"Kill!"
"Avenge your fallen comrades!"
"Rise for the goblins—kill them all!"
"..."
"Avada Kedavra!"
"..."
"M-Mom... where's Mom?"
"It's so dark... so cold... I'm scared..."
Darkness and blood intertwined, creating a nightmarish landscape where rivers of crimson flowed endlessly over pale bones. Agonized wails and desperate struggles echoed through the void, forming an unrelenting cacophony of suffering. Harry ran. He ran as fast as he could, trying to escape the carnage, to flee from the horrors surrounding him. But no matter how fast he moved, the nightmare pursued him, wrapping around him like a vice.
Each time he teetered on the edge of collapse, a faint golden light emerged from deep within his soul, gentle and warm, like a whisper of comfort amidst the chaos. It was the only thing keeping him tethered to himself, stopping him from succumbing entirely to the abyss. Without it, he feared he would become nothing more than a puppet—an extension of the darkness consuming him.
Yet, even with the light's presence, he could not escape the nightmare. The endless slaughter replayed before him, and though at first, he had recoiled in horror—empathizing with the goblins' pleas, hearing their final cries—something had begun to change.
His fear started to fade, replaced by something unfamiliar.
Indifference.
At first, he felt a dull numbness, but soon, something darker stirred within him. A twisted fascination. A creeping hunger. He was no longer repulsed by the violence. The sight of pain—of blood-streaked faces frozen in terror—filled him with something almost like satisfaction.
And then, he found himself longing for more.
The realization sent a shudder through him. Why was he merely watching? Why couldn't he join in? This was no battlefield—it was a grand banquet, a feast of destruction and power. And he wanted to take part. He wanted to feel the blood warm on his hands, to watch as his wand unleashed death upon those who dared stand before him.
He wanted—
Buzz!
The golden light flared, and warmth flooded through his soul again, pushing back the insidious darkness that had begun to take root. The black and red mist that curled around him receded, expelled by the familiar energy. Harry gasped, his mind clearing, and a fresh wave of terror washed over him.
What had he just thought?
Not only was he horrified by the nightmare surrounding him, but he was terrified of himself. Of the way he had—just for a moment—wanted to embrace the madness.
"M-Mom..." His voice broke, and he felt something hot streak down his cheek. Tears. "I miss you..."
His mind scrambled for something—anything—to hold on to. He thought of Hermione's voice chiding him with logic and reason. Ron's laughter, loud and carefree. Professor McGonagall's stern yet kind gaze. Dumbledore's wisdom, his steady presence. Hogwarts—the only place that had ever felt like home.
And then, there was Lockhart.
The professor who had always encouraged him, who had, in his own peculiar way, given him guidance.
For a moment, the warmth in his soul strengthened, anchoring him. But it was fleeting.
The magic that protected him—that his mother had left behind—was being pulled back, retreating to reinforce the barrier around the Horcrux inside him. As if sensing the greater threat, it redirected its efforts toward containment, leaving Harry vulnerable once more.
The golden glow faded, and the shadows surged forward again. The nightmare returned, and with it, the hunger.
Another cycle began.
Harry's hope withered. He could see it now—his future. The endless rotation of purification and corruption, over and over, until something within him inevitably shattered.
The darkness seeped deeper into his soul.
His once-bright green eyes dulled, tinged with black at the edges. And then—he laughed.
Low at first, then louder. A twisted, unnatural sound that echoed through the endless void.
"Hahahaha..."
"Kill... kill them all... give in to it... indulge..."
"Goblins, humans... they all deserve to die..."
"..."
Buzz!
A golden light burst forth once more, washing over his soul like cleansing rain. Droplets of light seeped into the cracks of his being, purging the festering black and red mist. The suffocating pressure lessened, and for the briefest moment, Harry felt like himself again.
"M-Mom... Dad..." His voice was raw, barely above a whisper.
He reached out, hoping—praying—for something, someone.
"Hermione... Ron..." But his calls went unanswered.
"Professor McGonagall... anyone... please... help me..."
No one responded.
Even Dumbledore—the man he had always believed to be unshakable—was nowhere to be found.
The only thing keeping him from sinking entirely into oblivion was the flickering golden magic. And within it, he saw them. A man and a woman, standing hand in hand, watching over him with warm, unwavering eyes.
His father. His mother.
He had never been more certain of anything in his life.
"Help me..." he whispered.
"Dad... Mom..."
"..."
The darkness roiled around him, pressing in from all sides. The golden light faltered once more, fading, retreating. Panic clawed at his throat. No, not again.
"Don't leave me!" He reached out desperately. "Please, don't go!"
"Mom! Dad! NO!"
His cries reverberated through the void, and something stirred.
The shadows surged forward, thick and unrelenting. The hunger returned with a vengeance, and the desire for relief—final, complete relief—overwhelmed him.
Was this all he had left?
He had lived through so much pain. The cycle never ended. Was it so wrong to want it all to stop?
Life? Death?
What did it matter?
The thoughts solidified, taking root in his soul. The temptation of silence—of oblivion—grew stronger.
His body moved on instinct, drawn toward something hidden within the void. The scenery around him shifted, darkening further, until he stood at the heart of it all.
A golden light encased a black crystal.
The crystal pulsed, radiating a malevolent mist—red and black tendrils slithering outward like creeping vines. It was the source. The Horcrux fragment buried deep within him.
Golden threads wrapped tightly around it, forming a net of protection. Yet, the mist it released was relentless, seeping past the barrier, infiltrating his soul with every passing moment. The threads trembled under the strain, their ability to contain the darkness weakening.
And Harry... he was drawn to it.
As if sensing his intent, the golden net trembled. A faint hum resonated, a plea—no, a warning.
But the corruption was too deep. The cycle had drained him too much. And he was just a child—too young, too broken—to endure it any longer.
He raised a hand, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the golden net.
The threads shuddered, emitting one final desperate buzz, as if calling out to him—to what remained of his sanity.
And then—
Buzz!
A radiant explosion of golden light erupted, spreading outward in all directions. Lily's magic—her love—reacted in force. The magic surged, intertwining, forming something new.
Two figures began to emerge from the light, becoming clearer with every heartbeat.
A man and a woman.
They held hands, standing before him.
"Harry, Harry."
"Wake up, wake up. Don't let the darkness swallow your soul."
A gentle, familiar voice echoed through the void. The moment Harry heard it, his body trembled, and the black fog clouding his eyes seemed to waver, thinning ever so slightly.
"Mom..."
His voice, barely more than a whisper, quivered with longing and an aching sadness so deep it made the air itself feel heavy. The sound carried with it a sorrow that could shatter the hardest of hearts.
However, something dark and insidious resisted.
The Horcrux fragment within him trembled violently, struggling, attempting to sever the fragile connection between Harry and the voice that called out to him. It sought to tighten its hold, to drown him in its influence once more.
The two golden figures standing before him turned toward each other, their expressions laced with worry. Their luminous forms flickered, unstable yet resolute. Then, as if coming to a mutual understanding, they nodded, determination flashing in their eyes.
Buzz!
Golden light erupted once again, but this time, the delicate golden threads that held the dark power at bay began to collapse. Wisps of radiant mist wove themselves around the black crystal that pulsed at the heart of the Horcrux fragment. The surrounding darkness recoiled, forced back by the purifying light.
In mere moments, the black and red mist dissipated, replaced by a soft, golden glow that shimmered with soul-deep warmth.
But the cost was high.
The two figures—James and Lily Potter—began to fade. Their luminous forms grew thinner, their hands clutching each other tightly as they turned toward the black crystal. Every step they took toward the Horcrux fragment made them more transparent, more ephemeral. And yet, their gazes never left Harry.
They watched him with infinite love, as if trying to etch his image into their very souls one final time.
The Horcrux, sensing imminent destruction, writhed and thrashed violently, but it was too late.
"No—please, no!"
Harry's voice broke as he ran forward, desperation gripping his chest like an iron vice.
His parents had saved him. Their sacrifice had restored his mind, pulling him back from the brink. But he understood what was happening now.
They were using the last remnants of their existence to buy him more time.
Terror and anguish filled his every step as he sprinted toward them, his hands reaching, his heart screaming. But no matter how hard he ran, the distance between them only stretched further. He watched helplessly as his parents grew more translucent, their figures flickering like dying candle flames.
"No! Mom! Dad! Please!"
Harry's voice cracked, his breath coming in ragged sobs.
He had been granted a miracle—to see his parents, to hear them, to feel their presence. And now, he was losing them all over again.
His legs burned as he pushed himself harder, but no matter how fast he ran, no matter how desperately he reached for them, they continued forward, toward the dark fragment that had tainted his soul.
Golden runes spiraled into existence around them, each glowing with a brilliance that filled the void. They pulsed with warm, radiant energy, coalescing into an intricate barrier of light. It was as if the magic itself were singing, offering one final farewell.
James and Lily stood before the Horcrux fragment.
For a moment, they were still.
Then, James turned to glance back at Harry. His expression was filled with pride, sorrow, and an overwhelming love that needed no words.
Lily's emerald eyes shone with unshed tears as she gazed at her son. The pain in her expression was undeniable, but beneath it, there was something else—an unshakable determination.
They had always known this moment would come.
Buzz!
Lily squeezed James's hand and, together, they reached out toward the Horcrux fragment.
Buzz!
A flood of golden light burst forth, colliding with the fragment's black-red energy. The clash was violent—dark energy surged wildly, resisting with all its might. But the magic of love was relentless. It burned through the corruption, unraveling the foul power woven into the Horcrux.
Their forms began to disintegrate, dissolving into golden embers.
Harry ran, his heart hammering, knowing—knowing this was the last time he would ever see them.
The golden flames intensified, consuming everything—the Horcrux, the black mist, the lingering traces of Voldemort's soul. It was an inferno of purity, eradicating every last remnant of darkness.
James and Lily stood at its center, their eyes locked onto their son.
Then, just as the last of their forms began to fade—
A voice rang out.
"Hey, Lily. It doesn't matter if James's dead, but you can't just disappear like that."
The sound was low, amused, but carried a weight of authority.
James and Lily's fading figures halted, their eyes widening in surprise.
A figure stepped out from the other side of the Horcrux fragment, his presence nonchalant, almost lazy, yet undeniably powerful. His sharp eyes gleamed with interest as he surveyed the scene before him.
"Lockhart," Lily breathed, stunned. "How did you—"
Her words faltered, and then her gaze sharpened. "Can you fix this? Can you save Harry?"
James, too, turned toward Lockhart, urgency flickering across his features. "What's happening outside? Where's Dumbledore?"
Lockhart let out a small sigh, his gaze shifting to the now-weakened Horcrux fragment. He studied it with keen interest, as if examining an artifact rather than a cursed shard of Voldemort's soul.
Then, almost absently, he waved a hand.
Lavender light shimmered in the air before sinking into the fragment. It pulsed once, then settled, as if recognizing the foreign magic's presence.
Lockhart smiled faintly, pleased.
"Dumbledore's gone abroad. Hogwarts' professors are useless in handling this mess. So, naturally, they called me."
His tone was casual, but his words carried weight.
James and Lily exchanged glances, understanding settling between them.
Lockhart turned his gaze fully onto them. "Long time no see, Lily."
He studied her carefully, as if assessing her condition, then added, "Your current state isn't ideal."
Lily let out a soft, bitter laugh. "We're already dead, Lockhart. There's no 'state' to discuss."
Lockhart's lips twitched. "Is that so? Because from where I'm standing, you're not quite as gone as you think."
James and Lily stiffened, their gazes snapping to him. There was something in his voice—something that hinted at a deeper meaning.
Lockhart exhaled slowly, then met Lily's eyes.
"Lily, I have a message from Snape."
Lily's breath hitched at the mention of the name.
Lockhart's next words were spoken softly, but they carried the weight of an impossible promise.
"He asked me to bring you back."
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