"Lily, it's really you."
Before Harry could find his voice, Sirius stepped forward, his voice thick with emotion as he gazed at the familiar red-haired witch. His heart pounded with a mix of joy and guilt, and he couldn't help but take a few eager steps toward her. But then, he hesitated, his face clouding with worry and regret.
Because of him, Lily and James had died tragically. The weight of that guilt was something he had carried for years.
"Mom." Harry's voice was soft, hesitant. The word felt foreign on his tongue, yet it was a name he had long dreamed of saying.
For reasons he couldn't fully comprehend, a part of him recoiled from calling her "mom." It stirred something dark and uneasy deep within him. But beneath that discomfort, there was an undeniable yearning—a longing he could neither ignore nor understand.
The contradiction left him confused and unsettled.
"Harry!"
Lily's voice trembled with emotion at the sound of his hesitant call. Her eyes glistened with tears as she moved toward him, unable to resist the overwhelming pull of maternal love. In an instant, she had him in her arms, clutching him tightly.
"Harry, Harry, my son... I'm so sorry."
Her voice, thick with sorrow and relief, broke the barriers Harry had carefully constructed over the years. His usually indifferent expression crumbled, and his eyes reddened as suppressed emotions surged to the surface.
The memories of Voldemort's influence, the weight of pain and isolation, were momentarily drowned out by the warmth of his mother's embrace.
He hugged her back fiercely, saying nothing, simply holding on and savoring the warmth of that fleeting, fragile moment.
This was his mother—the mother who had died protecting him, the mother he had never truly known. And now, for the first time in his life, he felt what it was like to be held by her.
In that moment, Harry's most primal instincts, stirred by the sudden surge of familial love, took over. The cold detachment born from Voldemort's lingering presence within him began to dissolve, leaving behind a flicker of tenderness amidst the indifference.
Vera, observing from the side, couldn't help but notice the subtle transformation in Harry's demeanor. Her eyes brightened involuntarily.
Sirius, watching the tender reunion, quietly took a few steps back, giving mother and son the space they needed.
Lockhart, meanwhile, observed Harry with keen interest, his golden eyes gleaming with curiosity and admiration.
Harry was like a masterpiece—an unintentional miracle. The soul Lockhart had once deemed perfect had just evolved even further.
Truly, he was the child of destiny in this world.
Whether it was the love of the magical world itself or the intricate threads of fate weaving around him, there was no doubt in Lockhart's mind—Harry was becoming more and more intriguing.
For the Dream of the World, Harry was more attuned than even Wanda Maximoff had been. Especially now, in a reality seamlessly intertwined with Harry's own life, no one was more suited to wield the power of dreams than him.
Lockhart's eyes flickered toward Snape, who stood hesitating nearby. An idea surfaced. Should he extend Harry another offer, perhaps with the promise of another resurrection?
But... would that be unfair to Snape?
Snape stood stiffly, his usually composed demeanor shattered. His hands clenched at his sides, damp with sweat. He wrestled with himself, unsure of what to say.
What should his first words be?
Should he offer congratulations?
Apologize for the past?
Simply say he was sorry?
His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The complexities of his emotions were so profound that even Dumbledore might have struggled to untangle them.
He wanted to step forward, to speak to Lily, but watching the embrace between mother and son froze him in place. The weight of his own regrets and unspoken feelings anchored him where he stood.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lily lifted her head from Harry's shoulder, her teary eyes scanning the room. She found Sirius and McGonagall standing nearby, their faces filled with warmth and relief.
"Sirius, Professor McGonagall," Lily said softly, her voice still thick with emotion, "thank you for taking care of Harry for me."
She turned her gaze, her emerald eyes locking onto Snape.
"And... Snape," she added, her voice trembling slightly, "thank you."
Her words were simple, but they carried a depth of emotion that struck Snape like a blow to the chest. He felt the sting of tears prick his eyes, and he quickly turned away, wiping them hastily.
"It's nothing," he managed, his voice rough with emotion. "It's what I should've done."
At that moment, Snape looked less like the stern, calculating Potions Master and more like a vulnerable child, unsure and exposed.
Lockhart, observing the awkward tension between them, couldn't help but interject, his tone light and teasing.
"Lily," he said, flashing a mischievous grin, "you wouldn't believe the lengths Snape went to for your resurrection. He even used himself as an experimental subject. I've never seen him so dedicated."
Snape shot Lockhart a sharp glare, but the words had already broken the fragile tension in the room.
Lily's expression softened further, and she repeated, "Thank you, Snape. Truly."
She hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right words, and then added, "Thank you for looking after Harry all these years."
A strange look crossed McGonagall's face at that. She clearly remembered Snape's treatment of Harry over the years, and it hadn't exactly been nurturing. She exchanged a glance with Sirius, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Snape's face flushed with embarrassment, a flicker of guilt crossing his features as he recalled his own bitterness and hostility toward Harry at Hogwarts.
Lily noticed the odd expressions, and realization began to dawn. After all, she had been in Harry's body long enough to grasp the strained relationship between him and Snape.
But she also sensed something else—beneath Snape's cold exterior and harsh methods, there had been a protective instinct. It had been unorthodox, perhaps even cruel at times, but he had shielded Harry from the worst of Voldemort's wrath in his own way.
"This... is what I should have done," Snape stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, before falling silent.
Lockhart couldn't help but chuckle softly, rubbing his forehead in amusement.
Where was the Snape who could verbally eviscerate a unicorn with his sharp tongue? All that remained here was a man hopelessly entangled in his first love, awkward and unsure.
Remy and Vera watched the scene unfold with fascination. They had never seen the famously stern Professor Snape so completely out of his element.
Vera, ever the opportunist, subtly activated the magical recording ring in her hand, capturing the rare vulnerability in Snape's expression. This was a moment worth preserving.
Lockhart caught the movement but made no effort to stop her. After all, the Kamar-Taj secret space was enveloped in the dream world. Anything that happened here could be reproduced with perfect clarity—paused, replayed, even altered at will.
But that wasn't the most important thing right now.
"Lily," Lockhart said, his tone turning serious, "you've just been resurrected. Most of your soul is currently sustained by the power of pure dreams."
His golden eyes met hers, his voice gentle but firm.
"I don't recommend leaving Kamar-Taj in the near future. You'll need to master some degree of dream energy to stabilize your existence in reality and further strengthen your soul."
Lily's expression grew cautious at his words, but she nodded in understanding.
"Thank you, Lockhart," she said quietly. "I'll rely on your guidance for now."
Lockhart smiled, then shifted his gaze to Harry.
"Harry," he said smoothly, "would you like to stay at Kamar-Taj for a few days to spend time with your mother?"
He waved off any immediate concerns. "Don't worry about your Hogwarts courses. You can attend Kamar-Taj's classes temporarily—we'll ensure you don't fall behind."
McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly. She could hear the subtle manipulation in Lockhart's words. But as she looked between Lily and Harry, she hesitated.
Before Harry could respond, McGonagall spoke firmly.
"Indeed, you should stay," she said, her tone light but resolute. "Lily has just returned. You both deserve time together to make up for the years you've lost."
She smiled sweetly, but her eyes gleamed with determination. "And I, for one, am very curious about Kamar-Taj's teaching methods. I'll accompany you both."
She praised herself inwardly for her cleverness. If she couldn't prevent Harry from staying, she'd ensure he wasn't left entirely in Lockhart's hands.
No matter what, she wouldn't let Albus's beloved Harry be snatched away.
Lily seemed thoughtful at McGonagall's offer. Harry, on the other hand, nodded slowly, his voice soft and unsure.
"Alright," he whispered. "I'll stay for a few days, Professor."
But deep down, something twisted in his chest. A subtle instinct to run, to escape, gnawed at him—a lingering residue from Tom Riddle, whispering from the shadows of his mind.
Morning, Malfoy Manor – The Study
Unlike the adult Dark Lord Voldemort, the young Tom Riddle preferred the sun.
Standing at the edge of the study, Tom basked in the gentle warmth streaming through the tall windows, his pale face illuminated by the light. The golden rays danced across the room, casting long shadows against the dark wooden floor.
It was strange—when he had been at Hogwarts, he detested the sun. But that had changed during his imprisonment in the Horcrux.
To be precise, it had changed after Lockhart had trapped him there, conducting endless experiments in perpetual darkness. The absence of light had left him yearning for freedom, for warmth, for the sun.
But his aversion wasn't only to the darkness—it was to Lockhart himself.
Fear. Disgust. Resentment.
All of it simmered beneath his calm exterior.
"Did you feel it?"
The voice broke through the stillness of the room.
Tom's eyes remained closed as he let the sunlight caress his face, but a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He didn't need to turn around to know who had spoken.
Behind him, Voldemort lounged lazily on a velvet sofa, twirling his yew wand between his fingers, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. The question hung in the air, its weight unmistakable.
"You mean the disappearance of another Horcrux?" Tom replied, his tone light, almost indifferent.
But they both knew there was nothing casual about it.
Voldemort set the wand down, his expression darkening with a flicker of dissatisfaction. "You know what I mean." His voice was low, dangerous. "If we are to cooperate, there must be sincerity. Transparency."
Tom finally opened his eyes and turned, his sharp features reflecting the same cool composure as Voldemort's. "And how do you propose we handle this sudden... development?"
Voldemort's gaze narrowed. "Do you intend to create another Horcrux? Perhaps... another brother?"
Tom chuckled softly, stepping forward to lean against the ornate desk. "Why not?" he mused. "If we can unite, Lockhart and Dumbledore will no longer be obstacles."
A new possibility shimmered before them, tantalizing and dangerous.
"But..." Tom's expression shifted, his brow furrowing slightly. "The connection feels... weak. Intermittent. And different from our essence."
Voldemort's eyes glinted with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. "What did you find?"
Tom shook his head, a rare sign of uncertainty creeping into his voice. "I don't know."
Voldemort's fingers drummed against the armrest of the sofa, his mind racing. "I can't tell if it's true resurrection… or if the Horcrux has simply fractured."
He scoffed bitterly, his frustration palpable. "Resurrection isn't so simple. You know that better than anyone."
Tom fell silent, the weight of Voldemort's words settling over them both. He knew firsthand the price of resurrection. His freedom had been the cost.
But he had found a way.
Pushing the thoughts aside, Tom shifted the conversation. "The situation at Gringotts is nearing its climax. Although the news hasn't spread completely, there's already unrest."
A sly smile crept across his face. "I have people ready to move within two days."
Voldemort arched an eyebrow, his interest piqued.
"Durmstrang has been secured," Tom added, his voice calm and assured. "Now, it's your turn. What will you choose?"
Tom's question hung in the air, but Voldemort's mind was already made up.
"I'm going to Beauxbatons," Voldemort declared, his tone final, leaving no room for argument.
Tom inclined his head slightly, accepting the decision.
After the heist at Gringotts, resources were no longer a concern—for now. But their next steps were crucial. Voldemort needed a place where he could continue his experiments, free from prying eyes.
The UK was no longer viable. The Ministry of Magic was too entrenched, and Dumbledore's influence loomed large. Even with Grindelwald having fled to America, Europe was a dangerous yet fertile ground for their ambitions.
Voldemort's eyes gleamed with malice. He knew Grindelwald wouldn't concern himself with them, not while Dumbledore and Turing, the Goblin King, kept him occupied.
For now, their path was clear.
The Burrow – Kitchen
Snapped!
The Daily Prophet landed heavily on the Weasleys' modest kitchen table, the pages fluttering as Molly Weasley slapped it down with a scowl.
Across the front page, sensational headlines flashed in bold, enchanted lettering, shifting and shimmering to catch the reader's eye:
"Gringotts Overrun! Dark Wizards Seize Vaults!"
"Wizarding Wealth Vanishes from Goblin Hands!"
"Can the Ministry Recover What Was Lost?"
Molly's face was tight with frustration, her knuckles white as she gripped the newspaper.
"Arthur," she said, her voice thick with disbelief, "our Galleons... I was planning to take the whole family on a trip to the ancient East during the holidays."
She sighed heavily, her heart sinking. "Now everything's ruined. Everything will be ruined."
Arthur Weasley, seated comfortably on the sofa with another section of the newspaper, looked up with a weary smile. "Molly, how many Galleons do we actually have in that vault?"
His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat as Molly shot him a sharp glare.
Arthur sighed and set his paper down. "It's alright. When my salary comes in next month, we'll just keep it somewhere safer. Maybe even in our own deposit box."
Saving had never been a strong suit for the Weasleys. Most of the time, any money they had was spent on family, adventures, and cherished experiences. Their trip to Egypt after winning the lottery was a perfect example—it had been worth every Knut.
But Molly wasn't convinced.
"Are you sure you'll get your salary?" she asked, her tone dark with worry.
Arthur's smile faded. She had a point.
The Ministry of Magic's salaries were processed through Gringotts. If the bank was compromised, so were their wages. The thought sent a chill down Arthur's spine.
Suddenly—
Boom!
A loud thud echoed from the window, snapping them both out of their thoughts. An owl, clearly in a hurry, had slammed into the glass, hooting indignantly.
Molly hurried to open the window, gently coaxing the owl inside. She placed a small dish of food on the counter before retrieving the envelope tied to its leg.
As she read, her eyes widened with disbelief.
Arthur, curious, leaned over her shoulder. His eyes scanned the parchment, and his expression darkened as he read:
"In-Depth Cooperation Between Kamar-Taj and Gringotts!"
"In the Interest of Protecting Wizarding Wealth, Kamar-Taj Proposes a Comprehensive Compensation Plan!"
"The Ministry of Magic Endorses the Partnership, Insisting Gringotts Take Full Responsibility for the Losses!"
Arthur stared at the words, stunned. The style of the article felt... familiar.
It read eerily like something from the Muggle newspapers he admired.
As the head of the Department for the Prohibition of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, Arthur knew more about the Muggle world than most wizards. He recognized the subtle political maneuvering behind the article.
Gringotts was in serious trouble.
And Kamar-Taj was poised to be the first force to step in and capitalize on the chaos.
Arthur snatched the newspaper from Molly's hands, flipping through the pages as his brow furrowed deeper.
"Gringotts Sincerely Apologizes for the Losses Suffered by Wizards."
"Kamar-Taj Expresses Support for Full Compensation to Affected Wizards, Ensuring Stability in the Wizarding World."
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