Harry stood in the dimly lit chamber, the presence of the ancient Basilisk, Elisa, still lingering in the air. Her parting words echoed in his mind, a quiet reminder of the task that now weighed upon him. The room behind the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw was filled with a sense of power, and he could feel it thrumming beneath his skin as Elisa led him deeper into the heart of the chamber.

She guided him through a narrow, winding passageway, her massive form moving with a grace that belied her size. The stone walls seemed to hum with magic, as though this place was steeped in centuries of history and ancient knowledge.

"This is where I must leave you," Elisa said softly, her voice tinged with an ancient wisdom. She stopped at the threshold of another doorway, this one hidden behind a veil of enchantments that only revealed themselves to those of the Slytherin line. "The room you seek lies beyond. I cannot accompany you further, as my knowledge of its contents is limited."

Harry paused, turning to face her. "Thank you, Elisa," he said sincerely. "For everything."

The great serpent bowed her head slightly, her golden eyes gleaming with a mixture of affection and respect. "You have much ahead of you, young heir," she said. "But before you go, consider my request. I do not wish to be used by another like Riddle. If there is a way, find a place where I can live in peace, away from those who seek to control me."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I'll think about it. I promise I'll find a way."

Elisa regarded him for a long moment before turning away, her great coils moving silently as she disappeared back into the shadows of the chamber. Her presence faded, leaving Harry standing alone before the door that Merlina and Morganna had spoken of.

He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself as he approached the dark oak door. It was heavy and imposing, its surface adorned with intricate carvings. The Hogwarts emblem was etched into the wood, its four house animals surrounding the familiar motto, "Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus." The emblem seemed to glow faintly, as if it were alive with the magic of the Founders themselves.

Harry hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the task ahead. This room had been created by the four Founders of Hogwarts, a secret chamber that had remained hidden for centuries. Even Elisa, ancient as she was, did not know what lay beyond its doors.

Taking a deep breath, Harry placed his hand on the carved surface. The wood was cool to the touch, and he could feel the magic stirring beneath his fingers. He could sense the wards that protected the room, layers of enchantments designed to keep out anyone unworthy.

Suddenly, Harry remembered what Merlin and Morganna had told him: the door would require a blood sacrifice to admit him. It was a measure of protection, a test of his resolve and intent, and his rightful claim to this place.

He steeled himself, drawing his wand and making a small cut on his palm. The sting was sharp but brief, and as the blood welled up, he pressed his hand firmly against the door. The moment his blood touched the wood, a pulse of magic shot through the room, causing the carvings to glow brighter.

The door seemed to drink in the blood, the carvings shifting slightly as though alive. The magic within the door flared, and Harry felt a surge of power ripple through him. The air around him grew thick with anticipation, and the door creaked slowly open, revealing a sliver of darkness beyond.

He stepped back, watching as the door swung wide, revealing a hidden room that had been sealed for centuries. The air inside was cool, untouched by time, and a faint light began to illuminate the space.

Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward

As Harry stepped into the hidden room, the atmosphere felt ancient, as if the very air was infused with the essence of time itself. The chamber was vast and circular, with walls lined with countless shelves, each holding books and scrolls that looked as though they hadn't been touched in centuries. The soft glow from enchanted lanterns illuminated the room, casting gentle light on the treasures within.

At the far end of the chamber, mounted on the wall, was a large, still portrait of the four Founders of Hogwarts. Though the figures within were not animated like the other portraits scattered throughout the castle, the image was striking. Godric Gryffindor, with his proud and fierce expression, stood beside Helga Hufflepuff, whose kind eyes exuded warmth. Rowena Ravenclaw's sharp, intelligent gaze seemed to pierce through time, while Salazar Slytherin's cunning and calculating demeanor was captured perfectly. The portrait radiated a sense of unity and a reminder of the powerful magic that had founded Hogwarts.

But Harry's attention was quickly drawn to the center of the room, where a magnificent instrument stood upon a raised pedestal. The device was unlike anything Harry had ever seen before, a masterpiece of craftsmanship and engineering. It was composed of gold and mithril, the metals interwoven in a delicate yet sturdy structure. The instrument's base was wide and stable, carved with intricate runes and symbols that glowed faintly, humming with untapped power.

The body of the instrument was cylindrical, with various dials, levers, and arcane symbols etched into its surface. Ornate decorations adorned its exterior, depicting scenes of ancient magical rites, mythical creatures, and celestial bodies in exquisite detail. At the top of the instrument, a large, multifaceted crystal was embedded, its surface catching the light and refracting it into a myriad of colors that danced across the chamber's walls.

Harry approached the device with a mixture of awe and curiosity. He could feel its power emanating from within, a pulsating energy that resonated with his own magic. Merlin and Morgana had told him of this instrument, the very one that allowed them to communicate with him through astral projection. It was a conduit, a bridge between worlds, capable of connecting him with the greatest wizards and witches in history.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the device. The moment he made contact, the runes on the instrument flared to life, glowing brighter as they responded to his touch. The crystal atop the device began to spin slowly, emitting a soft, melodic hum that filled the room.

Harry found a small switch near the base of the instrument, and with a deep breath, he flipped it. The instrument reacted immediately, the hum growing louder as the crystal's spin accelerated. The runes glowed intensely, casting a warm, golden light across the chamber.

Suddenly, the room was filled with a vibrant energy, and Harry felt a strange sensation wash over him, as if the boundaries between time and space were dissolving. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was no longer alone.

Before him stood the spectral forms of Merlin and Morgana, their presence both comforting and awe-inspiring. They seemed more solid, more real than they had in his dreams, and their expressions were filled with pride and determination.

"Welcome, Harry," Merlin said, his voice resonating with authority. "This is the place where your true training will begin. Here, you will learn the ancient magics, the arts lost to time, and the secrets of the Founders themselves."

Morgana stepped forward, her eyes shining with a fierce intensity. "We will guide you, teach you everything we know, and help you unlock your full potential. The instrument you have activated will allow us to project ourselves here, to train you directly. But be warned, Harry—this path will not be easy. The knowledge we impart comes with great responsibility."

Harry nodded, feeling a sense of purpose welling up within him. He had always known that his journey would be difficult, but now, standing in this ancient chamber, with the spirits of Merlin and Morgana at his side, he felt ready.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice filled with resolve. "I'm ready to learn."

The two ancient figures exchanged a look of approval before Merlin spoke again. "Then let us begin, Harry. The magic of the past is yours to master, and with it, you will forge your own path into the future."

Harry stood in the center of the vast, enchanted chamber, his wand in hand, surrounded by the spectral forms of Merlin and Morgana, while Cosmos remained on the sidelines, his gaze steady and encouraging. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, the kind that only precedes the beginning of something monumental. The chamber's energy seemed to pulse with magic, amplifying Harry's own connection to it.

"Show us what you've learned so far," Merlin said, his voice calm but with an edge of expectation. "We need to understand your current limitations."

Harry nodded, stepping forward, and began casting spells he had practiced at home under the guidance of his grandfather and other mentors, as well as those he'd learned since arriving at Hogwarts. He flicked his wand with a practiced precision, the incantations flowing from his lips.

"Expelliarmus!" A flash of red light shot forward, as the Disarming Charm exploded from his wand with a force that resonated in the chamber.

"Protego Aegis!" A shimmering, golden shield of pure magic appeared in front of him, sturdy and unyielding.

"Diffindo!" A precise, cutting jet of magic sliced through the air, splitting a conjured stone into two neat halves.

Harry's wand flourished through the air with controlled elegance, his spells crisp and powerful, exactly as he had practiced. He switched between all the offensive and defensive magic he had learned.

Cosmos observed silently, mentally encouraging Harry as he flawlessly executed a series of advanced transfiguration spells. The floor beneath Harry's feet softened at his command, shifting into quicksand, an ability he had mastered during his intense vacuum training with Cosmos , allowing him to incapacitate opponents with ease theoretically, though Harry refrained from using it in duel training with Bellatrix in fear of causing her hand to tear apart from exposure to vacuum.

"Excellent," Merlin said, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Your power is undeniable, Harry. But there is much more finesse to learn."

Morgana stepped forward, her expression sharp and focused. "Your movements are still too extravagant. Magic, especially at the level we will be training you in, should not require such theatrics. Watch." With a flick of her hand—without any visible effort—a series of complex magical effects manifested in the chamber. The floor shimmered as it changed color, objects around them levitated and danced in the air, all without the need for even a whispered word or a pronounced gesture.

Harry stared, wide-eyed, but ready to learn. Morgana continued, "You must reduce your wand movements to the bare minimum. Magic should be an extension of your will, not something that controls you. Begin by casting those same spells again—Expelliarmus, Protego Aegis, Diffindo—but this time, only use the essential wand movements. Do not waste energy on unnecessary flourishes."

Harry tightened his grip on his wand and refocused. He raised it slowly, trying to feel the magic through the wood and into the air. The first few attempts were difficult. His muscle memory fought against him, wanting to return to the grand, sweeping motions he had grown used to.

"Expelliarmus!" he said firmly, trying to minimize his arm's motion. The spell fizzled slightly, less potent than before.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but Morgana simply crossed her arms. "Again."

Harry repeated the process. The spells became smoother with each attempt, but the power wasn't there yet. Still, Merlin and Morgana were patient, silently observing, correcting his form when needed. Slowly but surely, Harry began to reduce the movement to only what was necessary. His spells gained power as he learned to channel his magic more directly, more efficiently.

It took nearly twenty repetitions of each spell—Expelliarmus, Protego, Expulso, and others—before Harry felt comfortable casting with such minimal movements. Finally, when he managed to send a forceful Expelliarmus with barely a flick of his wrist, Merlin gave a nod of approval.

"You're learning quickly, Harry," he said. "Now, we will remove one more crutch."

Morgana stepped forward again, her voice firm. "Non-verbal spells. You've been using the incantations for as long as you can remember. Magic can be cast silently, as you know, but doing it with the same strength as spoken spells takes discipline. We want you to practice now—silently."

Harry felt a surge of determination. He had attempted non-verbal magic before, but it had always been an exhausting effort. Now, with Merlin and Morgana guiding him, he knew he could push through.

Focusing on the first spell, Expelliarmus, Harry breathed deeply and focused his will. He raised his wand, keeping the motion minimal, and envisioned the spell forming in his mind. He thrust his wand forward, saying nothing.

The spell misfired. Only a weak pulse of energy escaped his wand.

Morgana didn't look disappointed; if anything, she looked intrigued. "Again."

Harry gritted his teeth and tried again, but with each failed attempt, frustration began to build. Diffindo crackled weakly in the air, Protego Aegis barely formed, and Expulso felt like a faint breeze rather than an explosion.

"Again," Merlin commanded, his voice steady and calm.

Forty-five attempts later, after relentless focus and immense patience, Harry finally succeeded. His wand flicked, and a forceful, silent Expelliarmus shot from his wand, as powerful as when he had spoken the incantation aloud.

He paused for a moment, astonished at how smoothly it had worked. The spell had felt more natural, more ingrained in him than ever before.

"You see?" Morgana said, smiling slightly. "Magic is part of you. It's not the wand or the incantation that holds the power. It's you, Harry. Now continue—move through the spells you know, but this time, non-verbally."

Harry nodded, exhilaration filling his veins. He moved through the rest of the spells with determination. It wasn't easy, but by his forty-fifth attempt, each spell—Protego Aegis, Diffindo, Expulso—all began to respond to his will without words, with equal strength as before. Even the more complex transfigurations, like the quicksand floor, became manageable without an incantation. His movements were sharp and minimal, his control tighter, more precise.

Cosmos, watching from the sidelines, sent a wave of silent approval through their mental connection. "You're growing stronger, Harry. This is only the beginning."

As the training session drew to a close, Harry was drenched in sweat, but filled with a sense of accomplishment unlike anything he had ever felt before. Merlin and Morgana exchanged approving glances.

"Impressive," Merlin remarked, his voice filled with a hint of pride. "Now you are beginning to unlock your true potential. There is much more to learn, but you are on the right path."

Morgana smiled. "Rest now. You've earned it. But know this—tomorrow, we delve into even deeper magics."

After a week of intensive training in the ancient magics taught during the time of the Hogwarts founders, Harry had grown a bit stronger. Merlin and Morgana had pushed him beyond his limits, guiding him through spells and enchantments that had long been lost to time. The room hidden within the Chamber of Secrets had become his haven, a place where magic flowed through him more freely than anywhere else. Cosmos watched over him with a calm, steady presence, offering advice and encouragement when needed.

In addition to his newfound mastery of the first-year spells, Harry had impressed the founders with his unique vacuum creation abilities, a magical talent he had honed through rigorous personal training and his familiar bond with Cosmos. The founders were fascinated by this skill, one that allowed Harry to manipulate space and matter in ways they had never seen before, even though they couldn't manipulate vacuum. Even Merlin had commented that it was a rare and dangerous gift, one that required extreme control, but also one that could be used to accomplish great things.

"That ability, Harry," Merlin had said one evening, watching Harry demonstrate the creation of a contained vacuum, "is unlike anything I've seen. Use it wisely, for it carries great power and can cause immense dangers"

The week passed in a blur of magical discovery. Between classes and training, Harry barely had time to process all that he was learning. Still, he managed to stay on top of his Hogwarts coursework, his mind sharper and more disciplined than ever.

One evening, after another long training session, Harry sat down to write a letter to his grandmother. He couldn't explain everything in detail, not in a letter. Too much of what he was learning was far too sensitive to be put into writing.


Dear Grandmother,

There are some things I wish to discuss with you, but they're not things that can be shared in a letter. I've learned a lot over the past few weeks—things that go beyond what we've talked about before. I'm looking forward to Hallows' Eve, when we can speak in person. Please know that I'm safe and well, though things have certainly been... eventful.

Until then, I remain,

Yours, Harry.


He sealed the letter with a flick of his wand, watching as the wax melted and formed his family crest. He'd deliver it through Hedwig later that night.

Friday came quickly, and Harry found himself in the Great Hall for dinner, surrounded by his friends. Valerie and Eleanor sat on either side of him, engaged in conversation about the recent Charms lesson, where Flitwick had praised Harry for his skill with the Lumos and Nox spells. He had a natural affinity for Charms, just as his mother had.

As they talked, the conversation was interrupted by a familiar, high-pitched voice. Professor Flitwick, the diminutive Charms Master, appeared beside their table, his robes swishing as he greeted Harry with a wide smile. "Ah, Mr. Potter! Good evening, good evening! How are you?"

Harry smiled back, genuinely pleased to see his professor. "Good evening, Professor. I'm doing well, thank you."

"Good, good! I knew you would be, given your performance in my class! But that's not the reason I'm here," Flitwick continued, his tone becoming more formal. "The headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, has requested a meeting with you. It appears to be something important."

At this, Valerie and Eleanor exchanged quick, worried glances. Valerie leaned closer to Harry, her voice a whisper. "Do you think it's something serious? Should we contact your grandmother or Sirius?"

Eleanor nodded in agreement. "Yeah, maybe one of the adults should be involved if Dumbledore is asking to meet with you. You know how he can be..."

Harry waved them off with a casual shrug, though he appreciated their concern. "It's fine. I've been expecting something like this. Dumbledore probably just wants to talk, nothing more. I'll handle it."

Flitwick, sensing the undercurrent of tension, offered Harry a reassuring smile. "There's no need to worry, Mr. Potter. Professor Dumbledore just wants to have a conversation. He's always had an interest in students who show exceptional promise, and I'm certain that's why he wants to meet with you."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Professor. I'll go see him now."

Flitwick beamed at him before turning to leave. "I'll let him know you're on your way. Have a good evening, Mr. Potter."

As the Charms professor departed, Valerie and Eleanor both looked at Harry with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"You're sure about this?" Valerie asked, her brow furrowed. "Dumbledore is known for his... well, his manipulations. You don't have to go alone."

"I appreciate the offer," Harry said, his tone more serious. "But I think it's best if I handle this by myself. Whatever Dumbledore wants, it's likely related to my... training. I'll fill you in after."

Eleanor bit her lip but nodded. "Alright. Just be careful."

Harry gave them both a reassuring smile, standing from the table. "I'll be fine. I'll meet you back in the common room afterward."

With that, he left the Great Hall, walking with purpose toward the headmaster's office. As he walked, he felt Cosmos reach out to him through their mental connection.

"Do you sense anything unusual, Cosmos?" Harry asked silently.

"Nothing overt," came Cosmos's calm reply. "But it's always wise to be cautious when dealing with Dumbledore. He's an old fox, skilled at weaving his own agendas into any conversation."

"I know," Harry thought back, his mind sharp. "But I can't avoid him forever. Better to face him head-on and find out what he wants."

Cosmos sent a ripple of approval through their bond. "Indeed. I'll be watching, just in case."

Feeling reassured by Cosmos's presence, Harry continued onward, his thoughts focused on whatever the headmaster had planned. Dumbledore's interest in him was no secret, but Harry wasn't naive enough to trust the man blindly. There were too many secrets, too many hidden motives swirling around the headmaster, and he wanted to stay ahead of them all to protect himself and the once he held close to him.

Harry walked up the winding staircase leading to the headmaster's office for the first time, feeling a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. He had only been at Hogwarts for two weeks, and now he was being summoned by Dumbledore himself. The thought made him uneasy, though he kept his composure as best he could.

As he approached the large oak door, it swung open on its own with a soft creak, revealing the office inside. This was the first time Harry had seen the headmaster's office, and it struck him immediately how unique and strange it was. Shelves lined with curious trinkets and magical devices surrounded the room, all humming or ticking in ways that felt both mystical and slightly chaotic. The walls were lined with portraits of old headmasters, their painted eyes following his every move. The atmosphere was thick with the weight of centuries of magic.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore's calm voice rang out, drawing his attention. The headmaster was seated behind his large desk, hands folded serenely, his bright blue eyes twinkling with their usual warmth. "Please, do come in."

Harry hesitated only for a moment before stepping inside and taking the seat Dumbledore gestured to. His gaze briefly flicked to the magnificent phoenix perched on a golden stand behind Dumbledore, its fiery plumage gleaming in the dim light. Fawkes, as Harry had learned, was the headmaster's companion, and the bird watched him with an intelligent, almost knowing look.

"Thank you for coming," Dumbledore said kindly, his voice gentle but tinged with something more serious. "I realize this is your first visit to my office, and I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me."

Harry nodded slowly, still taking in the strange and wondrous room around him. "You asked to see me, Professor. Is something wrong?"

"Not wrong, no," Dumbledore replied softly, leaning back slightly in his chair. "But important, yes. There is much to discuss, and I fear I owe you an explanation."

Harry's brow furrowed. An explanation? His mind immediately raced back to his childhood, to the years spent at the Dursleys' house. This wasn't the first time Dumbledore had mentioned the need to explain things. He had apologized once before—on his birthday—but Harry hadn't been ready to hear it then.

Dumbledore's face grew more solemn. "First, I feel it necessary to offer another apology, Harry. I deeply regret the decision I made to leave you in the care of the Dursleys."

Harry's expression hardened slightly. "You've said that before, Professor. And I told you then, I can't forgive you. Not yet. You had your reasons, I'm sure, but it doesn't change what happened."

Dumbledore's eyes darkened with regret. "Yes, you did say that. And I understand. Forgiveness is not something I expect immediately, nor is it something that can be given lightly."

Harry leaned forward, his voice steady. "What I want to know is why. You've apologized, but you've never explained why you sent me there. I need to know, Professor."

Dumbledore sighed softly, as though a great weight had settled on his shoulders. He paused, gathering his thoughts. "That is the reason for this meeting today, Harry. I once thought to wait a few more years before telling you everything, but... Professor McGonagall and your grandmother, Euphemia, both made me see that waiting any longer would only cause more harm. You deserve to know why I made the choices I did."

Harry felt a flicker of surprise at the mention of his grandmother. She and McGonagall had pushed for this meeting? It made sense; they had always looked out for him and were fiercely protective over him, especially after the Dursleys incident came to light. He nodded slowly. "Go on."

Dumbledore nodded, his expression soft but grave. "Very well. It is time you learned the truth behind why I chose to send you to the Dursleys. It was not a decision I made lightly, nor one without great consequence."

Harry sat back in his chair, his gaze unwavering as he waited for the explanation that had eluded him for so long.

Dumbledore took a deep breath, as if preparing to delve into painful memories. "Harry," he began, his voice tinged with a solemnity that Harry had rarely heard from him, "before I explain why I sent you to live with your aunt and uncle, there is something else you must understand. Your mother, Lily, performed an ancient protection ritual, one of such rarity that even I had very little information about it at the time."

Harry frowned, listening closely, though his irritation from earlier still simmered beneath the surface. Dumbledore noticed and gave a brief nod of understanding before continuing.

"This ritual," Dumbledore said, "was something recorded in your family's ancient grimoire. According to a letter Lily wrote to both me and her mentor, Professor Flitwick, she discovered it shortly before Voldemort's attack. James also mentioned something similar in a message to Professor McGonagall, his own mentor in Transfiguration. The ritual involved a willing sacrifice, and its power was drawn from the depth of that selflessness. The sacrifice was offered to invoke a protection upon a person of the sacrificer's choice—"

"Me," Harry interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended. "It was me. My mum chose to protect me."

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed, his voice steady. "Your mother's sacrifice created a bond of ancient magic, one that resides in your very blood."

Harry's mind raced as he processed the explanation, but something didn't add up. "But what about my dad?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion and frustration. "Why didn't his sacrifice protect him or my mum? Why did it only work for her?"

Dumbledore sighed, and for a moment, his eyes lost some of their usual twinkle. "James's sacrifice, brave and noble as it was, did not invoke the same magic. The crucial difference is that Voldemort gave Lily a choice—he offered her the chance to live if she would step aside. But James... James was never given such an option. He fought to the very end, and Voldemort struck him down before he could make any sort of bargain. That is why the protection didn't extend to him."

Harry felt a bitter knot in his chest at Dumbledore's explanation. He stared down at the polished wood of the headmaster's desk, anger and confusion swirling inside him. Before he could say anything more, Dumbledore reached for something on his desk—a small, shallow basin made of stone, with strange runes etched around its edges.

A Pensieve.

"I believe it is time," Dumbledore said quietly, "that you see for yourself the events of that night."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, his eyes clouded with memories and regret. He regarded Harry with a quiet, contemplative look before speaking. "Harry, what I am about to show you is something I had hoped to reveal much later in your life. I had thought that by your sixth year, perhaps you would be ready, but I have come to realize that withholding it any longer would only drive a wedge between us. It was a hard lesson to learn, one imparted to me by two of the fiercest women I know—Professor McGonagall and your grandmother, Euphemia Potter."

"I managed to extract this memory from Peter Pettigrew when we captured him, after Sirius was exonerated," Dumbledore explained, his voice tinged with sorrow. "I believe it is time for you to see the truth of what happened that night—how your parents fought to protect you, understand their sacrifices for you and hopefully you would understand why I did what I had done"

With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore activated the Pensieve, and the familiar swirling mist within began to take shape. Without hesitation, Harry leaned in, allowing himself to be pulled into the memory.

The autumn evening was calm, the golden glow of the setting sun filtering through the curtains of the Potter household. Inside, James and Lily Potter sat together by the fire, enjoying a rare moment of peace. Lily cradled baby Harry in her arms, his innocent eyes gazing up at her while James regaled her with another tale from their time at Hogwarts.

"Honestly, James," Lily laughed softly, "I'll never understand how you managed to be both Head Boy and such a troublemaker at the same time."

James grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. "Charm, Evans. Irresistible charm."

Lily rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she gazed down at Harry. "He's going to grow up so loved, and have a peaceful life alongside us" she said, her voice soft. "That's all I want."

James kissed the top of Harry's head and replied, "He'll grow up strong too, Lils. Brave, just like us. We will ensure his world will be rid of war, or at least his generation can see a semblance of peace and not war"

But the warmth of their evening shattered abruptly. A cold breeze swept through the room as the wards outside trembled—then tore apart with a sound like thunder. James shot up from his seat, his hand instinctively going to his wand.

"Lily..." he began, his voice tense. "It's him."

Lily gasped, clutching Harry tighter. She didn't need to ask who James meant. They had been preparing for this moment for months, but the reality of it hit her like a ton of bricks.

"Take Harry," James said, his voice firm as he moved toward the door. "Go upstairs. Now."

Lily didn't argue. She bolted from the room, Harry clutched to her chest, as James stood in the living room, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. His heart raced, but his resolve was steady. He knew what was coming. He knew who was coming.

The front door burst open with a crash, and there, standing in the doorway, was Lord Voldemort. His face was pale, snake-like, and twisted into a cruel grin, red eyes gleaming with malice.

"Potter," Voldemort hissed, stepping into the house with the air of a predator who had cornered his prey.

James raised his wand, keeping his voice steady as he met the Dark Lord's gaze. "You sure know how to ruin an evening, Voldemort. Didn't anyone tell you showing up uninvited with that ugly face of yours is bad form?"

Voldemort's expression flickered with brief annoyance before he spoke, his voice icy. "Do you really think humor will save you now? I'm here for your son."

James didn't lower his wand. His pulse quickened, but he kept his fear hidden behind a mask of bravado. "You're not touching Harry. And you're not touching Lily."

Voldemort let out a slow, mocking laugh. "Such bravery, Potter. But it's futile. I have offered both you and your wife a chance to join me. Despite her... unfortunate lineage of her being a mudblood, I recognized her talent. Even yours. You could've stood beside me. You could've been on the winning side."

James's eyes hardened as he raised his wand higher. "You won't win, Voldemort. Not while there are people willing to fight for good. As long as there are those who want peace, who stand against you, you'll never truly win."

Voldemort's smile vanished. "Fool," he spat, his voice laced with venom. "You think your defiance means anything? You are nothing more than a temporary obstacle."

Without warning, Voldemort raised his wand, a flash of green light racing toward James. But James was ready. He flicked his wand, conjuring a flock of iridescent swallows that intercepted the Killing Curse, the birds dissolving into bursts of light.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed in frustration. "Swallows, how quaint, Impressive, but ultimately useless."

The duel began in earnest. James, always a master of Transfiguration, used the objects around him to create barriers and distractions—chairs became charging bulls, a nearby lamp transformed into a coiled serpent that lunged at the Dark Lord. But Voldemort was relentless, shattering every obstacle with ease. The room was filled with the flashing lights of spells, as curses and counter-curses flew between them.

"You've been a thorn in my side for too long, Potter," Voldemort growled as he hurled another Killing Curse that James deflected with a shimmering silver shield. "Do you think I've forgotten Hogsmeade? The army of giants, orcs, and werewolves you wiped out with your little Order, ultimately it was you that killed most of my army that day alongside 24 death eaters of mine which even had one of my inner circle members, Thesius Redthorn?"

James felt a surge of anger at the mention of Hogsmeade. Three years ago, while Voldemort had been duelling Dumbledore in the Ministry's atrium, he had sent an army to destroy the village. James and the few of the members of Order of the Phoenix had fought them off, preventing untold destruction. He had particularly slaughtered most of the army and even got one of Voldemort's inner circle.

"You mean the army you couldn't even control properly?" James shot back, his voice hard. "I wiped them out because you sent them to slaughter innocent people. And I'd do it again."

Voldemort's eyes blazed with fury. "You will die for that. And your wife and child will follow you."

With a swift, vicious movement, Voldemort fired a curse aimed directly at James's chest, but James countered with a powerful organ-rotting hex that struck Voldemort in the abdomen. For a moment, Voldemort faltered, his face twisting in shock and pain as the curse took hold, rotting the flesh inside him.

James allowed himself a brief moment of triumph, but it was short-lived. Voldemort's lips curled into a cold, sinister smile, and to James's horror, he began to laugh—low, chilling, and triumphant, a chilling, high-pitched sound that made Harry's blood run cold.

"You dare?" Voldemort hissed, touching his hand to the decaying flesh. "Do you really think you can stop me with such feeble attempts?Did you really think such a curse would work on me?" Voldemort sneered. "I have undergone rituals beyond your comprehension, Potter. I am more than a mere mortal. Death cannot ensnare me, because for me death is all but a triviality"

With a wave of his wand, Voldemort cut off the blood flow to the cursed part of his abdomen, and James watched in disbelief as new cells began to regenerate where the damage had been. In moments, it was as if the curse had never touched him. Even Harry was shocked and a bit scared but such a display.

James's heart sank as he realized just how outmatched he was. Voldemort wasn't just powerful—he was inhuman due to the countless rituals he did.

"You see now?" Voldemort taunted. "I am eternal. And you... are nothing. I have transcended death cannot win, Potter," Voldemort said, his voice full of cruel glee. "I am immortal."

James, though visibly exhausted, did not back down. He kept his wand raised, but Harry could see his father's grip shaking.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Lily Potter had barricaded herself and Harry in the nursery. She had tried everything—Apparating, using the Floo Network, even the emergency Portkey James had set up. But nothing worked. Voldemort had erected powerful anti-travel wards around the house.

Breathing heavily, she turned to Harry, who was cooing softly in his crib. Her heart clenched with fear for the safety of both her son and husband, but she forced herself to stay calm. She had no choice but to protect her son.

She hurriedly locked the nursery door and enchanted it with every protective spell she knew, hoping it would hold for at least a little while longer. Then, with a trembling hand, she reached into her robes and pulled out a knife and slit her palm to collect her own blood.

Kneeling by Harry's crib, she gently dabbed drops of her blood on his forehead and cheeks. The sight of her blood mingling with her child's pure skin made her heart ache, but she knew what had to be done.

Lily began chanting in a language Harry didn't recognize, her voice filled with quiet desperation. The blood on Harry's skin began to glow a soft, golden light before seeping into his skin. The magic was ancient, protective, and as the last of the blood disappeared, Harry's body shimmered faintly.

Downstairs, James fought desperately, but the duel had taken its toll. Voldemort's spells came faster and more vicious, and though James deflected them with skill, the Dark Lord's power was overwhelming. A bone-crushing curse shattered James's left arm, causing him to cry out in pain. His arm hung uselessly at his side, shattered by a bone-crushing curse. He was tired as far as Harry could tell, and Voldemort's curses came faster and harder with each passing second.

In his weakened state, James was no longer able to hold off the inevitable. Another flash of green light, and James knew he was out of time. The Killing Curse struck him in the chest, and James crumpled to the floor, his last thought one of fierce love and determination to protect his family as the life in his eyes left him.

A deafening explosion shattered the door behind her. Lily spun around, her heart seizing in terror as Voldemort entered the room, his wand raised.

"Step aside, foolish girl," Voldemort hissed, his red eyes locking onto her. "I only want the boy."

Lily stood her ground, her heart pounding in her chest. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Not Harry. Please, take me instead. Kill me. Just leave him."

Voldemort's expression remained cold, though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Step aside. I will not ask again, silly girl."

Lily shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Not Harry... please..."

Voldemort's patience snapped. With a swift movement, he raised his wand.

"Avada Kedavra."

The green light hit Lily square in the chest, and she collapsed to the floor, her last breath a plea for her son's life, the once bright and vibrant emerald green eyes, the same he had inherited was now dull and void, Harry watched in anger as he saw the life of his parents cruelly taken by the mad man, he swore he would avenge them

Voldemort stepped over Lily's body without a second glance, his gaze fixed on the crib where Harry lay. Voldemort, now having dispatched both parents, turned his attention to Harry. He approached the crib, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"The end of the prophecy," Voldemort muttered. "This is where it ends."

He raised his wand, the Killing Curse on his lips.

"Avada Kedavra!"

But as the green light shot toward Harry, something unexpected happened. The magic rebounded, striking Voldemort with terrifying force. The Dark Lord's red eyes widened in shock as his own curse turned on him.

With a ragged scream, Voldemort's body disintegrated into ashes, his mortal form destroyed. His soul, twisted and fractured, tore itself from the remains of his body and fled into the night with a bone-chilling wail.

The memory ended abruptly, and Harry was yanked back into the present, his breathing heavy and his hands trembling slightly. Dumbledore watched him with sympathy, his expression deeply sad.

"Your father," Dumbledore said gently, "had thwarted Voldemort before, in ways that made him a marked man. Three years after James and Lily's final year at Hogwarts, your father helped lead the defense of Hogsmeade against an army of giants, orcs, and werewolves that Voldemort had sent to destroy the village. He wiped out much of that army, saving countless lives. It was an act that Voldemort never forgot, nor forgave."

"Lily was pregnant with you at the time," Dumbledore added softly. "I knew that her sacrifice was more powerful because she was fighting for her child even though she was given a choice, Voldemort in his foolish arrogance did not foresee the ritual or sacrificial bond formed on you that night. That, combined with her mastery of the ritual she had discovered, created the protection that still lingers in your blood today."

Harry sat in silence, his emotions warring within him. He didn't know what to say, and the weight of everything he had seen and heard felt almost unbearable.

Dumbledore spoke again, his voice grave but kind. "As for why I sent you to live with your aunt and uncle, it was because of that protection. When Lily invoked the ritual, the protection bound itself to your blood, and in my research—much of which was conducted in the International Confederation of Wizards' libraries—I found that if you were placed with Lily's relatives, the magic would create powerful wards around you. These wards were designed to keep you safe from anyone with malicious intent. Any magical being who meant you harm would not be able to touch you without suffering... fatal consequences."

Harry looked up sharply. "Fatal consequences?"

Dumbledore nodded, his expression serious. "Yes. Those wards, Harry, have killed 38 Death Eaters over the years—Death Eaters who found your aunt and uncle's address through corrupt Ministry officials. They sought to kill you in revenge for Voldemort's downfall, but none of them survived their attempt."

Harry blinked, startled by the revelation. He had never known that Death Eaters had tried to attack him while he was growing up. The idea that so many had died trying to reach him at the Dursleys' house was both shocking and unsettling.

"But why send me to them?" Harry asked, his voice low. "Why place me with people who hated me?"

Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, his eyes filled with regret. "I had believed, perhaps foolishly, that the protection would outweigh the... unpleasantness of your living situation. I did not foresee that your aunt and uncle would treat you as they did. I underestimated the cruelty of those who were supposed to care for you, and for that, I am deeply sorry."

Harry's fists clenched as he absorbed Dumbledore's words. The anger that had been simmering within him for years threatened to boil over, but he forced himself to remain calm.

Dumbledore continued, his voice soft but firm. "I know this does not excuse what you endured. But the blood wards were the strongest protection I could give you. They shielded you from Voldemort's followers, even if I could not shield you from the Dursleys' neglect."

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his mind reeling from everything he had learned. The truth was painful, but it was something he had needed to hear.

Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but cold. "I understand why you did it. But I can't forgive you—not yet."

Dumbledore nodded, his expression sad but accepting. "I did not expect you to. But I felt you deserved to know the truth."

Harry stood up, his hands still trembling slightly. "Thank you for telling me," he said, his voice curt. Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of the office, his thoughts a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and sorrow.

As Harry exited Dumbledore's office, the weight of the recent revelations pressed heavily on him. His parents' deaths, the sacrificial protection, and the new understanding of his role in the ongoing battle with Voldemort had left him feeling overwhelmed. But amidst the storm of emotions, one thought persisted: the prophecy. He had heard it mentioned in whispers and rumors, but now he needed to know its full content, its meaning.

Harry paused in the corridor, his breath coming in short bursts as he turned back toward Dumbledore's office. He knocked briskly and then pushed open the door without waiting for a response.

Dumbledore, who had returned to his desk, looked up with a raised eyebrow but made no move to rebuke Harry's sudden re-entry.

"Harry?" Dumbledore's voice was calm but carried a note of inquiry.

"I need to know about the prophecy," Harry said urgently. "Please, tell me everything."

Dumbledore sighed, "I had hoped we could come to that later but very well, you deserve to know why Tom came after you when you were just a year old"

Dumbledore gestured to the Pensieve on his desk, and it began to emit a soft, silvery light. He took a deep breath and carefully extracted a memory from a small vial, which he then tipped into the Pensieve. The swirling mist inside grew more defined until it solidified into a scene.

"Here," Dumbledore said, inviting Harry to look into the Pensieve. "This is a memory of the prophecy delivered by Sybill Trelawney during her interview for the Divination post."

Harry leaned closer, his reflection blending into the mist. The scene that emerged was from a dimly lit room where a younger Sybill Trelawney, her eyes glazed over as if in a trance, began to speak in a deep, resonant voice that echoed with foreboding.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

As the prophecy played out, Harry watched with rapt attention, his eyes wide. The atmosphere in the memory was heavy with tension, and the voice of Trelawney seemed to vibrate through the very core of his being.

Dumbledore's voice, soft and somber, cut through the memory. "This prophecy was made during an interview Sybill Trelawney had at the Hog's Head Inn, before she was hired. It was only later that I realized the significance of her words, especially in relation to you and Neville Longbottom."

The Pensieve's memory ended abruptly, and Harry found himself back in the serene yet imposing office of Professor Dumbledore. His heart raced, and his breaths came in ragged gasps, the weight of the prophecy and its implications crashing over him like a tidal wave. His mind was still reeling from the vivid, disorienting images he had witnessed—the desperate fight of his parents, the haunting rebounding of the killing curse, and the shattered remnants of Voldemort's dark reign.

The office seemed to spin for a moment before stabilizing. Harry blinked rapidly, trying to ground himself in reality. Dumbledore stood before him, his expression one of deep compassion and understanding, as if he were holding the weight of Harry's burden along with him.

"Harry," Dumbledore began softly, his voice steady but imbued with a gentle concern. "I understand that what you have just seen is overwhelming. The prophecy is a fragment of what might come to pass, a glimpse into what could be. It is not a predetermined fate but a possibility—a potential future based on the choices made by those involved."

Harry's voice was hoarse, struggling to emerge through the tumult of emotions. "So, it's all true. I am the one… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting a deep sorrow mixed with an enduring hope. "Yes, Harry. You are indeed the one marked by the prophecy. But remember, the prophecy is only a part of the equation. It is not solely about what is written in those words. It is about how you confront your destiny and the choices you make along the way."

Harry swallowed hard, his throat feeling tight and dry. "And Neville? What about him?"

A flicker of sadness crossed Dumbledore's face. "Neville Longbottom was also a candidate mentioned in the prophecy. Voldemort's decision to attack you and your family was what solidified your position as the one marked by the prophecy. It was his choice to target you that sealed your fate, not a flaw or decision on your part."

Harry's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information he had been given. The puzzle was slowly coming together, but it still felt incomplete, like a picture with missing pieces. "I understand now, at least a little. I just… I need time to process all of this. It's a lot to take in."

Dumbledore's gaze softened with a deep empathy. "Of course, Harry. Take all the time you need. You do not have to carry this burden alone. I am here to support you, as are your friends and family. You have more strength and resilience than you realize, and you will find your way through this, one step at a time."

Harry, still grappling with the enormity of the revelation, looked up with a troubled expression. "But if I'm the one with the power to vanquish Voldemort, then… is he truly dead? Or is he still out there?"

Dumbledore's eyes clouded with concern, and he sighed deeply. "I am afraid Voldemort is still alive, Harry. The circumstances of his survival are shrouded in mystery. I am certain he has found a way to evade death, though I do not fully understand how. His presence still lingers, and it is one of the many reasons why the fight against him is far from over."

Harry's face tightened as he absorbed this new piece of information. "Then who else knows about the prophecy and the memory you showed me? Is there anyone else who is aware of this?"

Dumbledore's expression grew somber. "Euphemia knows of the prophecy, but I have not shared the full details of the memory with her. She is aware of its significance, but I could not bring myself to show her the scenes of Lily's and James's deaths. She saw Lily as her own daughter, and I did not want to burden her with the pain of reliving such a traumatic event."

Harry's heart ached at the thought of the personal losses and struggles faced by those he cared about. He nodded, feeling the weight of the secrets and the shared history that bound them all. "I understand. Thank you for being honest with me."

Dumbledore gave a small, reassuring smile. "You are welcome, Harry. Remember, you are not alone in this. There are many who care deeply for you and are ready to support you. If you ever need guidance or someone to talk to, do not hesitate to reach out."

With a sense of resolve forming within him, Harry stood up, the burden of his destiny still heavy but now accompanied by a clearer understanding. "I will," he said quietly. "I just need some time to process everything and find my way."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and concern. "Take all the time you need, Harry. I will be here whenever you are ready."

After leaving Dumbledore's office, Harry made his way back to the common room, his thoughts still swirling. The weight of the prophecy and Dumbledore's revelations felt overwhelming, but he knew he needed to hold it together. As he entered the Gryffindor common room, Eleanor and Valerie, who had been waiting anxiously for him, rushed over.

"Harry, are you okay?" Eleanor asked, her brow furrowed with concern. Valerie nodded in agreement, her expression equally worried.

Harry forced a smile, waving off their concern. "I'm fine, really," he said. "It was just a meeting with Dumbledore. Nothing to worry about."

Valerie looked skeptical but didn't press further. "Alright, if you say so. Just let us know if you need anything, okay?"

Harry nodded, appreciating their concern but feeling the need for some time alone. "I will. Thanks."

He quickly excused himself and made his way up to the boys' dormitory. The familiar, comforting space did little to ease the tension building in his chest. He sat on his bed for a moment, taking a deep breath before pulling out the enchanted mirror Sirius had given him. He held it up, speaking quietly into it.

"Padfoot."

The mirror shimmered for a moment, and Sirius Black's face appeared, looking surprised but pleased. "Harry!" he exclaimed, grinning. "It's great to see you. What's going on? You look… tense."

Harry hesitated for a moment, then said, "Sirius, I need you to gather everyone—our family and friends. Take them out of the house on Halloween morning. I have something important to tell all of you."

Sirius's face immediately grew serious. "What's going on, Harry? Are you alright? Is something wrong?"

Harry shrugged it off with a nonchalant wave, trying to play down the situation. "I'm fine. Just… a lot of stuff happened, and I think it's best we all talk in person. But I'm okay."

Sirius didn't look entirely convinced. "If you're sure…"

Harry nodded quickly, eager to change the subject. "I wanted to tell you about my first two weeks here. Hogwarts is amazing, but… it's been an adjustment."

Sirius's grin returned slightly. "Hogwarts is always an adjustment, kiddo. Tell me everything."

And Harry did. He told Sirius all about his classes, from his progress in Transfiguration and Charms to the absolute mess that was Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts class. When he reached the subject of Snape, Harry's voice hardened with clear irritation. "Snape's just as bad as you said, Sirius. He's been giving me a hard time since day one, sneering and taking points from me every chance he gets."

At the mention of Snape's name, Sirius's face twisted with rage, the familiar hatred flaring in his eyes. "That slimy git," Sirius growled. "I told Dumbledore years ago he was no good, and I still don't trust him one bit. You watch your back around him, Harry. He's up to no good—always has been."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I know. He's been nothing but trouble, but I'm handling it."

Sirius still looked worried but eventually nodded, seeming to trust Harry's judgement. "Alright, but be careful. You're still young, and there's a lot more to Snape than just being a bitter old bat."

Harry smirked. "I'll manage. Anyway, I need to rest. I just wanted to catch up with you."

"Alright, but don't hesitate to reach out if you need me," Sirius said, his voice filled with concern. "And I'll gather everyone like you asked. We'll meet on Halloween. Just… take care of yourself, Harry."

"I will. Thanks, Sirius," Harry replied before cutting the connection.

After the mirror dimmed, Harry leaned back against his pillow, exhaling deeply. Talking to Sirius had helped a little, but there was still so much to process. After a moment, he felt a gentle presence in his mind—the familiar touch of Cosmos.

You are troubled, young one, Cosmos spoke softly, his telepathic voice calm and comforting.

Harry closed his eyes, allowing the connection to strengthen. You could say that. Dumbledore showed me memories—of my parents, of the night they died. He also told me about the prophecy… about me and Voldemort.

Ah, the prophecy, Cosmos responded, his tone contemplative. A path foretold, but not yet set in stone. It weighs heavily on you.

Yeah, Harry thought, feeling the pressure of the burden once more. I don't even know where to start. Everything is just… too much.

You are stronger than you think, Harry, Cosmos assured him. You have faced much already, and you have much yet to learn. But you are not alone. I will guide you as best I can, and you have allies—both near and far.

Harry's thoughts wandered back to the memory of his parents' last moments—the way James had fought so fiercely, the way Lily had sacrificed herself for him. And then the prophecy. His destiny tied so deeply with Voldemort's. The idea of facing him someday filled Harry with both dread and determination.

How do I even fight someone like Voldemort? Harry asked, the question slipping from his mind before he could stop it.

You do not fight alone, Cosmos replied. And power is not the only way to defeat him. There are strengths Voldemort does not possess—ones that you do.

Harry opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. I hope you're right.

You will find your way, Cosmos assured him once more before his presence gently receded, leaving Harry with his thoughts.

Though the weight of the prophecy and the memories lingered, Harry felt a small spark of hope deep within. He wasn't alone in this—he had people who cared for him, and even a powerful familiar like Cosmos watching over him.

AN: There done, hope you enjoy, can't update much as I am back in the hospital, Just I wanted to say that if any of you are interested to become my beta reader or know any beta readers could you get them connected to me, thank you

Hope you enjoy and see you in the next update.

And also I had stumbled upon the artwork of a certain individual and I liked it, so I will share her link. If you are interested in getting commissions do check out her profile, a disclaimer though it's not paid promotion or anything, I just wanted to share a fellow artist's works here. The below is her message

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