A gentle breeze swept across the emerald green lawn, carrying the golden warmth of the afternoon sun. Tiny magical creatures lounged lazily in the grass, basking in the tranquil atmosphere. It was a picture of serenity—until something extraordinary shattered the calm.
A vibrant halo of light materialized on the lawn, swirling with an ethereal glow.
The Door of Dreams.
Within moments, the glowing ring of light stretched and expanded into an open doorway, revealing what appeared to be a bedroom on the other side.
"I've found a quieter place, more fitting for a resurrection ceremony," Lockhart announced softly, stepping through without hesitation.
Snape followed immediately, his pace eager and determined.
One by one, Sirius, McGonagall, Remy, and the others crossed into the shimmering portal. Harry hesitated, staring at the dream door with a strange sense of familiarity. Something about it called to him, whispering through his very magic.
He reached out, his fingers brushing the threshold. Instantly, the magic within him stirred—power surged through his veins, and a flood of images overwhelmed his mind.
Towering castles.
Shadowed forests.
Vast, endless oceans.
Desolate valleys etched deep into the earth.
It felt as though an entire world had opened itself to him. But before he could grasp its meaning, the connection was abruptly severed, and the visions disappeared.
Harry exhaled sharply, blinking away the lingering confusion. A subtle sense of loss gnawed at him, but he shook it off and stepped forward, passing through the dream door.
On the other side, an elaborate marble platform stood atop the lawn, pristine and gleaming under the golden sunlight.
At some point, a ceremonial structure had risen—its white marble shimmering in the light.
Lockhart ascended the platform first, his expression unreadable. Snape and the others followed closely, forming a loose circle around its edges.
The wind shifted, and the golden rays of the sun bathed them all in a warm glow.
Lockhart's eyes swept over the gathering, pausing briefly on Harry and Snape before he continued. Raising his wand, he traced a delicate rune in the air.
Boom!
The sky above them transformed.
The soft blue expanse darkened, melting into a deep, shifting twilight. The air pulsed with magic, thick and brimming with the power of dreams.
In an instant, the scene around them changed. The platform vanished, replaced by the facade of an old, familiar house.
Everyone stood before it, their faces reflecting a mixture of emotions—shock, recognition, disbelief, and sorrow.
Sirius let out a strangled sound, his hands covering his face as his shoulders trembled.
This house—
It was the house of secrecy.
James and Lily Potter's home.
The place where everything began.
The night everything changed.
McGonagall stared at the building, her sharp eyes searching for inconsistencies, for any sign that this was merely an illusion. True time travel was impossible. She knew that. She was certain.
So this had to be a construct—some kind of hyper-realistic fantasy, a dream given form.
Snape stood frozen, unable to take even a single step forward. The sight of this house, this moment in time, pierced something deep within him. This was where his worst nightmare had taken root. The wound that never healed.
Buzz!
Darkness rippled through the dreamscape. A faint golden glow flickered, standing defiantly against the encroaching gloom.
But the other wizards nearby seemed oblivious to the ominous shift in energy.
Then—
A black mist swirled, and a figure appeared.
Peter Pettigrew.
He stood at the forefront, his rat-like face twisted into an unsettling mix of triumph and nervous anticipation. Behind him, cloaked in shadow, loomed a dozen Death Eaters.
Pettigrew bowed his head low, his voice reverent as he spoke to the figure at the front.
"Master, the child of prophecy is inside," he whispered.
"The Order of the Phoenix is absent. There's no one here to protect them."
At that moment, Voldemort stepped into the light.
His skin was pale, but he still retained his human form. He regarded Pettigrew with mild amusement, accepting the slip of parchment handed to him. As his eyes scanned the contents, a satisfied smirk curled across his lips.
The secret had been revealed.
Dumbledore's meticulous planning, the Order's hidden sanctuary, the prophecy itself—
All laid bare.
And he was going to destroy it all.
Tread. Tread. Tread.
Voldemort's footsteps echoed as he approached the door.
With a flick of his hand, the wooden door creaked open.
The Death Eaters followed in silence, slipping inside one by one.
McGonagall, Snape, Sirius, and the others instinctively moved as well, drawn deeper into the illusion—or perhaps into something far more real than any of them dared admit.
Then—
Crack!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The sounds of shattering spells, desperate shouts of defiance, and splintering furniture erupted within the house. Chaos unfolded.
Snape clenched his eyes shut, his breath ragged. He knew what came next.
Sirius gritted his teeth, his hands trembling as he pushed forward, unable to resist the pull of the inevitable.
The scene shifted once more.
Voldemort stood in the bedroom.
James Potter lay lifeless on the floor, his wand just out of reach from his outstretched hand.
Lily was cornered, her back pressed against the wall, tears streaming down her face.
In the cradle, baby Harry wailed, his tiny hands reaching out helplessly.
Voldemort raised his wand, his voice cold and final.
"Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green light.
And then—a stillness.
"James! James!"
Lily's scream pierced the silence, raw and filled with unbearable grief.
Voldemort barely spared her a glance, irritated by the noise. But he had made a promise—to his loyal servant—that she would be spared.
Still, the child had to die.
He turned his attention to the crying infant.
Harry, now standing in the shadows of the dream, watched himself as a baby. His hand instinctively brushed the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
He knew what was about to happen.
Voldemort's wand leveled at the cradle, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
Green light flickered at the tip—
Lily stepped forward, her face set with fierce determination. She turned to look at her child one last time, her expression soft, brimming with love.
And then—
Click!
The scene froze.
James' lifeless body.
Lily's unwavering stance.
Baby Harry's outstretched hands.
Voldemort's poised wand.
Time itself seemed to hesitate, caught between the past and the dream.
Then—
Colors bled into the darkness.
The power of dreams surged forward, painting over reality itself.
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