Snape was unpleasantly pushed back into reality by the Boggart. He had to leave the illusion and face reality; perhaps only reality could give him answers.
The Boggart chuckled at his retreating back, waving its arms, "Go, Severus, go!"
Just as he was about to close this passage from mind to reality, he suddenly heard Harry call out to him.
"Professor Lockhart, wait!"
How could our savior, Harry Potter, be absent from a crisis moment where someone steps up to save everyone and turn the tide?
Especially since he clearly saw his good friend Ron was in grave danger under the werewolf's attack.
Harry looked back at Lily Potter, who had been standing by his side, his eyes filled with reluctance, yet so resolute. "Mom, I have to protect everyone!"
He couldn't bear to leave his mother. He was very grateful to Professor Lockhart for giving him the opportunity to embark on this wondrous journey; these few short days were definitely the best time of his life.
But he knew he had to say goodbye. He had to take responsibility, and he wouldn't regret it, because he knew his mother would always be protecting him.
"Go, my brave little hero," Lily gently straightened Harry's collar.
"Okay!" Harry gripped his wand tightly. "You'll be proud of me!"
With that, he strode into the painted light and shadows. He dared not look back, afraid his mother would see the tears of reluctance in his eyes.
Harry bravely charged!
Lockhart looked at Harry in astonishment, suddenly understanding why Harry Potter was the Savior. Some people truly don't need the call of adventure; their inner conviction is enough to make them bravely take that step.
Much more impressive than old Snape.
"You have an excellent son," he said, full of admiration, looking at Lily Potter, whose body was gradually becoming transparent and about to dissipate.
"Yes," Lily said, looking very proud, and gave him a wizard's bow. "Professor Lockhart, thank you for this opportunity, allowing me to see Harry properly again."
"Don't thank me," Lockhart shrugged. "Your blood protection magic has always been guarding Harry, which is what gave you this opportunity. This is the first time I've so directly felt a power that transcends life and death; it's truly beautiful."
Speaking of beauty, Lockhart was a little confused. "Why did I feel just now that Severus couldn't see you, even though you were right in front of him? Didn't you want to see him?"
Lily rolled her eyes, looking very helpless. "It's that coward Severus who dared not see me, and didn't want to see me. I even wanted to chat with him for a bit!"
Huh? Is that how it is? Lockhart didn't understand. He didn't understand everything. The human heart was too unfathomable. Could anyone be sure that Snape, while loving Lily, couldn't also hate her at the same time?
It was too complicated. For someone like him, who longed to live freely, it was better to ponder less.
Dark magical creatures were cuter.
In Lockhart's eyes, Tom Riddle in the diary Horcrux was currently a dark magical creature.
He possessed extremely clear characteristics of "non-existence" and "phenomenon."
This academic understanding helped him comprehend what kind of existence those dozens of powerful wizard memories in his mind were.
Lockhart sometimes had to admit that he wasn't a good person.
Despite knowing clearly that the original body's act of stealing memories was unethical, he still continued down the original path after transmigrating, going all the way to the dark side.
Since his transmigration, he had stolen the memories of two powerful wizards—the Death Eater Amucius Carrow and the infant Dark Lord, Tom Riddle.
Of course, he felt no shame at all.
At least for now.
Because...
He was a bloodthirsty werewolf with nothing but savage killing in his mind.
His heart was always surging with ravenous greed and insatiable desires.
"ROAR~~~"
Accompanied by Hermione's terrified scream, his huge, furry body, with its powerful leaps, sprang onto the castle window frame, clinging with all fours. He thrust his enormous werewolf head into the castle, greedily staring at the delicious Tom.
"Run!"
Hermione reacted incredibly quickly. She grabbed the red robe her grandmother said could deal with all consuming monsters in the forest, kicked the still-dazed Tom out the door, slammed the door shut, and then dragged the idiot, running like mad deeper into the castle.
"It's no use..." Tom's expression was so dark and despairing. "There's still an hour until the full moon ends. That's enough time for it to tear us to shreds. We might as well do it with some dignity..."
"Hey!" Hermione couldn't help but stop, turning around to look at him coldly. "Do you think you're so smart? Calculating everything perfectly? Rationally predicting every possible situation? But sometimes we have to abandon so-called rationality and cleverness and choose to hope for a miracle!"
"A miracle?" Tom found this a ridiculous statement. "Absolutely laughable!"
"Magic! Magic can always bring miracles!" Hermione's tone was incredibly firm, firmer than ever before, choosing not to completely rely on reason and intellect, willing to believe in the possibilities magic could bring.
Even without getting so mystical.
Just considering that the full moon night would end in an hour, the werewolf would lose its fangs and strong body, while Tom would gain a powerful beastly form. That, too, was hope.
She would never give up hope!
And so, they began a desperate chase through the castle, constantly dodging the pursuit of the terrifying werewolf behind them.
The werewolf relentlessly pursued them, its roars echoing throughout the castle. Sometimes they would rely on their familiarity with the castle to slip into secret passages, only for entire walls to be destroyed by the werewolf, sending bricks and stones flying.
Finally, with nowhere left to run, they arrived in the deepest part of the castle's dungeon.
There was only a single frozen flower left there, its petals almost entirely withered, with only one dried petal dangling precariously.
"A miracle..." Tom curled his lip. He didn't know why he didn't believe in miracles. Perhaps his missing memories could tell him the answer, or perhaps he had experienced a moment of fervent hope for a miracle that was utterly destroyed.
He gazed at the flower encased in ice. "The old witch in the forest said that if someone could give me true love, it would grant me the power to overcome anything..."
He scoffed, his eyes filled with disgust. "Love? What a ridiculous notion."
Hermione next to him was too lazy to comment—if he felt that way himself, even if love truly came to him, he would turn a blind eye to it.
Just like her own feelings about magic before.
Hermione wasn't idle. She quickly cast strengthening charms on the stone door, then tried to cast spells to destroy the wall on the other side, hoping to open an exit. Perhaps they weren't at a dead end yet.
But unfortunately, she was only a second-year witch, and even with her brilliance, she didn't know many offensive spells.
What to do? What other magic could she use?
She desperately tried to recall all the spells she had ever read about.
As she was thinking, she suddenly felt her hand go slack and quickly looked up to see Tom Riddle had snatched her wand.
"Give it back!" she cried out anxiously.
Tom ignored her, merely examining the wand in his hand, appearing sometimes enlightened, sometimes utterly bewildered.
He lightly waved the wand at the wall. "Avada Kedavra!"
Light, elegant, effortless.
Yet, as he cast the spell with such grace, the resulting commotion was immense.
A flash of green light, accompanied by a tremendous roar, and the wall in front of them exploded, sending stones flying and revealing a huge gap.
"The Killing Curse...?!!!" Hermione gasped, subtly stepping back, staring in disbelief at the young man before her.
She had no idea this person was a wizard, let alone a dark wizard, casting an Unforgivable Curse right in front of her! And so effortlessly and skillfully, too!
This was a dangerous person! Far more dangerous than she had imagined! After casting the spell, Tom looked at the wand with delight. Seeing Hermione's frightened expression, he casually explained, "The Killing Curse isn't just for killing people; when it misses, it also destroys objects. It's often more useful than a Blasting Curse."
"Huh, what's a Blasting Curse?"
As Tom spoke, his eyes glazed over with confusion.
But he quickly looked up again, because the werewolf had appeared at the broken wall where they had created the hole, clawing at the gap, about to burst in.
He raised his wand again.
"No!" Hermione shrieked, rushing forward to snatch her wand, attempting to stop this dark wizard. She clearly realized the danger of "driving a wolf to swallow a tiger," but it was too late.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The wand swished lightly.
The green light struck the werewolf directly, with remarkable effect. The werewolf instantly lost the color of life, dimming to a lifeless pallor.
Tom seemed very proud.
Tom also felt a little confused.
He distinctly remembered that killing a living being could bring powerful magical energy. It was the forceful separation of soul and body, the destruction of all soul activity, where all will, emotion, and desire in the soul would burst forth like fireworks, triggering powerful magic.
With this magic, he could create Horcruxes to escape death, but he wasn't feeling this magic now.
Wait, what was a Horcrux again? He fell into a daze once more.
In that brief delay, the wand in his hand was violently yanked away. By the time he reacted, the witch in front of him had already snatched it.
The witch gripped the wand tightly, pointing it at him, retreating step by step.
But it was meaningless.
He had already discovered that he could cast magic, and that he was most powerful when he hadn't turned into a monster! Let me show you, the Killing Curse doesn't necessarily require a wand to cast.
"Foolish little witch," he sneered at her. "I originally kept you in the castle to help me lure out that werewolf..."
"Werewolves only attack wizards, and with the old witch's bloodline in you, you're undoubtedly a witch. The werewolf will surely target you."
The corners of his mouth curved slightly, full of pride. "After the werewolf eats you, it will surely be unable to resist putting on that red cloak, because it will make a lonely, sensitive creature like it feel safe, shrinking into its shell like a snail, even if it turns him back into a powerless human."
"You're useless now..."
Tom Riddle slowly raised his hand. "Avada Kedavra!"