Chapter 349 The Final Enemy
Upon hearing Sirius, Harry was greatly surprised.
He had no inkling that his father had dueled with Gryffindor in the illusion. Even though he had lost, this was still remarkable.
The opponent was the mighty Gryffindor. Not just any wizard had the qualification to challenge him, which in itself was a recognition of his father's strength.
He took a few steps towards the black stone platform and felt his legs trembling.
Beside him, the centaur Magorian gazed expressionlessly, a hint of impatience in his face.
The elder withdrew completely into the shadows without a sound.
Harry took a deep breath and prepared himself for the challenge.
Instead of turning to the encouraging eyes of everyone, he clenched his fists and repeated to himself in a low voice that he must not be afraid, that no matter what he saw in the illusion, he must not falter.
Perhaps he could engage in a duel with Gryffindor like his father did, or face countless Acromantulas and Dementors like Ron. None of that would be a problem. But if he had to be assessed in magical theory like Hermione, that wouldn't be his forte.
Harry drifted off into various fantasies and conjectures, and when he snapped back to reality, he realized he had entered the illusion.
It was still late at night, and the stars in the night sky had not changed much.
A sharp cold wind blew, and Harry couldn't help but shiver.
He adjusted his robe and found himself standing in a dark street.
It wasn't Hogwarts or Diagon Alley. He was certain he had never been to that place before, yet he had an indescribable sense of familiarity.
"Lumos!" Harry drew his wand and looked around vigilantly.
He stood in a narrow alley, with large dilapidated houses on both sides of the narrow lane, all dark and unlit, without a sound.
Not far ahead was a small square, which was the center of the small village.
Harry advanced, the cold night wind brushing his cheeks, passing by more houses, all dark and inhabited.
As he neared the square, Harry saw a giant statue of a wizard in the center, holding his wand in front of him with his left hand and a silver sword in his right hand, very similar to the image of Gryffindor described by Evan and Hermione. Perhaps, it was him.
Just as he gazed at the statue, there was a sudden noise of a scuffle and the hoarse, exhausted cry of a woman in a house in front of him.
Harry quickly looked up and saw that the door of the house was ajar, and a faint light from a candle in a room on the first floor stood out in the darkness.
His heart pounded so hard it almost leaped to his throat.
Undoubtedly, the trial he would face was in that house. He didn't know what awaited him, and the darkness around him was oppressively extreme.
"Is anyone here?" Harry rushed towards the door and shouted. "Who's there?"
No one answered him. The hallway on the ground floor was a mess. Clearly, a fierce duel had just taken place. Someone had burst into the room from outside.
Harry took a few steps inside and suddenly stopped in front of the fireplace. He couldn't believe it. He looked at the painting above it. It was his parents. His mother held a baby in her arms, her face full of a happy smile.
Finally, Harry knew where he was. It was his home.
"This is Godric's Hollow; this is my home, where I was born!" Harry's heart almost stopped, and he couldn't believe what he saw in front of him.
He even forgot that this was an illusion created by Gryffindor. He only had one thought in mind. To return home, back to the place that used to be his home.
If it hadn't been for Voldemort, I would have grown up here and spent every vacation.
He would invite his friends to play, and perhaps have had a younger brother or sister. His mother would make him a birthday cake instead of celebrating alone.
Harry wiped the tears that suddenly sprang from his eyes. When he looked at the old photo of his parents before, he had imagined these kinds of things more than once. Just as he was about to gaze intently, a scream and a woman's plea were heard from above. It was the voice he heard when he encountered the Dementors! It was the weeping of his mother!
Harry finally understood that this was the night when Voldemort broke into his home, and the tragic events that would affect his life were about to unfold.
Without hesitation, he rushed to the first floor.
Harry knew he had to hurry. He wanted to see his parents, and even if he was fast enough, he might save them from Voldemort.
He mustered all his strength and held the wand in his hand. Harry climbed the stairs panting, and then he saw a man in a black hood standing at the top of the stairs smiling coldly, laughing cruelly.
At his feet lay a man and a woman.
In a corner of the room, there was a small crib, in which a child emitted a faint cry.
"No!" Harry shouted. He knew the two people on the floor were his parents. They were dead! They were murdered by Voldemort!
In a minute, his turn would come.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, running towards him regardless.
Voldemort slightly let Harry's spell pass. He waved his wand quickly, and a bluish-green light struck Harry as he lunged towards him.
Harry fell to the ground. He didn't know what spell Voldemort had cast on him. It seemed to be a petrification curse. He couldn't control his body, but his mind was exceptionally clear.
He saw his father in a pool of blood, and his eyes turned empty, devoid of any will.
His father's right hand reached out as if wanting to grasp his mother's hand before dying, but it fell to the floor.
Harry wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
He could only see Voldemort approaching his crib step by step, with his cold voice, and then a dark green flash.
Voldemort let out a thunderous scream. His evil spell bounced back to strike him down. He fled through the window in a black smoke.
Harry cried so inconsolably that he felt a deep pain in the scar on his forehead, and the world before him was crumbling rapidly.
He knew he was about to leave there and return to reality. He tried to look at his parents and hoped to see them again for the last time.
"You failed, brave as you are, you cannot defeat yourself. Remember, the last enemy to be destroyed is death!"
A charismatic male voice resonated out of nowhere. Harry's last impression was that he didn't understand the meaning of the phrase.
Harry remained immersed in great sorrow for the death of his parents and his hatred towards Voldemort.
When he regained consciousness, he was already back in the Temple of the Centaurs. He was kneeling on the black platform, silently weeping.