Harry took the Resurrection Stone.
It was his first time holding the object—cold to the touch, with a heaviness that belied its size.
It was completely different from when it had been a Horcrux. No more whispering illusions or illusions of the dead returning. Now it was silent—a simple, clean, black gemstone.
He looked up at Dumbledore.
Without hesitation, Dumbledore handed over the Elder Wand. "Harry, someday we should duel properly."
"So you can bully me while you still can?" Harry gave a humorless smirk.
Dumbledore said nothing.
Harry took it.
Cairns held his breath, watching with reverent caution—the three legendary Hallows, united in one person's hands for the first time in history.
But nothing mystical happened.
They just sat quietly in Harry's grasp.
"Well, I'm off," Harry said, cloaking himself in the Invisibility Cloak and walking toward the veil.
Cairns blinked in confusion. "That's it?"
"What else did you expect?" Dumbledore chuckled. "Cairns, did you think the heavens would open?"
"But they're the Hallows..."
The mythical Deathly Hallows, gifts from Death Himself—shouldn't they summon spirits, shake the earth, or trigger divine revelations?
"They may or may not be tied to Death," Dumbledore said. "In essence, they're simply powerful magical tools. Didn't Nicolas Flamel create the Philosopher's Stone? If it weren't destroyed, in a thousand years, people would say Merlin made it. And Nicolas, my old friend, might become a Merlin figure himself."
Cairns sighed—for the Philosopher's Stone. That legendary, world-bending artifact, and the Department of Mysteries never even laid eyes on it.
While they talked, Harry stepped before the veil. The whispers were gone, illusions silenced. The Cloak felt heavier than ever. For the first time, he felt its weight. His eyes blurred. It no longer made him transparent but separated him from the world.
He drew a deep breath and stepped through the veil.
Whoosh—
A harsh, rustling wind.
On the other side was a barren wasteland. Silence. Lifeless.
He looked back: a stone archway with the veil swaying silently in a non-existent breeze.
He walked forward.
After some distance, the Resurrection Stone in his hand trembled—white light flared, warm and radiant. It shot back toward the veil, tethering to it.
Just as he had suspected—a beacon.
He kept walking. No landmarks. A moon or sun-like orb above him hung unmoving. Time stood still here.
He walked endlessly.
No thirst. No hunger. No sense of bodily change.
Until—he heard rushing water. He quickened his pace and soon reached a river.
It was wide, hundreds of meters across, roaring like a waterfall. The water murky, darker than pumpkin soup.
Clusters of gnarled elder trees clawed from the banks like skeletal hands.
Harry thought of the story.
"Three brothers walked a lonely road... and came upon a treacherous river."
He raised his wand.
"Too deep to wade, too dangerous to swim... but they knew magic."
With a flick, the elder branches broke off, twisted, and formed a solid wooden bridge.
Harry stepped onto it.
"Halfway across, a hooded figure stopped them."
But no one appeared.
He crossed safely. No Death, no trap.
Was it because he wore the Cloak?
Still, he didn't dare remove it.
He sighed and continued.
On the far side, the Cloak's isolating effect worsened. Though he walked on solid ground, he felt weightless—adrift.
Something within him stirred. A cocoon forming, ready to split.
Eventually—he saw a door.
Lone, simple. Made of elder wood. No patterns. No adornments. Only a hole beneath the handle.
Perfectly shaped for the Elder Wand.
Harry touched it.
Click— The cocoon burst. Cold and numbness surged through him.
His hand turned pale—he had been marked by death.
He stared at the door, then turned back.
He gripped the Resurrection Stone and retraced his steps.
He had his answers. That was enough.
The light on the Resurrection Stone remained strong.
He followed it, and within moments, crossed the river again, returned to the veil, and stepped through.
Back into the world of the living—where he inhaled deeply, the real air rushing into his lungs.
He climbed down the dais, folded the Cloak.
"Harry, thank Merlin! You're back," said Professor Sprout, her voice easing in relief. "I was really worried."
"I'm fine," Harry replied hoarsely.
"You didn't eat in there?" Dumbledore asked. "You look starved."
Harry shook his head, pulled a bottle of water from the Sorting Hat, and sipped.
"How long was I gone?"
"A week. Exactly seven days," Dumbledore answered.
Harry blinked.
A week?
He had thought it was a day—seven times shorter.
"There's no sense of time or space in there," Harry explained. "No thirst, no hunger, no awareness. I felt nothing change, like that pegasus."
"Mr. Potter, what did you see?" Cairns asked eagerly.
"Let him rest!" Sprout snapped.
Harry looked up at her concerned face.
She conjured a mirror.
His reflection was awful—dry, gray hair, dark circles to his nose, parched lips. He looked like a war refugee.
"No color in my face," he murmured. "And a bit of deathly haze."
He drank more water, then handed the Elder Wand back to Dumbledore.
"It was barren inside. I walked, crossed a river just like in the tale. I built a bridge—but Death never appeared."
"On the other side, I found a door. Once I sensed I was touched by death, it appeared."
"A door?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry nodded. "It had a hole, sized for the Elder Wand. I think it's the key."
"What's behind the door?" Cairns whispered.
"I didn't find out," Harry replied. "I'd learned what I needed."
"But you had everything—why not go in?"
"Professor Sprout!" Harry's voice broke in warning.
She glared at Cairns. "You should be grateful Harry has an abnormal constitution. A normal wizard would've died in there after seven days—no food or water."
"Even if Harry survived, he pushed himself to the edge. How could you wish for him to die in that place?"
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates