick "thank you" and rose to leave. At the door, he paused, looking back. "Good night, Marvolo." The wizard bowed his head in silent acknowledgment, and Harry slipped out, returning to his room, where, for once, he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

  Days turned into a week, and by the end of that period, Marvolo had assisted in dismantling several more minor curses on Harry's mind, leaving the major loyalty charms and the gender block for a more carefully prepared ritual. Each success further cemented a grudging trust between him and the Hellsing household. Integra observed every procedure closely, verifying that no harm came to Harry. Alucard remained as a silent, looming guardian. When, after the third procedure, Harry emerged with more crity and no sign of mental scarring, Integra commended Marvolo's skill. "You've done well," she told him, though her tone remained measured. "Perhaps you truly have changed."

  Marvolo's response was a quiet, "I can only atone through actions, not words." In his quarters, he reflected that he had rarely felt satisfaction in helping another, but now it provided a kind of soce he had never expected.

  Meanwhile, tension simmered on another front. Word reached Integra through her contacts that the wizarding world was restless. Dumbledore had been escating efforts to locate Harry, probing Muggle agencies, even discreetly searching orphanages and schools. The wards of Hellsing Manor kept Harry concealed, but the Headmaster's frustration grew daily. Occasionally, Integra would read a new intelligence report, lips thinning at the old wizard's cunning. She dreaded the day he might discover the truth. Yet she also found herself quietly craving that confrontation, determined to y bare his misdeeds.

  One evening, Integra summoned Marvolo to her study again. Harry was present, along with Alucard and a few trusted staff. The tension in the air was still palpable, though not as fraught with suspicion as before. Integra looked up from a parchment and fixed Marvolo with a level stare. "We have intelligence that Dumbledore is intensifying his search," she said. "He might soon attempt more drastic measures, possibly infiltration or direct confrontation. If that happens, I want to be ready. You know how he thinks. Where do you stand?"

  Marvolo did not hesitate. "I stand with you, in defense of Harry and the truth. Dumbledore has wrought enough harm. If he comes, I will not yield. I have no illusions, though. He wields considerable influence and the Elder Wand—an artifact that grants him powerful advantages. We must prepare carefully."

  Alucard gave a low chuckle, revealing a glint of fang. "Let him come. The might of Hellsing is not trifling. Vampires, advanced weaponry, wards, and a cunning wizard or two should suffice. We'll greet him with a thorough demonstration of what Muggles—and certain old creatures—can do."

  Harry, standing near Integra, frowned at the talk of battle. "I don't want a war," he said quietly. "But I'm not going back to him. Ever."

  Integra turned to him, voice gentle. "We'll do all we can to avoid a full-scale conflict. But Dumbledore's maniputions run deep. If he forces our hand, we will ensure you remain free. That is my promise." She looked at Marvolo. "And yours?"

  Marvolo inclined his head. "Yes. That is my promise."

  In that moment, a fragile alliance solidified. The one-time Dark Lord and the famed Hellsing Organization found themselves bound by a mutual desire to thwart a maniputor. It was an alliance that would have seemed impossible a year ago, but each had walked unexpected paths to arrive here. Harry stood at the center, the child once earmarked to be a sacrificial hero, now forging his own destiny with the help of guardians he never dreamed existed.

  When Marvolo returned to his quarters that evening, he paused to gnce at his reflection in a mirror. The face that stared back was younger than the soul behind it, sustained by dark magic to mimic the visage he once possessed in his early thirties. He thought of how far he had come from the days of calling himself "Lord Voldemort," cd in robes of midnight bck, unleashing terror with a flick of his wand. Now, he wore a borrowed shirt and trousers from the Hellsing stores, living among Muggles he had once despised. Yet in the quiet of his borrowed room, he felt a flicker of peace. Strange, how life could twist the grandest illusions into something wholly new.

  Meanwhile, Harry wandered the manor's corridors before bed, still feeling the remnants of the day's discussions swirling in his mind. He passed a window that looked out over the moonlit gardens. The reflection caught his eye—the reflection of a boy with messy bck hair and a lightning scar half-concealed by unruly locks. Was that boy truly meant to be a girl? The question roiled in him, but for the moment, he shelved it. There would be time for that reckoning once the rest of Dumbledore's tampering was undone.

  At length, he returned to his bedroom, pcing the ceremonial dagger Alucard had gifted him on the bedside table. Its polished sheath caught the moonlight. Harry traced a finger along the hilt, recalling his vow never to let himself be used as a pawn again. The road ahead promised danger—Marvolo's revetions had only scratched the surface of what might be required to recim his identity and confront the wizarding world's lies. Yet a sense of hope flickered within him now. He was not alone. He had Integra's iron will, Alucard's fierce protection, Walter's gentle support, and even the complicated guidance of Marvolo himself. Together, perhaps they could unravel the byrinth of spells and illusions, ensuring Harry walked freely in whatever form he chose.

  With that comforting thought, he climbed under the covers, letting exhaustion pull him into a heavy sleep. In a distant part of the manor, Integra and Alucard conferred quietly about wards, strategies, and possible alliances with certain wizarding dissidents who might join their cause. Marvolo, alone in his room, gazed at a candle's fme, contempting both redemption and the unstoppable momentum of destiny. And so Chapter Six closed on a hush of newfound resolve, the lines of loyalty newly forged, secrets id bare, and the battered hearts of two orphans—Harry and Marvolo—finding a fragile kinship against a common foe.

  They would move forward, no longer bound by illusions. The face of their true enemy loomed in the form of Albus Dumbledore, revered leader of the wizarding world, who believed himself just and righteous. But the Hellsing household knew otherwise, and they stood poised to shatter his carefully curated facade. As the manor's lights dimmed one by one, a sense of focused calm spread through its corridors, heralding a coming storm whose csh would echo far beyond these walls.

  AN:

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