Even though Harry hated to admit it, he knew deep down that he and Voldemort were quite similar. It wasn't just their slight physical resemblance; their experiences were alike too—they both considered Hogwarts their true home.
"Every homeless soul has found a place to belong at Hogwarts."
He whispered the words softly, feeling as though the Resurrection Stone Cyrus had left him was burning in his pocket.
"Turn it three times, and you'll see what you long to see…"
Cyrus's words echoed in Harry's mind, rippling like waves across the surface of a still lake, growing stronger with each passing moment.
Harry stood up from the dining table abruptly.
Hermione and Ron, still bickering about whether or not he should sit for exams, were startled by his sudden movement.
"Eh?!"
"You're full already?"
"I just remembered I have something to do..." Harry replied, slipping one hand into his pocket and clenching the Resurrection Stone tightly. Its sharp edges pressed into his palm, causing a sting. He told a lie.
In truth, Harry felt that even if he told them the truth about the Resurrection Stone, it probably wouldn't matter.
Harry couldn't imagine who else he could trust if not Hermione, Ron, or Ginny. But for now, he wanted to keep some time for himself—and for the person the Resurrection Stone might bring to him.
"You couldn't possibly have—ow! Why did you hit me?"
Hermione had been about to ask Harry what he was planning to do, but Ron had smacked her on the back of the head, causing her to glare at him furiously.
Ron, however, ignored her and turned to Harry instead.
"Go ahead, Harry. I'll take your books straight to class for you later."
Ron gave Harry a knowing wink, and Harry immediately understood that "taking his books" was hardly Ron's main concern.
In fact, their next class was History of Magic, which meant no one would even notice if Harry skipped it. Ghost Professor Binns, who taught the subject, never bothered taking attendance; he merely droned on, reciting the textbook in a monotone voice.
If Hermione hadn't asked Binns about the Chamber of Secrets in their second year, Harry might have thought Binns was nothing more than a soulless lecture machine.
Leaving the Gryffindor table, Harry walked toward the exit of the Great Hall.
Halfway there, Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff got up and followed him.
"Harry, are you alright?" Cedric asked, lowering his voice.
Cedric greeted Harry with concern.
During the battle at the Department of Mysteries, Cedric had overheard the things Voldemort had said.
Though he didn't fully understand what Horcruxes were, he couldn't help but worry about Harry.
Because of Cho Chang, Harry had complicated feelings about Cedric, but no matter what, he couldn't bring himself to dislike the guy.
Cedric had already proven himself loyal and brave—he didn't even flinch in the face of Voldemort and had tried to save Harry.
What more could Harry possibly ask of him?
"I'm fine," Harry replied.
Hearing this, Cedric nodded. Then he said, "I'm planning to withdraw from the third task."
"Withdraw?" Harry was taken aback.
He always thought of himself as the unnecessary fourth champion, but Cedric wasn't like that. He had earned his place fair and square! If the Triwizard Tournament hadn't been riddled with so many dark plots, Cedric would have had a great chance of winning.
Thinking about all this, Harry felt a sense of pity for Cedric.
"I've thought about it. With my abilities, there's no point in continuing to compete," Cedric said. "Fleur and Cassandra are planning to withdraw as well."
"Wait, you're saying Fleur has withdrawn too?" Harry was stunned.
If Beauxbatons lost its final competitor, wouldn't that mean Voldemort had abandoned his schemes tied to the Triwizard Tournament?
"Yes, I just heard about it this morning…" Cedric seemed distracted, clearly having sought out Harry for more than casual conversation.
"Listen, Harry." Cedric glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, then pulled Harry to a more secluded spot and spoke in a low voice. "I've scoured the library, but all I could find about Horcruxes were vague mentions."
"Vol—He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's words might not be entirely true, Harry. I hope you won't let them affect you. I choose to believe in Professor Dumbledore," Cedric said earnestly.
In response, Harry smiled and said something that even he wasn't sure was heartfelt or forced:
"I choose to believe too."
"Good, don't give up, okay?" Cedric gave his shoulder a firm pat before walking away.
Afterward, Harry wandered through the castle, trying to find a suitable place where he wouldn't be disturbed by anyone.
At first, he thought about the room where Dumbledore had once stored the Mirror of Erised, but he happened to run into Filch loitering in that area. So, almost as if guided by instinct, he found himself walking to the second-floor bathroom.
The long-unseen Moaning Myrtle greeted him enthusiastically when she saw him.
"Hi, Harry Potter!" Myrtle said shyly. "Visiting the girls' bathroom again?"
"Yeah," Harry responded as he walked toward the dry faucet and whispered in Parseltongue.
—Of course, he had a perfect, undisturbed place in mind: the Chamber of Secrets!
After all, the afternoon was long, and he had plenty of time.
He slid down the pipe, traveled through the muddy tunnel, and arrived inside the Chamber. Then, from his pocket, he took out the Resurrection Stone.
It was a treasure powerful enough to reverse death itself, but Harry kept Cyrus' warnings firmly in mind, knowing he couldn't use it that way. Besides, bringing the dead back to life wasn't important anymore, because he would soon be one of them. It wasn't him calling them back; it was they who were calling him over.
In this moment, Harry felt that perhaps he wasn't so afraid of death anymore, because on both sides of life and death were people he loved.
Harry placed the stone in his palm and turned it three times.
He knew it had worked because he heard faint sounds around him, as if soft, frail footsteps were moving across the damp ground, splashing through small puddles.
Harry looked around, and two familiar figures emerged from the damp darkness.
They were neither ghosts nor beings of flesh and blood. As they walked toward him, both wore expressions of deep love and warmth.
James Potter stood slightly taller than Harry. He was dressed in the same clothes he had died in, his hair as messy as ever, and his glasses slightly askew, making him look a bit like Mr. Weasley.
Lily Potter had her long hair swept back. She smiled radiantly as she approached Harry, her green eyes—identical to his own—drinking in his face hungrily, as if she could never get enough of looking at him.
Harry recognized them instantly. He had seen their reflections in the Mirror of Erised back in his first year.
"You're so brave," Lily said softly.
She reached out, as if to touch Harry's face and wipe away the tears that wouldn't stop falling from his eyes.
Though they had been gone for years, it seemed they were fully aware of everything that was happening now.
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