"Resurrection?"
McGonagall felt momentarily dazed upon hearing the word. The only resurrection she had encountered recently was that of the Dark Lord Voldemort. And now, hearing it from Harry's mouth again, she couldn't help but feel incredulous.
"Lockhart, are you certain?" Sirius exclaimed in shock. "Lily can really be resurrected?"
"When does it begin?"
"How do we do it?"
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Can James be resurrected too?"
Sirius fired off a rapid series of questions, his excitement palpable.
Beside him, Harry frowned slightly, his expression unreadable.
Sirius was his godfather, and though Harry respected him, at this moment, he found his enthusiasm somewhat overwhelming. He wanted to focus on one thing—bringing his mother back.
Lockhart, however, paid no attention to Sirius' outburst. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on Harry, his colorful eyes filled with something that resembled admiration.
Harry Potter was no longer just a boy—he was a masterpiece.
In Lockhart's eyes, the young wizard before him was nothing short of a work of art. His once pure soul had been reforged through countless cycles of corruption and purification. Through the unpredictable power of dreams, he had not only absorbed Voldemort's soul fragment but had done so in near perfection.
Coupled with Lily's magic of love and the presence of his parents' soul marks, Harry's soul had reached new heights. His magic potential had skyrocketed, particularly in the realm of dark magic, and his affinity with the dream world had grown abnormally strong.
A mere boy? No.
Harry Potter was something far more.
Lockhart's mind briefly wandered. Second only to his most talented students at Kamar-Taj, Harry had developed a unique connection to the dream world, even though he had never been granted true access to its depths.
And yet, the effects of the Horcrux were undeniable.
His emotions had become dangerously sharpened, his mind filled with experiences that were not his own. The remnants of Voldemort's knowledge, memories, and even perspectives lingered within him. The influence was evident—Harry was walking a fine line between what he had once been and what he could become.
A perfect warrior.
A perfect weapon.
Lockhart smiled faintly.
"Harry, come to Kamar-Taj."
Instead of answering Harry's initial question, Lockhart extended an invitation.
He had never actively recruited from Hogwarts before, out of respect for Dumbledore's presence. And truthfully, the students there had never piqued his interest—none had been worthy.
But the Harry before him was different.
Here was a wizard with boundless soul potential, an innate talent for magic, and a mindset already shaped beyond his years.
A perfect disciple.
Harry was silent for a moment before responding, his voice steady, almost indifferent. "Professor Lockhart, do you mean I need to join Kamar-Taj to resurrect my mother?"
"Of course not," Lockhart said, shaking his head. "The two are separate matters. No matter what, I will bring Lily back."
"Then I apologize, Professor Lockhart. But I will stay at Hogwarts," Harry replied calmly. "Hogwarts suits me better."
There was no hesitation, no second-guessing in his words.
It was a firm rejection.
If Lockhart had expected the young wizard to leap at the opportunity, he was mistaken.
McGonagall's heart swelled with pride. Yes, Harry was truly a Gryffindor! The concern that had gnawed at her vanished instantly. For a moment, she had feared that Harry, with his recent admiration for Lockhart, might choose to leave Hogwarts.
But he had not.
Harry had chosen Hogwarts and Gryffindor.
Lockhart, for the first time in a long while, looked surprised. He had not expected such a decisive refusal.
But after a brief pause, he smiled and nodded. "Alright, Harry."
His voice carried no disappointment, only amusement. "Kamar-Taj's doors will always remain open to you. I give you my word as its headmaster—this invitation stands, even after you graduate from Hogwarts."
Harry felt something cold slither down his spine.
He couldn't explain why, but something in Lockhart's words made him uneasy. The warmth in his voice didn't reassure him—it unsettled him.
It was the same unease he felt when he looked at Tom Riddle's Horcrux.
A chill that whispered of hidden intentions.
For reasons beyond his understanding, his instincts screamed to keep his distance.
"Thank you, Professor Lockhart," Harry said slowly. "I will consider it seriously."
Lockhart's smirk widened, but he said nothing more.
McGonagall, sensing a shift in the conversation, stepped forward. "Lockhart, about Lily's resurrection—are there any potential negative effects?"
As Hogwarts' deputy headmistress, she had access to the most restricted texts in the library. She knew that resurrection magic was an ancient and dangerous field.
Many spells that claimed to restore life had consequences—some drained magic, some corrupted the soul, others left the resurrected with an insatiable bloodlust.
And some… some were even worse.
Lockhart turned his gaze toward her, his expression unreadable.
"A fair question, Professor McGonagall," he admitted. "I can assure you, I wouldn't perform this if I wasn't confident in its success."
But McGonagall wasn't so easily satisfied. "Success does not mean there are no risks. What exactly are we dealing with?"
Lockhart was silent for a long moment before speaking.
"Resurrection, true resurrection, is not simply about restoring a body. It's about the soul," he explained. "Lily's soul has been preserved within the protective barrier of her love magic. This is why the process will work. But..."
He let the word hang in the air, the weight of it pressing against those listening.
"This has never been done before—not like this. The price of such a miracle has yet to be determined."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Harry clenched his fists, his determination unwavering. "I don't care about the cost. As long as my mother comes back, I will do whatever is necessary."
McGonagall sighed deeply. "Lockhart, if anything goes wrong..."
"I will take full responsibility," Lockhart assured her smoothly. "But rest easy, Minerva. This is no dark ritual, no forbidden spell. It is merely... an overdue correction."
McGonagall pursed her lips, unconvinced but out of arguments.
Sirius, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke again. "Then when do we begin?"
Lockhart smiled, his eyes gleaming.
"Soon," he promised. "Very soon."
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