"...What exactly are these?"
The car engine roared, the amber headlights slowly pierced through the mist, yet even at the furthest point they could reach, all that was visible was still an expanse of gray fog. As James Potter gently stepped on the gas pedal, letting the car glide out of the garage along the garden path, he peered around with some confusion, furrowing his brows—
The man instinctively asked aloud, seemingly expecting an answer.
"Fog of war, you need to spend 400 bucks to buy true sight to illuminate it."
"?"
"...Just a casual remark, but I don't know either."
William, seated in the passenger seat, hesitated for a moment, then very obediently fastened his seatbelt, even though there wasn't anything that could be called a road within their sight.
"You, you don't know?"
James was a bit taken aback; to be honest, he didn't know why he believed this mysterious guy before him. Perhaps because fifteen minutes ago, the guy was his wife...well, maybe that factor did exist, but what truly convinced James to trust what the boy said was the unusual sight he saw out the window just moments ago.
This fog seemingly engulfing the entire world...two hours ago, he had just left work, and driving home then he didn't see such a thick mist.
Now, this mysterious man was saying his son could be in danger—while they conversed, James only felt an indescribable calm filling his heart, a state of calmness that led him to subconsciously begin contemplating the current situation.
Eventually, he decided to follow William, embarking on the rescue mission to "save Wizard Harry" as William described.
"So, which way do we go now?"
James took a deep breath, raised his hand to grasp the steering wheel, and turned to look at William who was adjusting the seat backrest.
"Any..."
William paused, swallowing back the word "anyway," instead casually pointing in a direction, "Just head that way, straight ahead."
Yes, choosing a direction didn't matter; the dream was very abstract. Whether they could find Harry mainly depended on how much James Potter missed his beloved son...tsk, who knows how Hermione was doing; logically, she should be near Harry—
There should be no surprises as long as they don't disturb Voldemort—the one who just built this magical realm should currently be in a half-asleep state; as long as the dream's protagonist "Harry" doesn't do anything drastic, their infiltration shouldn't attract much attention.
...Shouldn't happen, right?
...
Hermione now would rather hope she hadn't found Harry.
That green spell just now—
The Killing Curse, Hermione nearly recognized at a glance that this was one of the three Unforgivable Curses; the feeling of Death brushing past her hair, Hermione felt as if her heart was about to leap out of her throat, she stared silently at the boy in front of her who was dazedly staring at his hand for a long time, finally attempting to speak again—
"Ha, Harry..."
"Clap, clap, clap—"
A set of dull applause sounded, just like a villain clapping while making an entrance.
"You are—"
Hermione instinctively turned her head, when she saw the figure slowly emerging from the shadows in the corridor, the girl's pupils uncontrollably contracted—a gleam of black hair, overly handsome appearance, there seemed to be an answer forming in her mind.
"Professor Riddle?"
Harry was also drawn by the abrupt applause, he instinctively looked up and muttered.
"..."
Great, her sixth sense was indeed correct.
Hermione's mouth slightly twitched; she instinctively reached towards her trouser pocket, where her Magic Wand usually was—well, unsurprisingly grabbed empty air, this world absolutely contained magic; otherwise, that Killing Curse would have appeared for no reason...
But for a young witch who just entered second grade this year, "Wandless Magic" was seriously beyond her capability; it was a bit much.
"Originally I was worried Potter's soul alone might not be enough, but you two showed up as if giving me a pillow when I needed a nap—"
"Well done, Potter, an excellent Killing Curse."
The man nodded slightly towards Harry, then shifted his gaze to Hermione. Tom Riddle's pupils were an abyssal black, his pale skin rendered him less alive-looking than normal people; even with a simple glance, Hermione felt her heart racing—
Yet this was completely different from the accelerated heartbeat she experienced when seeing Professor Lockhart; she felt she was about to suffocate.
"Is it just you alone?"
Riddle slowly approached the two leaning against the corridor side, he bent slightly, sniffing, "Though you are a Mudblood," the man paused, squinting his eyes, "But...as a transitional phase, you're adequate enough."
Can't, can't move...
Hermione instinctively tried to step back, but her completely stiffened limbs told the girl that she simply couldn't do it.
"...Even if you resurrect, you won't be able to escape Hogwarts, Dumbledore will stop..." Hermione felt her throat was a bit dry, watching the man who had now straightened up and raised his hand, she almost instinctively spoke.
"Seems you do actually know me?"
Dumbledore's name successfully halted the man's actions; he raised his eyes, for the first time sincerely looking at this Mudblood before him, "Dumbledore...that old man completely senile? Or has the Wizarding World become so depleted they send someone like you...a Mudblood to die?"
As he spoke, the man crouched down, a smile appeared on his pale face, "Why, do you have enmity with Dumbledore?"
"...You absolutely won't succeed."
Hermione panted heavily, facing Voldemort's stare was truly hard for her to endure; she instinctively turned her head to glance behind. At this moment, Harry was curled up quietly in the corner, his posture seemed to indicate fear, yet there was no trace of it in the boy's expression—This filled Hermione with unease.
"You know again?"
Riddle twisted his neck, looking at the girl who refused to answer his question, somewhat losing interest in continuing to "play;" he turned to stare at the curled-up Harry, he contemplated for a moment, next, he waved his hand.
Hermione felt a sense of restraint starting to materialize around her, she instinctively tried to break free, but the pressure growing increasingly tighter made her groan somewhat unnaturally; the veins filled with blue and red were flooding her eyes, as she watched Voldemort, who was bending over rifling through Harry, she wanted to say something but the suffocation made her vision blur—
"Sectumsempra!"
"Phew—"
Fresh air rushed back into the girl's lungs, she uncontrollably collapsed to the ground, gasping as she breathed heavily.