Chapter 95: The Past

T/N: Apologies in advance. Before you continue reading, I’d like to inform you that starting from Chapter 95, the word count per chapter will exceed 2,000 words, whereas previous chapters were under 1,000 words. This means the chapters will be longer, and there may be some delays in updates. However, I will do my best to continue updating daily. For those who want early access to chapters and faster updates, you can check out my Patreon. Thank you for your support! -- Harry's throat burned as if pierced by needles. He had considered countless possibilities, but never in his wildest dreams did he expect that after opening the Map Chamber, he would be greeted by the portrait of a girl. "Veratia..." His voice was hoarse. "I think we should step away," Professor Rookwood, standing beside the portrait of Veratia, said irritably. "This Map Chamber again..." "Charles?" Headmaster Fitzgerald said softly. "Shut your mouth and come with us." Professor Rookwood shot Harry a disgruntled glance before turning to follow the two professors out of the portrait’s vicinity. "I've been waiting for you for so long..." Veratia's voice was gentle. "I..." Harry's throat constricted, and for a long moment, he couldn't say a word. After what felt like an eternity, he finally forced out a question, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Are you... are you alright?" "I suppose... I should be," Veratia said softly. Harry collapsed onto the ground. He truly couldn't accept this reality. To him, Veratia was more than a close friend—she was like a mentor, an elder sister. Though their acquaintance had not been long, in this world, Veratia was probably the one person who could accept him unconditionally. "You..." Tears welled up in Harry’s eyes. "You call this ‘alright’? Being trapped in a portrait..." Sёarᴄh the Nôvel(F)ire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "I think you've misunderstood, Harry," Veratia said with a faint smile, blinking mischievously. "I’m not actually dead. I merely left some clues for you in this Map Chamber so you wouldn’t lose your way searching for me... You know, time travel is an incredibly difficult adventure. Seeing you here now, I can only conclude... perhaps I am still trapped in Slytherin's study." "Slytherin's study?!" Harry’s voice shot up by eight octaves. He leapt to his feet, exclaiming in urgency, "I'll go save you right now!" "Harry!" Veratia called out, stopping him. "Listen to me first." Harry halted, and sensing that standing on the stairs put too much distance between them, he stepped forward, trying to get as close to Veratia as possible. "Since I haven’t appeared in the present, it means the time magic formation is still missing a key component," Veratia said in a calm, measured tone. "You still need a few materials: an angel’s feather, a dragon’s heart, and a phoenix’s tear..." "A dragon’s heart is easy! Ron’s brother, Charlie, is raising dragons in Romania," Harry said impatiently. "As for phoenix tears, Professor Dumbledore has a phoenix, so that’s not a problem either... But what is an angel’s feather? Do angels even exist?" "I have some angel feathers stored in a vault at Gringotts," Veratia said softly. "Also, there’s a small sum of money there—our shared funds." "I’m not short on money anymore, Veratia," Harry said hurriedly. "Of course I know that. You’re the famous heir of the Potter family, after all." Veratia smiled at him gently. "Wait—how do you know that?" Harry asked in confusion. A hundred years ago, the Potter family had never sought him out. After all, there were plenty of Muggles with the surname Potter, and they had assumed Harry came from the Muggle side, paying him little mind. Back then, Harry himself had no idea he belonged to the magical Potter lineage—he had always believed he was Muggle-born. How did Veratia know? "More importantly, I need to tell you about the final ingredient," Veratia interrupted his thoughts. "Oh... oh?" Harry scratched his head. "There’s one more?" "The last material is a basilisk fang," Veratia said. "A basilisk?" Harry asked. Veratia explained in a gentle voice, "A basilisk is a giant venomous serpent, a creature bred by Dark wizards. According to legend, the infamous Herpo the Foul was the first to create one, by hatching a chicken’s egg beneath a toad. This resulted in the creature known as the basilisk." "Basilisks are extremely dangerous. Their gaze can instantly kill any being that makes direct eye contact with them... Additionally, their venom is highly lethal and can destroy almost any living creature." "Then where can I find a basilisk?!" Harry demanded. "I’m sorry, Harry, but I don’t know," Veratia said softly. Harry ruffled his hair in frustration, feeling a wave of disappointment. So close. Even the legendary angel’s feather was within reach, but the basilisk... it was nowhere to be found. Would he have to hatch a basilisk himself? How long would that take? Could Veratia hold on in Slytherin’s study? "Relax, Harry. We’ll find a way," Veratia reassured him, her voice as soothing as always. Hearing her gentle tone, Harry slowly felt his anxiety ease. After a long silence, he looked up and asked, "Veratia, earlier you said I was from the Potter family... you..." "Oh, that..." Veratia’s expression suddenly turned slightly uneasy. She hesitated for a moment before saying, "This matter is connected to the ancient curse on you. If you knew... well, if you knew everything, you might see me differently." Harry’s heart clenched with tension. "Why?" he asked. "I’m sorry..." Veratia bit her lip. "It’s best if you see for yourself... Over there, yes, that Pensieve behind you." Harry followed her gaze and sure enough, he saw a Pensieve. "Inside it lies your mother’s memories," Veratia revealed in a shocking statement. "My mother?!" Harry asked in disbelief. "My mother... how did she end up in the Map Chamber?!" "Because she, too, was an heir to ancient magic, Harry," Veratia said softly. "Go on, look at her memories. Perhaps then, you’ll understand everything... Or perhaps you’ll blame me for it." "I never would, Veratia," Harry said firmly. With steady steps, he walked toward the Pensieve. "Take a look," Veratia said, her voice tinged with sorrow. "See your mother’s memories..." Harry nodded and leaned forward, plunging his face into the Pensieve. Then— He spiraled downward through icy darkness at breakneck speed. Before long, the darkness gave way to light. He found himself by the shores of the Black Lake, sitting next to a girl with a face covered in freckles, who was crying quietly. Harry looked up, scanning the familiar Black Lake, but noticed subtle differences from the one he knew... Before he could dwell on it, he heard a voice he had often encountered in his dreams— "Expelliarmus!" Harry looked up and saw a red-haired witch, gripping a wand in each hand. It was his mother, Lily. "Mom?" he blurted out instinctively. But Lily did not respond to him. Instead, she glared fiercely ahead like a lioness protecting her own—her eyes locked onto a Slytherin student. "I want you to apologize, Mulciber!" "Filthy little Mudblood—" Before the Slytherin boy could finish his sentence, Lily's spell struck him squarely in the face, causing a large patch of greenish pustules to break out across his skin. The two Slytherins standing beside Mulciber immediately drew their wands, but the girl who had been crying moments before had already stepped up alongside Lily, joined by another girl. With Mulciber out of commission, the fight quickly turned against the Slytherins. In a just three-against-two confrontation, the remaining Slytherin students were soon hit by hexes—one had his front teeth grow so long that he could no longer pronounce incantations, while the other's mouth was sealed shut, his legs locked in place. "Pathetic…" Lily sneered, tossing Mulciber's wand into the lake. The three Slytherins slunk away in disgrace. "Mary, I'm sorry…" Lily turned to the freckle-faced girl beside her, her expression filled with concern. "I'm fine, Lily." Mary forced a small smile. "You taught them a lesson for me, didn't you?" But the other girl standing beside them suddenly spoke up. "You should be apologizing. Those two are friends of your greasy-haired Slytherin pal, aren’t they? And you still hang around with people like that? Look at them—they're practically Death Eaters already. What are you going to do when—" "Marlene!" Mary cut her off sharply. "Oh, sorry." Marlene McKinnon realized she had gone too far. She shot Lily an apologetic look. Lily stood frozen in place, unsure of what to say. Of course, she knew those two were Severus Snape's friends… Severus—her childhood friend. She knew that he had long aspired to join the Death Eaters, that blood-purity-obsessed group. But she still clung to the bond they had shared as children, hoping—praying—that she could persuade him to turn back. But it was futile. Severus was resolute, diving headfirst into the ranks of the Death Eaters, his eyes burning red with ambition. He had even started studying the Dark Arts—and had invited her to join him… She stood there in a daze. By the time she snapped out of it, Mary and Marlene had already left. Lily lifted her head and glanced at the sun hanging low in the sky. She took a deep breath through her nose, let out a long sigh, and walked forward. Harry quickly followed, desperate to stay with his mother a little longer. He trailed her along the lakeshore until she stopped beneath a towering beech tree, where a group of students had gathered. What he saw next stunned him. Pushing through the crowd behind his mother, Harry found himself face-to-face with several familiar figures—people he had only ever seen in photographs. One of them looked strikingly like him. Aside from their different eye colors, he was practically a fifth-year version of Harry himself. It was his father—James Potter. And lying on the ground across from James was a figure even more unforgettable. His Potions professor—Severus Snape. Snape’s mouth was covered in foamy soap bubbles, and he was retching violently, spitting out pinkish froth. In an instant, Harry understood why Professor McGonagall had warned him about using Scourgify on Draco Malfoy—if Snape caught you, you'd be in for a very different kind of punishment. "Let him go!" Lily commanded loudly. At the sound of her voice, James spun around. His expression darkened, his usual confidence giving way to something more serious. He greeted her in an oddly measured tone: "Oh, Evans—how are you?" "Let him go," Lily repeated, her face contorted in unmistakable disgust as she glared at him. "What did he ever do to you?" "Well…" James put on an exaggerated look of deep thought. "Mainly, he exists. You know what I mean." The surrounding students burst into laughter. A tall, handsome boy standing beside James chuckled as well, while a shorter boy behind him joined in. But Lily didn’t laugh. "You think you're funny," she said icily. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying lowlife, Potter… I said, let him go!" "Tell you what, Evans—go out with me, and I'll let him go," James said immediately. "Just one date, and I'll never lay a finger on old Snivellus again." Behind him, the effects of the spell were beginning to wear off. Snape, still coughing up soapy bubbles, started inching toward his fallen wand. "If I had to choose between you and the giant squid, I'd still pick the squid!" Lily spat in disgust. "Bad luck, Prongs," the handsome boy said cheerfully. He turned toward Snape. "Oh dear—" But it was too late. Snape had already snatched up his wand and aimed it at James. A flash of light shot out, and a deep gash appeared on James' cheek, blood splattering onto his robes. James whirled around, wand raised. Another flash of light erupted, and Snape was hoisted upside-down into the air, his robes flipping over his head. His pale, stick-thin legs were exposed—along with a pair of nearly blackened underwear. The crowd roared with laughter. James and his two friends laughed the loudest. Lily’s face twitched. From Harry’s perspective, she seemed to let out a cold snort. But… Looking at Snape's humiliation, Harry found himself unable to laugh. It reminded him too much of his own childhood—of being cornered in his Muggle school while Dudley and his gang tormented him. Helpless. Surrounded. Mocked. The hardest thing in the world is to truly understand another’s pain. "Put him down!" Lily demanded once more, pulling out her wand. "Careful, Evans—I might have to hex you too," James warned, though he still relented and muttered the counter-curse. "You got lucky, Snivellus. Evans saved you," James sighed theatrically. But before he could say anything else, Snape cut him off. "I don't need help from a filthy little Mudblood like her!" Harry slapped his forehead. Now he understood—everything made sense. Why, in his first year, when he had made up that story, Snape had reacted so explosively—why he had even docked twenty points from his own House. The way Snape had glared at him then… It was the same expression he wore now, his face dark with fury and shame. So this was it… That moment had haunted Snape for years. --- you can read more advance chapter & Fast update on my /windkaze