"Legilimency!"
This time, handsome Harry Potter was completely unprepared. As a result, it was even worse than before. Memories of his life were suddenly invaded by the figure of a bald man—standing in the nursery of young Harry Potter, sitting in the Dursleys' living room, appearing in the compartment of the Hogwarts Express when Harry boarded it for the first time.
"I am Harry Potter! Nice to meet you, sir."
"I'm pleased to meet you as well, Mr. Potter. I am Voldemort."
In the train compartment, no other students remained. The two of them, one grown and one small, sat together happily as if they were close companions.
"Enough! You useless fool. You let the Dark Lord walk straight into your mind, and you're even chatting with him like old friends."
Snape stopped the attack. Even he could no longer bear to watch such memories. Considering that a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul resided within Harry Potter, such a situation was perhaps inevitable.
"I wasn't ready just now! Could you give me a moment to rest?"
Harry could clearly sense what Snape had seen in his memories. Even he himself could not accept it—that he would become close friends with Voldemort, as if bonded across generations.
Sure enough, just as Snape said: disgusting.
It was indeed a nauseating scene. Even handsome Harry Potter felt like throwing up.
"The Dark Lord would never give you time to rest. He can attack your mind at any moment. He will pry everything from that empty skull of yours, exploit those memories, craft illusions to torment you, drive you mad, make you suffer, until you beg him to kill you. Only then will the Dark Lord deliver the final blow."
Snape felt both anger and disappointment. At Harry Potter's current level, he was practically befriending Voldemort. This wasn't incompetence, it was a catastrophe—absolute rock bottom.
"You're as foolish as your idiot father. Hopeless."
Snape seized Harry by the collar, pulling his face close. He longed only to see Lily's eyes, not James Potter's face. At such close range, at least Snape could bear it a little better.
"Don't you dare speak of my father that way! He was a great man. What you're saying about him is unfair."
Hearing Snape insult his father instantly ignited Harry's anger.
"Unfair? Of course. Your father himself created plenty of unfairness."
Snape was speaking the truth, but in Harry's ears it sounded only like slander—slander against a man long dead.
Harry could not endure such an insult. His rage reached its peak.
At that moment, Snape raised his wand again.
"Legilimency!"
"Legilimency!"
Snape cast the spell at Harry, but having just experienced it several times himself, Harry had now learned the incantation.
Both cast Legilimency at each other nearly simultaneously, but surprisingly, Harry gained the upper hand.
In truth, it was not Harry's own skill that carried him through. He had drawn on Voldemort's memories to master Legilimency.
Still, with this successful casting, Harry had truly learned the spell—and, as an extension, Occlumency as well.
"Lily's not around, right? Let's have some fun with that greasy slimeball. Expelliarmus! Levicorpus! Who wants to see Snivellus with his pants down? Hahahaha…"
Snape's most humiliating memories were exposed before Harry's eyes.
If it had been Harry alone casting the spell, he could never have targeted so precisely. Only Voldemort had such precision—to drag out the memories buried deepest, the ones a person most wanted to forget.
Compared to the mere fragments Snape had seen in Harry's mind, Snape's memories were revealed in complete detail.
"Enough!"
Snape roared, his formidable willpower breaking Harry's spell.
Such a level of Legilimency could only be Voldemort's doing. Snape understood this perfectly.
"You…! Get out."
He grabbed Harry by the collar, ready to berate him—but those eyes, Lily's eyes, defeated him completely.
Lily. Your son carries the Dark Lord within him. What would you have done in my place?
Snape drove the handsome Harry Potter away. Dumbledore's assignment was now fulfilled.
Harry had learned both Occlumency and Legilimency. No one would be able to pry into his mind again. Like Snape, he had become a stone—neither opening himself to others nor letting others in.
Snape, numb as if undead, returned to his laboratory. His movements as he brewed potions were precise to perfection, flawless to the last detail.
But in spirit, Snape was hollow. His mind was filled only with Lily—her graceful figure, every encounter, every conversation, every glance—replaying like a film reel cut and spliced.
Deep inside Harry Potter, Voldemort savored Snape's humiliation. So that was the truth of his past with Lily. No wonder James Potter had hated him.
Voldemort dared return to Hogwarts only because he had made breakthroughs in the study of consciousness.
Originally, Voldemort's mind had been bound with Harry's. Regulus Black's seal had locked away most of it, especially Voldemort's core consciousness, divided into six parts and imprisoned layer by layer—protection not only against outside intrusion, but also against itself.
When Dementors later seized those protective gauntlets, only fragments of Voldemort's soul remained in Harry's body. These fragments were weak; their consciousness nowhere near as strong as the original.
Yet, when in contact with the main soul, some memories had been shared. That was the one advantage.
Thus, this fragment of soul had its own designs for how to deal with Harry Potter.
Though Harry had now mastered two powerful spells, he still could not wield them freely. At Hogwarts, he was haunted night after night by the same dream.
Voldemort entered a vast room filled with crystal balls. Within each swirled misty smoke, and when approached, voices could be heard—prophecies, one after another, speaking of the world's most mysterious secrets. This was Ravenclaw's domain: the Hall of Prophecy.
"I think Voldemort is searching for something—something important to both him and me."
The new school year was about to begin, but Harry's mental state was poor. A few members of Dumbledore's Army had been summoned to Hogwarts early by Harry himself. The school did not oppose students arriving ahead of term, but they had to come on their own.
"Harry, maybe this is just your imagination. The Dark Lord is influencing your mind. Whatever he's looking for, perhaps only you can find it."
Ron Weasley began guessing wildly. But in fact, he was right.
The prophecy about Harry Potter and the Dark Lord—the one made by Professor Sybill Trelawney—was recorded in a crystal ball and preserved by the Ministry of Magic in the Hall of Prophecy.
That prophecy was complete. Years ago, Death Eaters had overheard only part of it and reported to Voldemort. That partial knowledge led to the tragedy of the Potters. If one were to consider it carefully, it was Sybill Trelawney who bore the greatest responsibility for their deaths—more than Peter Pettigrew himself.
Dumbledore had brought Sybill Trelawney back to Hogwarts and given her the title of professor precisely because of this prophecy. It was a way of protecting her.
Otherwise, Voldemort would have hunted her down first. To dare predict his death? That was no prophecy, but a curse!
Though Ron's guess had been accurate, the children had no true understanding of what they were discussing.
They were even excitedly planning how to search for this mysterious object.
For reasons unknown, during this time the professors completely ignored the activities of Dumbledore's Army. Whether they were searching through records or discussing secrets, no one interfered. Their activities progressed unusually smoothly.
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