Chapter 30. Reunion After a Long Separation

"I've come... to return your memories to you," Harry said. Later, Harry rode on Leo's motorcycle to his home (Harry didn't want to ride, but Leo insisted on taking him for a spin).

"My memories?" Leo blinked, wondering if this boy in front of him was joking.

"It was me who sealed your memories and brought you here... I'm sorry."

"It's you... wait, so let me guess, was I a superhero in my past life? Are you my superhero companion?" He accepted this possibility readily, given that he could transform into a dog, could anything be stranger?

"Something like that," Harry nodded quite seriously. He thought the Order of Phoenix could be considered superheroes in a way. "I'll return your memories, and then you'll know."

You'll also know that we were once on opposite sides. Harry aimed his magic at the person's forehead and incanted the spell in his mind.

And so, after a year and over three months, the YouTube sensation Leo Hunter finally remembered that he was Sirius Black. He recalled the Order of the Phoenix, his friends, Voldemort, and the war. He also remembered who the boy in front of him was. His gaze at Harry shifted from friendly to hostile.

"You—! It's been over a year, during the most critical time of the war, you took me away from my friends!" Sirius was furious. "Is this how you humiliate me?"

Harry allowed him to vent; after all, he had been in the wrong. "I'm sorry; it was the best way I could think of."

"You think I'd thank you just because you didn't kill me? Some things are more important than being alive. People like you will never understand!"

Harry thought he would definitely get punched. He stood there, unmoving, thinking that he deserved whatever was coming. However, the punch missed his face slightly, grazed it, and landed on a vase behind him, shattering it.

"And... was Remus involved in this?" Sirius strained to recall, but this part of his memory was still fuzzy; he couldn't remember what happened. "Where's Remus?"

"He died at the hands of Voldemort," Harry replied.

"Remus is dead? That bastard killed Remus... You haven't returned all my memories, have you? Are you proud of yourself, coming here to see my misery? Truly Voldemort's well-trained dog." He grabbed Harry's collar and lifted him up as if he were holding a chick.

"I was sent by James Potter to bring you back," Harry said in a very official tone, ignoring the fact that he was now hanging by the collar and only had his toes touching the ground. "How about we return to the Order of Phoenix? They miss you."

"Why should I trust Voldemort's lapdog?" Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"I... I've left Voldemort, remained neutral, and spent half a year in the Muggle world," Harry tried to explain.

However, mentioning this seemed to make Sirius even angrier. "Hiding in the Muggle world? Are you proud of this cowardly behavior? Making me do the same for over half a year? Do you understand anything? The war isn't over yet, my friends are still in danger! You made me leave them!"

"You're right," Harry's tone remained unaffected, showing no emotional fluctuation. He then said, "There's a Portkey to return to Britain here. Do you need to pack? Once you're ready, we can leave."

"We?" Sirius raised an eyebrow. "I don't want to associate with someone like you. Professor Dumbledore's 'Mother Teresa' complex is really getting out of hand. First Snape, now you. He's recruiting lower and lower-quality people, isn't he? Oh, at least Snivellus hasn't killed anyone; your track record is much worse."

"At first, we wanted to give you a chance, but what about you? You deceived all of us, hid the fact that you can perform wandless magic, infiltrated us for over a month, and then stole your wand back from Hogwarts while Dumbledore lowered his guard, only to escape and return to Voldemort. Haven't you already shown your stance? And now you pretend to be a good boy again?" Harry fell silent. He recalled how back then, he had simply felt unwelcome at Hogwarts.

"Do you know how difficult it was for your parents when they heard you had returned to Voldemort, especially since they initially refused to believe it and thought you were in danger?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said softly. He had indeed treated the Order as enemies at the time; after all, Voldemort's side was where he had grown up. To him back then, it seemed like a normal choice to escape from enemies. But Sirius was right; if he hadn't chosen to return to Voldemort's side, many things might have been different.

"Sorry?" Sirius sneered, "If apologies are enough, why do we need the Aurors? Do you have any idea how many people you've killed? How many heinous acts you've committed? These were someone else's loved ones and friends, you know?"

"I'll do my best to atone—"

"Atonement? Killing you won't make up for it," Sirius looked at him with disgust.

"I know," Harry said in a low voice. He had considered atonement, and he really didn't want to live anymore. But there was a curse on him from Voldemort that prevented him from killing himself.

In any case, Sirius had given him a thorough scolding, and Harry knew he deserved it. He even hoped Sirius would punch him, but Sirius didn't do that. Then, Harry tossed the Portkey to return to Britain to Sirius and Apparated away.

Reunion of old friends at dawn in England, the mix of joy and sorrow need not be further elaborated upon.

Harry returned to the rented house silently, moving cautiously to avoid waking his roommates. He lay down on his bed.

Even though he had performed some long-range Apparition after exhausting his magical core, his body remained weak due to the damage caused by the Cruciatus Curse. The lingering effects of the prolonged torture seemed to be more pronounced; he felt his vision fading in and out. However, he found it hard to fall asleep. He stared at the ceiling, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the window, and continued to contemplate the recent events in his life.

He had thought he could escape, but the Death Eaters had still managed to attack those close to him. He had been keeping an eye on the news in the magical world, and he realized that trying to escape his past was just self-deception.

Dumbledore had said that the environment could influence a person's choices. The Death Eaters treated his classmates with such cruelty, imposing brutal rules where only one of two people could survive, and then the Death Eaters could stand by and enjoy watching the ugly fight. Perhaps in this war, many others were experiencing similar emotional tragedies, physical suffering, and death.

His father always said that human nature was ugly and not worth saving, that people hurt each other, appearing greedy, foolish, malicious, and unworthy of sympathy.

But... it wasn't human nature that was at fault; it was the fault of the war itself. It was the terrible environment of war that magnified the ugliness of human nature. It was never that people were not worth saving; it was the war itself that needed to stop.

When he realized this, the scene of his classmates turning on each other replayed in his mind. Classmates who had spent so much time together, becoming almost like family, had nearly become ashes in the fires of war.

Harry had to put a stop to all of this. But how could he do it?

Voldemort was immortal now, and there was no one who could defeat him. All the efforts of the Order of the Phoenix had been in vain, and it was all Harry's fault because he had caused Voldemort's immortality.

Harry also recalled Sirius's words. That man... though despicable, he was not wrong, was he? Harry... wasn't he like a coward now?

The war was still ongoing, with casualties every day. So, wasn't it Harry's responsibility to stop the war? But what was he doing? Hiding in the Muggle world, avoiding reality like a coward?

Harry remembered Hermione's words. "There are many things worth fighting for." "Even if it's like a moth to a flame."

The bed beneath him suddenly felt like it was covered in thorns, making it impossible to lie still. He glanced at the window; the sky was still dark, but the birds were already chirping, signaling that dawn was approaching. He had completed his father's task, and the matter of the third-party forces had been resolved. Once it was light, he would go back and report to his father.

His father was now immortal, and direct confrontation was likely to be futile, but there were many indirect and intricate ways to reduce casualties. Harry had to do his best...

Harry made a silent vow to himself; he had to find a way to convince his father to end the war, no matter what. Even if it meant enduring more of his father's Cruciatus Curse, he wouldn't back down. He couldn't keep running away.

As soon as it was light, he couldn't wait any longer. He got up, despite his weakness, and stood up abruptly, causing him to feel dizzy. He cast a quick wakefulness spell on himself and ran back to Voldemort's castle to find his father.

The Dark Prince was still wearing that brightly colored Muggle coat, and he greeted Voldemort respectfully. Fortunately, there were only the two of them in the study; if the Death Eaters had seen this scene, they would probably find it quite strange.

Harry briefed his father on the completion of the mission, explaining that the leader of the third-party forces had died, and his followers had been captured by the Aurors. The crisis with the Psycompliers had also been resolved. After he finished, he waited with bated breath for Voldemort's instructions. He wondered if he should confess about Sirius as well. There was probably no way to keep it a secret for long, and his father would likely be very angry.

However, Voldemort's thoughts seemed to be elsewhere. He suddenly said, "You don't look well. Haven't you recovered yet?"

Harry hadn't expected his father to ask this question. He blinked and tried to say, "I'm... I'm fine."

Voldemort called Harry over and placed his ice-cold hand on Harry's forehead – at least, that's how it felt to Harry.

"You have a fever," Voldemort pointed out, sounding somewhat exasperated. "How did you manage to get yourself into this state again? You were only dealing with some zombies."

"I—"

Then Voldemort seemed to remember something. His slender fingers touched Harry's forehead, removing the spell that had been keeping him awake. At the same time, Harry went limp and passed out. He had widened his eyes in surprise, but he didn't have time to react further.

Given Harry's physical condition, he should have fainted long ago. He had only been staying awake thanks to a spell.

Voldemort lifted the unconscious Harry into his arms. The boy was so thin; what was the point of being in the Muggle world? He should have stayed by his side.

Only by being by his side could Harry fully realize his potential and contribute to the great and sacred cause.

Over a decade ago, Voldemort's research had hit a roadblock, stuck at the final step just inches from success. He had revised the ritual repeatedly, experimented tirelessly, pouring all his understanding of magic and the world into it. This ritual represented the essence of his life. But he had failed, repeatedly.

Then there had been a prophecy, speaking of a child who could fulfill Voldemort's ambitions because he possessed a power Voldemort didn't understand.

When Harry had joined, that final barrier had indeed been broken. They had succeeded. At that time, he had been overwhelmed with ecstasy, and his grand vision had merged with the eternal cosmos. He had wanted to go even further.

But what mysterious power did Harry possess that had allowed him to succeed, a power Voldemort still didn't understand? This was unacceptable. He was a genius, and there was nothing he couldn't understand. He had to uncover this mysterious power.

He placed the unconscious Harry on the altar and began using various diagnostic spells to explore Harry's body.

He needed answers.

Harry remained unconscious, but he furrowed his brow, his forehead covered in cold sweat, and groaned softly in discomfort. These diagnostic spells were not pleasant.

Seeing Harry's painful reaction, Voldemort didn't take pleasure in it, but this was more important than anything else. He didn't stop the magical probes, even intensifying them.

After repeated tests, he still couldn't find any hidden power within Harry's body. In fact, he had tried similar magic ten years ago when he first acquired Harry. He had never found an answer.

So, was it something about the boy's magic that was special? Why was it that only when Harry performed the final step of the ritual himself, it succeeded?

He decided to extract some of Harry's magical power and infuse it into his ritual to see if it would be effective. If it worked, the problem might be solved, and Harry could obediently serve as a power source.

He chanted an incantation, and a faint golden flow of energy emerged from Harry's chest, flowing into a glass vial he held. The energy swirled like water in the bottle, misty and ethereal, gradually accumulating.

Just then, the magical alarm that indicated a threat to life suddenly went off, casting a blue-purple aura. Harry was in critical condition.

The great Voldemort nearly dropped the vial in his hand. His heart raced. He couldn't let Harry die!

He quickly grasped Harry's ice-cold hand, and a radiant light shone between their palms. It was the magic that transferred life force. Harry's voice echoed in his mind, a memory from when the fourteen-year-old Harry had used this magic to save him.

However, unlike that time, the immortal Voldemort had limitless life force to spare. He could use it freely.

He used a constant stream of life force to pull Harry back from the brink of death. Afterward, he administered several healing spells and personally prepared several potions for the weakened boy, carefully feeding them to him.

Harry still had a use; he couldn't die. Voldemort told himself this firmly. He also had to find out what kind of power Harry possessed.

As he looked at the unconscious Harry in his arms, Voldemort realized that Harry's body was indeed quite weak, especially with the injury to his magical core. When he attempted to extract Harry's magic next time, he would have to be more cautious. He had to let Harry recover from his recent ordeal. Some of his experimental plans would have to be delayed once again.

He felt a hint of annoyance. Harry had been making progress in his recovery over the past six months, and the amount of magic Voldemort had extracted should not have been a problem. But he hadn't anticipated that Harry would push himself to the brink by overusing his magic in dealing with the Psycompliers, aggravating his old injury.

Of course, it was Harry's fault. Who else could he blame? But he had to watch over Harry more closely to prevent him from making such mistakes again.

A/N: If anyone is reading this, please let me know, so that I can continue to write this story.