Chapter 212: Aftermath
Rain began to fall over the ruins of the Dursley house. Scalding ash mixed with icy droplets, striking Harry's face.
"Are you sad?" Lord Voldemort sneered, crushing what little hope Harry had left. "For these worms?"
"They carried the same blood as your mother… yet they treated you like a burden."
"You're nothing like her. So weak."
His crimson eyes drew closer. "She could have Apparated away. But instead, in her final seconds, she chose to cast a forbidden spell on you."
"Love magic…" His voice dropped into a low, venomous growl. "So noble—and yet it's exactly what reduced me to what I am today."
As Voldemort's wand aimed at Harry's forehead, the ashes scattered across the ground suddenly rose against gravity.
Fragments of Dudley's broken game console fused into a shield. Powdered pearls from Petunia's necklace twisted into chains. Vernon's false teeth melted into a silver dagger.
All the cruelty the Dursleys had inflicted upon Harry—under the influence of blood magic—reformed into weapons.
"…How revoltingly theatrical," Voldemort muttered, shattering the silver shield with a flick of his wand.
Yet within the fractured reflections, every shard showed the same image—
Lily's eyes.
"Lily Potter… So you never left."
For the first time, there was a trace of surprise in his voice—and something else.
Wariness.
"Don't be afraid, Harry… I've always been with you."
Her voice echoed faintly beside him.
"I'd like to see," Voldemort hissed, raising his wand high, "whether you can still stop me now."
Green light erupted, tearing through the darkness toward Harry—
"Ah—!"
Harry jolted upright, his heart pounding violently in his chest.
It was… a dream.
He looked around, forcing himself to breathe. Only then did clarity return.
His entire body was drenched, as if he had just been pulled from water.
Staggering out of bed, he headed toward the bathroom, hoping the cold would steady him.
But the moment he opened the door—
A blinding green light swallowed his vision again.
He gasped and sat upright once more, his forehead throbbing with pain.
A dream… within a dream?
For a moment, Harry couldn't tell what was real anymore.
He stood frozen at the doorway, took a deep breath, hesitated—then finally opened it.
Darkness greeted him.
It was still deep into the night.
He went to the sink and splashed water on his face. The chill snapped him back to reality.
He was here. He was awake.
Then why had he dreamed something like that?
The first dream made sense—he had seen his parents' photos today, heard stories from Sirius Black. Of course he would dream of them.
But the rest…?
He had no desire to relive the Dursleys. And honestly, the ones in the dream had been ten times worse than in reality.
And then there was Voldemort.
That was what troubled him most.
He had never seen him before. And yet, the moment he did, he knew—instinctively—that it was Voldemort. The one who had killed his parents.
Harry exhaled slowly.
Just a dream. Nothing more.
He turned to go back to bed—
And froze.
Russell was sitting on the living room sofa, chin resting on his hands, silently watching him.
Harry nearly jumped, instinctively reaching for his wand—only to realize he wasn't carrying it.
He steadied himself, about to speak—
But Russell had already stood up and returned to his room without a word.
Harry scratched his head.
Guess he couldn't sleep either.
Not thinking much of it, he went back to bed and soon drifted off again.
—
Russell, however, looked far from at ease.
He had deliberately waited until now to deliver the Invisibility Cloak. But the moment he entered Harry's room, he noticed something was wrong.
Harry had been trembling violently in his sleep, struggling—at one point even lifting off the bed before dropping back down.
Russell had quietly placed the cloak at the foot of the bed. He had planned to observe a little longer—
But Harry had suddenly woken up.
So he slipped out and sat on the sofa, intending to go back in later.
Then he changed his mind.
He needed to inform Albus Dumbledore immediately.
Russell glanced at the time.
2:00 a.m.
He hesitated… then slowly lowered his hand from the Two-Way Mirror.
Tomorrow, he decided.
It can wait until tomorrow.
Early the next morning, Russell began repeatedly calling Albus Dumbledore through the Two-Way Mirror.
"Russell… heavens, it's only six o'clock."
Dumbledore appeared in the mirror, still half-asleep, wearing a pale blue set of pajamas—different from the last time. His eyes were heavy with fatigue.
"If this isn't urgent, I'm going back to sleep. I was busy until midnight yesterday," he muttered.
"Professor, something was wrong with Harry last night."
"What do you mean, wrong?"
The moment Harry was mentioned—his so-called savior—Dumbledore instantly snapped awake, which made Russell inwardly roll his eyes.
"You asked me to deliver the Invisibility Cloak to him, remember? When I went into his room, he seemed to be having a nightmare."
"A nightmare? Everyone has those," Dumbledore said, visibly relaxing.
"But his body started floating," Russell added flatly. "Are you sure that's normal?"
That wiped the calm off Dumbledore's face immediately.
"What else did you notice?"
"When he came out of his room, I saw a flash of green light on his forehead. Just for a moment—but I'm certain I didn't imagine it."
Russell's tone was firm.
"I'm coming over at once," Dumbledore said, fully alert now. "I'll bring Regulus Black with me."
If his suspicion was correct, the situation was serious.
On the night Lord Voldemort was defeated, a fragment of his soul had remained inside Harry. In other words, Harry himself had become a Horcrux.
Because of that, the two shared a faint mental connection—and Voldemort could influence Harry to a certain extent.
But that influence should have been limited. Dumbledore had never imagined it could extend into dreams.
"Regulus, it's time for you to go home."
…
After collecting Regulus, Dumbledore Apparated straight to the Black family residence.
"...It's been a long time," Regulus said softly, a trace of nostalgia in his eyes.
Ignoring the impending reunion between him and Sirius, Dumbledore followed Russell upstairs to Harry's room.
The moment he stepped inside, his expression darkened.
To his sight, a faint black aura lingered around Harry's forehead.
Simply put—an ominous shadow.
So it was Voldemort's doing.
The only question was how he had strengthened his connection with Harry.
Dumbledore hesitated briefly, then asked, "Has Harry come into contact with anything unusual recently?"