CHAPTER – 2 THREE STRANGE OCCURRENCES

Soft as a feather, a whisper broke the eerie silence. "Harry Potter," it murmured. "Have you learned the art of dueling?"

Harry stood firm, defying the Dark Lord, his sleeves torn and blood seeping from his arm. Nineteen of the man's followers circled him like hungry hounds, clad in their ominous Death Eater attire. A bit farther away, Peter Pettigrew cradled his new silver arm, a so-called "gift" from the same master who had taken his original one.

Disgusting.

Harry stole a glance at Cedric Diggory, lying motionless on the ground, stunned just in time. Then Pettigrew petrified him again.

His grip on his wand tightened, his faithful companion since he first entered the magical world at the age of eleven. Despite the impending mortal danger, the gentle pulse of his wand brought him a modicum of solace.

Voldemort chuckled, his crimson eyes gleaming through the cemetery's murky darkness. Waves of magic radiated from him, urging Harry to flee.

Fear.

Helplessness.

Frustration.

Rage.

Emotions assailed his mind. This was the monster who had orphaned him, slain his parents, and shattered his childhood.

"I asked you a question."

The Dark Lord's tone carried an unexpected politeness, even a touch of charm. A peculiar contradiction.

"Dumbledore's protege, Parseltongue speaker, the slayer of Slytherin's basilisk, the vanquisher of history's greatest Dark Lord... Surely, you're familiar with dueling?"

"...Yes." The word left Harry's lips, sounding oddly serpentine to his own ears.

"How splendid!" Voldemort's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Prepare yourself, Harry! Rest assured, none of them," he gestured to the other Death Eaters, "will intervene. I'll give you a fair chance to vanquish me once more."

Harry narrowed his eyes. What was this all about? He was alone, wounded, exhausted, and outnumbered. There was nowhere to run.

So... why? Why all this theatrics?

"Is this a mere game to you?" He unconsciously spoke in Parseltongue, making the Death Eaters visibly uneasy. One even dropped his wand in surprise.

Oh, right. Parseltongue had a trait muggles called 'infrasound,' affecting the nervous system. It amplified fears and vulnerabilities, triggering an intense fight-or-flight response in others, particularly among witches and wizards. It explained why so many had turned against him in his second year.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his wand and met the Dark Lord's gaze.

"I see you're finally tapping into your potential," Voldemort smirked, sounding like a connoisseur savoring fine wine. "It's truly unfortunate that we must be adversaries."

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. "And whose fault is that?"

Surprisingly, the Dark Lord paused, contemplating his question. "Tell me, Harry Potter," he began, sounding genuinely curious, "if I were to grant you immunity, would you join my side?"

Harry blinked.

"..."

"... Are you... are you insane?"

"HOW DARE YOU—" Someone from the crowd raised his wand to hex him.

"Now, now," Voldemort lazily flicked his wand, flinging the man away. "Let's not get so angry. Young Harry is still at Hogwarts. Untrained. Unhoned. A son of the illustrious Potter family. A Parseltongue, much like myself. I wouldn't be surprised if we had a shared ancestry somewhere."

Harry stared, feeling the surrealness of the situation. Was this really happening?

No. This was a game. This monster was toying with him. Nothing more.

"You killed my parents," he snarled.

"It was a war," the Dark Lord shrugged. "People die. But I was merciful. I told them to stand aside, three times. They chose death."

"You tried to kill me."

"I did."

"... Why?"

The Dark Lord chuckled, sending shivers down Harry's spine and making his heart race. Would he finally get an answer? He had asked the Headmaster the same question every year, only to receive vague responses and empty promises. Maybe Voldemort would be less frustrating?

"Because you could become a potential threat in the future. My attempt to kill you was... as the muggles say, 'nip the problem in the bud,'" he said, tilting his head slightly. "I offer you one more chance. Join me and be spared."

Spared. Spared from what? This monster would destroy anyone who crossed his path—Dumbledore, Sirius, everyone. What was the point of life then?

"No."

Something terrible gleamed in the Dark Lord's eyes. "You see me as your enemy, boy. But you have no idea of the extent of my power. I ask thrice. Join me or die."

Harry clenched his teeth. The man was playing with his emotions, baiting him, testing him.

Allowing his rage to consume him, he spat at the source of his suffering. He raised his wand and—

—was sent tumbling backward.

The Death Eaters laughed.

"We must adhere to decorum," Voldemort chided, flicking his wand again. Harry lost control of his body. It wasn't a petrification hex; it was more like... he had lost his sense of touch, weight, and movement.

He stood there, encircled by his enemies, completely powerless.

"First, we bow," Voldemort scolded. "Formalities must be observed," he mocked. "Such a lack of manners. Dumbledore would be disappointed."

The Death Eaters openly laughed now, taunting and jeering, treating him like their entertainment for the night.

"Bow, Harry Potter. Bow to Death."

He wouldn't.

He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He was not—

"I said, BOW!" Voldemort flicked his wand once more, and Harry screamed.

An invisible force pressed down on his shoulders, overwhelming him. He bit his lip, trying to resist, but it was futile. His spine bent, and he knelt on the grass.

In response, Voldemort offered a slight, mocking bow.

"That wasn't too difficult, was it?" he asked, a faint smile gracing his lips.

Harry met his gaze, his defiance unwavering even in the face of impending doom.

It only widened Voldemort's smile as he raised his wand. "And now, we duel!"

Harry had little time to react before he was flung across the graveyard. The gesture was rough but precise, enough to rough him up without causing harm.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort murmured. "Is this truly all you can muster?"

He flicked his wand again, disrupting Harry's incantation and tossing him about as before.

"There's no Dumbledore to rescue you," he said. "No mother to shield you. No friend to stand in your place."

Voldemort wasn't even trying to kill him, and Harry knew it. This was a display, proof of the man's dominance, a reminder that his defeat fourteen years ago had been nothing but luck.

"You are alone now, Harry Potter. And you. Are. Nothing."

The anger inside him burned hotter. Somewhere in his mind, a memory surfaced, an entirely ordinary memory.

Certainly, here's a reworded version of the chapter you provided:

An observation.

A spell.

One that Alastor Moody had once demonstrated to his entire class. It was a spell buried deep within Harry's memories, one he had never seen a reason to use, nor had he ever imagined wanting to use.

Until now.

"Crucio!"

Pain immediately interrupted Harry's thoughts, pain beyond anything he could have ever imagined. And in that moment, the thought of that single spell overtook his mind once more. He couldn't find it in himself to use anything but that spell.

Powerful spells often had their unique requirements, as the Patronus had taught him. This spell had its own requirements as well. And now, as he knelt on the cemetery floor, he knew he would be able to cast it.

He would cast it.

"Farewell, Harry Potter!" Voldemort raised his wand again. "Avada—"

Harry didn't wait for the man to finish. He leveled his wand, pointing it forward as he called forth the power deep within him, feeding it with all the hate, wrath, and fury he could muster before yelling as loudly as he could—

"AVADA—"

"—KEDAVRA!"

Harry gripped his temples, trying to force the memory back into the recesses of his mind. The sight of dusty shelves lined with even dustier tomes didn't help. Whoever had thought that conducting an interrogation inside the Headmaster's office was a good idea must have been influenced by one of Neville's potions.

After nearly a week in a coma, Harry had opened his eyes to find Hogwarts nearly deserted. It turned out that everyone had hastily vacated the school after the Third Task. The details were hazy, but McGonagall had instructed him to report to Dumbledore's office as soon as Madam Pomfrey had given him the all-clear.

Knowing Madam Pomfrey's tendencies, Harry had escaped the Hospital Wing within an hour.

But now, he wished that Madam Pomfrey would come to his rescue. At least then, he wouldn't have to endure Percy's feeble attempts at sneering. No hard feelings, Percy, he wanted to say. There's only one Severus Snape, and he doesn't have red hair.

So that's how he found himself seated on one of the excessively cushioned chairs, while three individuals, including Percy Weasley, questioned him about the events of that night.

That was all right. It was expected, after all.

Every year, Draco Malfoy would pester him on the Hogwarts Express.

Every year, Snape would be unpleasant to him.

Every year, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor would attempt to hinder him.

Every year, he would face mortal danger in one way or another.

And at the end of each year, he would have a heart-to-heart with Albus Dumbledore in the Hospital Wing, immediately following the danger. It was a conversation in which Dumbledore would promise answers, offer vague advice, and send him back to Privet Drive.

Practically a ritual, wasn't it?

But this year was different, perhaps due to the Triwizard Tournament. The woman with grey hair and a monocle over her right eye was Amelia Bones, the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Susan Bones' aunt. He had no idea who Susan was, but perhaps one of the girls who sat near Ernie Macmillan at the Hufflepuff table.

The second person was Albus Dumbledore, of course. And lastly, Percy Weasley, the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, although Harry wasn't quite sure what an Undersecretary did.

"To rephrase," Percy said, trying and failing to sound haughty, "you acknowledge using an Unforgivable Curse against another wizard, fully aware that the penalty for such an action is a life sentence in Azkaban?"

Harry could appreciate Percy's talent for rephrasing statements while simultaneously writing them down in beautiful calligraphic script. If he turned his nose up any higher, he might resemble Lucius Malfoy.

He chuckled to himself.

"Potter!" Percy snapped. "Stop laughing and answer the question. Did you, with full intention, cast the Killing Curse?"

Harry noticed that Dumbledore had stiffened. Evidently, they had administered two drops of truth serum and a mild calming draught, but it didn't seem to be working.

At all.

This was one of the three strange things that had been happening to him since he woke up. But he couldn't resist taking advantage of it.

"I tried to cast the curse. The next thing I remember is waking up with Madam Pomfrey fussing over me."

"Did you or did you not cast the curse?" Bones pressed.

"I have no idea. The last thing I recall was the green light from Voldemort's wand. And then this…"

Using their doubt and suspicion to his advantage was a neat trick he had learned from observing Dumbledore over the years. With a touch of bitterness, it became even more convincing. Some people had a natural talent for making him want to slap them without uttering a word, and Percy was clearly one of them.

"Suspect admits to attempting a Killing Curse," Percy declared, his dicta-quill faithfully recording his words on parchment. "The suspect shows no remorse for the act."

"Suspect also thinks you're a buffoon."

Percy sputtered, while Amelia Bones raised an eyebrow. Harry was amazed at how much grace she conveyed in that simple gesture compared to his own lack of it.

That brought him to the third strange thing that had been happening to him. He couldn't seem to stop talking, as if his mouth had disconnected from his brain and was operating independently. Whether it was due to the veritaserum or not, he couldn't say.

"Perhaps I can provide some clarity on this matter," Dumbledore began, his eyes twinkling merrily. "You see, Harry, casting the Unforgivable Curses successfully requires a specific mindset that is so dangerous that Aurors and Hit-wizards capable of casting them are typically retired."

"Wow," Harry drawled. "Moody must have been asleep when that lesson was taught."

Harry ignored Percy's interjection and continued, "He Crucio'd me. It hurt like a curse word, but I fought back, and then he used it on me."

"The Killing Curse?" Dumbledore inquired.

For some reason, Harry felt that the old man was expecting, perhaps even hoping for an affirmation.

He nodded.

Amelia Bones scrutinized him with her hawk-like gaze but remained silent.

"Harry's retelling aligns with the scene I came upon," Dumbledore interjected. "When I reached the graveyard, I found him lying on the ground, unconscious."

"Surrounded by bodies?" Madam Bones inquired.

"Bodies?" Harry asked, genuinely startled. The last thing he remembered was the Death Eaters laughing all around him. Had something happened after that?

The Headmaster's expression looked doleful. "When I appeared at the site, I found you unconscious on the ground, surrounded by several bodies clad in Death Eater robes and masks."

Dumbledore paused.

"All of them were dead."

"…All?"

"Twelve," the Headmaster specified.

"And rotting," Madam Bones added. Harry could feel her watching his expressions closely. "Do you remember anything like that happening that night, Mr. Potter?"

"Uh, no?" Harry replied, hoping it sounded less foolish out loud than it did in his head.

Still… dead? What the hell happened that night? Had the Killing Curse backfired again? Was that why his vault had all that gold while the Weasleys were dirt poor?

"Wait," Harry mumbled, "now that Voldemort is back, does that mean you'll take my money away?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more merrily.

"I also have another report here," Madam Bones continued, despite the slight twitch on her lips, "It says here… you claimed Professor Quirinus Quirrell was possessed by the Dark Lord?"

"He was on the back of his head, like a bad pimple."

"Madam Bones," Percy began pompously, "clearly Potter's delusions have no limits. And it is worth pointing out, Professor Dumbledore is notorious for being biased towards Potter and his—"

"Mr. Weasley," the woman snapped, turning towards him. "Last I checked, I was the Director of the DMLE, and you are merely a scribe. Allow me to fulfill my duties, and you take care of yours."

"Junior Undersecretary to the Office of the Minister," Percy corrected. Harry could see the conflict in Percy's eyes, torn between submitting to authority and being irritated at being treated like a child. "And Minister Fudge was adamant that I ensure—"

"Minister Fudge is not here," Bones challenged. "And if he has anything to contribute to the matter, he can discuss it with me in person. Please limit yourself to your scribe duties, or I'll have you removed from my presence at once."

"Good job!" Harry praised under his breath.

"Now then," Madam Bones turned her dry stare back towards Harry. "Let us continue where we left off."

"Apologies for Percy," Dumbledore interjected, sounding as though he found it mildly amusing. "He is quite diligent in his duties."

Harry wondered how Dumbledore managed to keep a straight face during all this.

"Voldemort," Harry began again, "he offered me a chance to join him, to join his side, in exchange for immunity."

"And you refused," Madam Bones clarified.

Harry nodded. "I refused, three times."

Amelia Bones leaned forward, her monocled eye scrutinizing Harry. "Do you understand the gravity of what you're saying, Mr. Potter? Voldemort, the most dangerous Dark wizard in recent history, offered you a place by his side, and you declined?"

Harry took a deep breath and met her gaze. "Yes. I declined, and we dueled."

The questioning continued, delving deeper into the events that transpired during his confrontation with Voldemort in the graveyard. Harry recounted the pain, the use of the Unforgivable Curses, and the strange circumstances of the Priori Incantatem effect.

As the interrogation went on, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a routine inquiry. It was as if they were trying to uncover something more significant, something beyond the events in the graveyard.

And then, Madam Bones asked, "Mr. Potter, can you recall the specific incantation Voldemort used before he attempted to kill you?"

Harry thought back to that moment, the dark incantation echoing in his ears. He spoke the word aloud, "Avada Kedavra."

There was a heavy silence in the room, and Harry couldn't help but feel the weight of the situation. The name of the Killing Curse held a power of its own, a reminder of the horrors of the wizarding world.

As the questioning continued, Harry couldn't help but wonder what they were truly seeking. Were they searching for some hidden truth, or was there a larger, more complex web of events at play?

He didn't have all the answers, but he was determined to find them, even if it meant delving into the darkest corners of the magical world.

The room remained filled with tension, and the truth lay just beyond their reach. Harry couldn't help but feel that he had only scratched the surface of a much deeper mystery.

Harry sat in silence, his mind still reeling from the shock of Percy's accusations and the strange, ephemeral experience he had just gone through. Madam Bones had a point; he needed to cooperate and provide answers to their questions. He took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand.

Madam Bones turned over another page in her folder and continued, "Let's move on, Mr. Potter. We have a limited amount of time, and there are more questions that need answers."

Harry nodded, determined to cooperate.

"Firstly, regarding your ability to speak Parseltongue, you mentioned that it's an established trait of the Gaunt family. Have you ever looked into your family's ancestry to confirm this?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I haven't. I didn't even know about my connection to the Gaunt family until recently."

Madam Bones made a note of this. "Very well. We may need to look into this further."

She then asked, "Regarding your entrance into Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, can you provide any additional information about your experiences there? Any knowledge you gained, any encounters you had, or any artifacts you found?"

Harry considered her question. "Well, there was a basilisk in the Chamber, and it was controlled by Tom Riddle's diary. I encountered Tom Riddle's memory in the diary, and he tried to possess me. I destroyed the diary with a basilisk fang."

Dumbledore nodded, and Madam Bones continued to make notes. "Thank you for sharing that. We will investigate the Chamber further to ensure it's safe and to see if there are any remnants of dark magic."

"Moving on," Madam Bones said, "let's discuss the events at the cemetery. You mentioned that you were hit by the Killing Curse. Can you recall any additional details about that moment? Any feelings, sensations, or thoughts?"

Harry closed his eyes briefly, trying to recollect the horrifying moment. "It was... it was a flash of green light. There was a burning sensation, and then... darkness. I thought I was dead."

Madam Bones made another note and then asked, "And after you regained consciousness, you mentioned the appearance of your parents' spirits. Can you provide more details about that encounter? What did they say or do?"

Harry hesitated. He knew that the conversation with his parents had been deeply personal, and he wasn't sure how much he should reveal. "They... they encouraged me to escape, and they told me they loved me. They said they would always be with me."

Dumbledore offered a reassuring nod, and Madam Bones noted down his response. "Thank you for sharing that, Mr. Potter."

Madam Bones then turned her attention back to the broader investigation. "Now, Mr. Potter, we have a theory that your survival and the deaths of those who sought to harm you may be connected to some form of magical protection triggered by your mother, Lily Potter. We will need to explore this theory further and gather more evidence."

Harry nodded, still grappling with the idea that his mother's sacrifice might have had even greater consequences than he had ever imagined.

Dumbledore spoke up, his voice gentle. "Harry, we understand that this is a lot to process. We are committed to uncovering the truth and ensuring your safety. You are not alone in this."

Madam Bones added, "You may be asked more questions in the future, and we may conduct additional investigations. Please cooperate to the best of your ability, and we will do everything in our power to protect you."

Harry appreciated their words of support and nodded in response. The weight of the situation was immense, and he knew that the road ahead would be filled with challenges and uncertainties. But he also understood that he needed to uncover the truth about his abilities and the events in the graveyard.

With determination, he said, "I'll do whatever it takes to find out what happened and why I survived. I want to understand."

Madam Bones gave him a nod of approval. "That's the spirit, Mr. Potter. We'll be in touch soon with further instructions. For now, you are dismissed."

As Harry left the office, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was just beginning to unravel a web of mysteries that would reshape his understanding of his own life and the world of magic itself.

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