A sudden unease settled in his heart, followed by a feeling of disgust...
As if something filthy had appeared in this clean and beautiful palace, making the entire scene feel disturbingly out of place.
He turned toward the source of the sound. And there, beneath the chair where he had been sitting just moments ago, he saw it!
A small, naked infant, curled up on the cold floor.
Its raw, reddish skin looked as though it had been flayed, its body rough and malformed.
It lay shivering beneath the seat, discarded, abandoned, carelessly shoved into a corner, struggling to breathe.
"What… is that?"
Harry instinctively stepped back.
The creature was pathetically weak, yet a deep fear stirred within him.
He didn't want to go near it—it was as if it were crawling with disease.
"What do you think?" Cyrus stood beside him, looking at the wretched thing with an almost analytical gaze.
"What else is so grotesque, so feeble, and yet repels people at first sight?"
A sudden realization flashed through Harry's mind—"Voldemort's soul!"
Even though Voldemort now appeared handsome, his soul remained as vile and putrid as ever—small, wretched, and foul.
"This is the fragment of his soul that was inside my scar, isn't it?"
"Yes."
Cyrus stared at the creature with complete indifference, devoid of any emotion.
The fragment of Voldemort's soul reached out toward him with tiny, reddened arms, as if begging for help.
But Cyrus remained unmoved.
This pitiful thing should have ceased to exist long ago.
"Is he dead?" Harry asked.
He looked as if he felt a hint of sympathy.
"Not yet," Cyrus sneered, raising his wand and pointing it directly at the pathetic soul fragment.
"Fiendfyre!"
Before Harry's stunned gaze, the shrieking, writhing remnant of Voldemort's soul was consumed by the raging fire, reduced to nothing but ash!
"Now he's dead."
"Yeah, I can see that."
Harry nodded stiffly, still processing what had just happened.
Then, another thought struck Harry.
"What about me? Did I die? I remember his curse hitting me. I didn't resist. I planned to let him kill me."
He reached up to touch his chest, but strangely, there was no pain—no wound at all.
"You didn't die, Harry."
After destroying Voldemort's soul fragment, Cyrus's demeanor softened again.
He now looked like a kind, older brother, patiently explaining things to Harry.
"Dumbledore and I never intended for you to sacrifice yourself, Harry," he said.
"The three Deathly Hallows protected your life. Now do you understand why I let you hold onto the Resurrection Stone?"
Harry blinked, looking down at his open palm.
At some point, the Resurrection Stone had reappeared in his hand.
"Voldemort's Killing Curse destroyed his own soul," Cyrus continued, "but your soul was protected.
"The Hallows may not make you invincible—but they have made you the Master of Death."
"They can't bring back the dead, but they have given you the chance to live."
Cyrus studied him for a moment, then asked:
"Do you remember the story of Death and the Three Brothers?"
Harry nodded.
"You mean the youngest brother—the one who used the Cloak to evade Death?"
"I mean the one who faced Death bravely."
Cyrus locked eyes with Harry, their gazes clashing like two gemstones colliding in the light.
His voice shifted in tone, growing more profound.
"The youngest brother lived until he was very old. Only then did he finally remove the Invisibility Cloak and pass it on to his son. Then, he greeted Death like an old friend and, as equals, left the world joyfully alongside him."
Harry didn't fully understand.
Cyrus had to explain more clearly.
"Voldemort spent his life searching for a way to escape death. He believed that conquering death meant achieving immortality. But in truth, all he ever did was run away from it—do you see?"
"It is because you faced death bravely that you have truly become the Master of Death."
"During your fight with Voldemort, he held the advantage the entire time. And yet, the Elder Wand never abandoned you in favor of him. Why?"
Harry fell silent, thinking deeply.
But before he could answer, Cyrus spoke for him.
"Because the Elder Wand did not want to choose him."
"He was unworthy of wielding a Deathly Hallow."
Harry's expression shifted.
"So… you and Dumbledore knew all along that I wouldn't die?"
There was a flicker of anger in his voice.
He felt like a fool.
He had spent so much time preparing for his own death, convinced that there was no other way.
All those long, lonely nights, grieving for himself in secret…
"I'm an idiot," he muttered, utterly deflated.
But Cyrus shook his head and refuted him.
"Actually, Dumbledore and I both believe you were incredibly brave. Alright, let's go back."
He patted Harry's shoulder, offering a reassuring gesture.
Yet, as they stood there waiting, nothing happened.
After a moment, Harry felt a bit awkward.
"Um… aren't we supposed to be going back?" he asked, assuming Cyrus would take him out of this place.
"Yes, but how we leave—that's up to you."
Cyrus didn't look at Harry.
Instead, his gaze followed the railway tracks, like a regular traveler waiting for a train.
"Me?"
"This is King's Cross Station, isn't it? It's a junction—a place of transition. Who's to say where the trains might lead?"
Fuuuuush~~
Just as he finished speaking, the distant sound of a train whistle echoed through the air.
Moments later, a green train slowly pulled into the station, coming to a gentle stop before them.
The train's doors stood open, as if inviting them aboard.
But where was it headed?
To death?
Or back to Hogwarts?
Harry pondered.
Should he board the train?
"There is only one train here that goes to Hogwarts," Cyrus said.
As soon as he spoke, he noticed Harry looking around, trying to find it.
So he added, "You don't need to search for it, Harry. You already know where it is."
"I do?"
"Of course." Cyrus nodded. "The real question is—do you want to go back?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Harry countered.
"Because Voldemort is still alive."
Cyrus's tone was calm, but his words were sharp.
"Losing one tiny fragment of his soul won't make him weak."
"He still has the Elder Wand. He still has immense power. If you return, you will have to keep fighting him."
Harry hesitated.
"But I have you and Dumbledore…"
"And what if we lose?" Cyrus interrupted him.
"Then you'll have to face pain, the fear of losing even more loved ones. And you might be powerless to stop it."
"Then that's all the more reason for me to go back!" Harry said firmly.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Cyrus challenged.
The train still sat motionless on the tracks, waiting.
But neither of them moved toward it.
Instead—
Harry ran in the opposite direction—toward a wall!
Because the train to Hogwarts could only be found in one place.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
_________
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