Hogwarts, school infirmary.
"Ugh..."
"Kill... Avada Kedavra..."
"Destroy them... plunder... make the goblins pay the price..."
Harry Potter lay on the hospital bed, his body drenched in sweat, his face twisted in pain. His fingers clutched at the sheets as if battling an unseen force, and his entire body trembled violently. He muttered incoherent words under his breath, his voice hoarse and filled with anguish.
Around him, Professor McGonagall, Snape, Sirius, and the other professors stood in tense silence. Their expressions ranged from deep worry to barely concealed dread. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows across their solemn faces, mirroring the weight of the moment.
Sirius paced restlessly near the bed, his gaze darting to Harry and then back to Madam Pomfrey, who was conducting a series of diagnostic spells over the boy's trembling form. His voice broke the oppressive silence, thick with barely restrained panic.
"Madam Pomfrey, what is happening to my Harry?" he demanded. "He's my godson—whatever it takes, we must save him!"
The urgency in his voice made McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout turn their focus toward the matron. Worry, unease, and helplessness flickered in their eyes, reflecting the fear gripping the room. This was not the first time they had witnessed such an episode.
They had seen Harry awaken in the dead of night, gasping for breath, tormented by nightmares so vivid that they left lingering shadows in his waking mind. Last time, those visions heralded a horror that shook the wizarding world—the Dark Lord's resurrection. And now, as history threatened to repeat itself, the professors could not ignore the chilling possibility that worse was yet to come.
"It's the same as before," Madam Pomfrey murmured at last, her voice heavy with pity. "The root cause lies in soul resonance. This child... he is experiencing yet another dark, nightmarish connection."
She hesitated, the lines on her face deepening. Something in her expression made Sirius's anxiety spike further. He clenched his fists, his tone turning sharp.
"What aren't you telling me? What happened last time? I was in Azkaban—I wasn't here to protect him! I need to know what's happening!"
Silence followed his outburst. The weight of Voldemort's return still lingered in the air, a forbidden truth spoken only in hushed whispers. But now, the shadows had deepened. Madam Pomfrey took a measured breath and met Sirius's gaze.
"This time... it's worse."
Her words sent a chill through the room.
"Harry's soul is not just resonating with darkness—it's being tainted by it," she explained gravely. "It's as if something is poisoning him from within. His essence is being infiltrated by despair, hatred, and a level of black magic unlike anything I have ever seen. There are traces of curses, resentment... something ancient and malignant."
Her voice wavered slightly before she forced herself to continue. "Last time, Headmaster Dumbledore was able to intervene, isolating the dark influence and stabilizing Harry's soul. But now..."
She didn't need to finish. The absence of Dumbledore loomed over them like an unspoken curse. He was in America, locked in battle with the first Dark Lord, Grindelwald. He could not come to their aid.
"Then what do we do?" Sirius's voice cracked, laced with desperation. He turned to the professors, his eyes pleading. "There must be some magic—some way to help him. Please, tell me there's something! I already lost James and Lily—I can't lose Harry too."
McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout exchanged uneasy glances. If a solution existed, they would have acted already. But this was beyond even their collective expertise. The silence stretched, suffocating and unbearable.
Snape stood apart, arms folded tightly across his chest. His sharp eyes flickered with something unspoken—concern, perhaps, though it was buried beneath layers of detachment. But at the mention of Lily's name, a flicker of something else passed over his face—hope? Longing?
Sirius resumed his restless pacing before suddenly stopping in his tracks. Determination hardened his features.
"I'll go to America and bring Dumbledore back," he declared. "If he's the only one who can save Harry, then we have no choice."
McGonagall's sharp intake of breath halted him. "Sirius, you must think carefully. If Dumbledore leaves, the American wizarding world will be vulnerable. He is their strongest defense against Grindelwald."
"I don't care!" Sirius shot back. "Harry needs him now!"
McGonagall exhaled slowly, her mind working through possibilities. "Then... perhaps we should take Harry to him."
Madam Pomfrey immediately shook her head. "Absolutely not. Harry's condition is too unstable. The strain of a long-distance Apparition could exacerbate the corruption in his soul. The trauma might become irreversible."
A cold dread settled over Sirius. His hands trembled at his sides as he turned back to Harry's pale, sweat-drenched face. The boy's suffering was unbearable to watch, but what could they do?
"Soul pollution..." he whispered, the words twisting like a blade in his gut. He knew too well the dangers. Any wizard who dabbled in dark magic risked corruption. The stronger the magic, the greater the cost. It eroded sanity, consumed morality, and left its victims hollow.
Flitwick cleared his throat hesitantly. "There is... another option," he said. "We could attempt soul transformation."
The words sent an immediate shockwave through the room.
Sirius turned to Flitwick in horror. "You can't be serious! That's dangerous!"
He wasn't wrong. Soul transformation was a method dark wizards often used to counteract soul corruption. It involved strengthening or altering the soul through magic, blood rituals, or alchemical potions. It could make one more resilient to dark forces, but it came at a price. A botched transformation could do irreparable damage—or worse, cost the patient their life.
It was, in every sense, a last resort.
The tension in the room thickened. No one wanted to suggest it, yet no one could deny that their options were running out.
Sirius's jaw clenched. He had lost too much already. He would rather bear this torment himself than let Harry suffer another second. His mind raced, desperate for another way.
Then, a new voice cut through the suffocating silence.
"I think we should go find Lockhart."
...
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