The dragonbone lantern Elias Thorne had given him emitted no heat, but burned with a greenish, unnatural light. It wasn't a useful light, but one that seemed to absorb the darkness rather than disperse it, revealing the dust motes and dampness with sickening clarity.
Harry spent the next 48 hours moving like a shadow, avoiding London's main arteries and sleeping in abandoned sheds. The capital was a cage. Control was exercised through fear: Patrols of Aurors loyal to Voldemort wore gray military-style robes, and their wands weren't hidden but sheathed in shiny leather belts, ready for show.
Their final destination, according to Thorne's vague instructions, was an abandoned sewer on the outskirts of London, an access point to the network of magical tunnels that had once been used to smuggle potions and artifacts during the First World War.
The Guardian of the Gate
Harry found the entrance at the back of an old textile factory, under a heavy iron lid. It was marked only by a dried Asphodel flower , a plant that, in the language of flowers, means: "My regrets will follow you to the grave."
He used a lever to lift the lid. The smell of slime and decay hit him, but it was the familiarity of the stench of old, stagnant magic that kept him moving forward. He descended a moldy staircase into the tunnel, dragonbone lantern in hand.
The tunnel was narrow and the ceiling was low, forcing him to hunch over. A hundred meters from the entrance, the greenish light revealed a seemingly solid brick wall, but Harry noticed a rune carved into the central brick: a small upside -down H, the ancient symbol of a long-forgotten protection brotherhood.
Before he could get closer, a harsh, distrustful voice cut through the stillness.
"There are only two reasons to be down here: you're either looking for something you shouldn't be, or you no longer have a place on the surface. Which one, 'Jim'?"
Harry turned. A man was sitting in total darkness twenty meters away from him, his silhouette indistinguishable without the flashlight. He wore a heavy trench coat, and a deep scar ran across his cheekbone, just below one cloudy eye. His wand was pointed at Harry with a firmness that could only come from rigorous training.
"I'm looking for a way to Godric's Hollow," Harry replied, keeping his voice neutral, no nicknames.
The man moved. "There's no path to glory here, boy. Only to despair. I'm Marcus , and this is my corner of oblivion."
Interaction with Marcus and the Memory Challenge:
Marcus was a former Auror, a seasoned fighter who had lost his faith. Harry noticed the lack of enthusiasm in his posture.
"Godric's Hollow is fenced off by the Ministry. If you want to pass, you'll have to pay the toll. And my toll isn't gold," Marcus said, approaching slowly. "It's a story . Tell me, why would a Muggle or a wizard from the surface risk coming into the tunnels? Give me your pain. Show me your failure."
The challenge was clear: Marcus was testing the authenticity of his desperation.
Harry felt anger swell again. He brushed his hair away from his forehead, revealing the lightning bolt.
Marcus gasped. His face twisted into a mixture of astonishment and pure disgust.
"Potter. Not 'Jim'. You. The great failure," Marcus spat. He dropped his wand, not in surrender, but in weariness. "Your failure was my downfall. My squadron, my family... all to protect a symbol that dissolved into thin air."
— Flashback: Exile and Guilt (3 years ago) —
· Harry felt a sharp pang, a memory from three years ago in Cardiff. He was working at a fish market, trying to stay sober. One day, an old friend of Ron's from his Hogwarts days found him. Colin Creevey , the former photographer. He was skinny, wild-eyed, and had lost his camera.
· " Harry, you have to go back. People need to see you. They live for the idea that you're out there, planning," Colin had pleaded.
· Harry, drunk on guilt and cheap gin, yelled at him, "I'm dead, Colin! Don't you understand? I'm a curse! Voldemort left me alive so you could see this!"
· The flashback ended with Colin running away, his face broken by hopelessness. A week later, Harry read in the underground wizarding newspaper that Colin had been found in an alley, his soul apparently sucked out by a Dementor.
· Coherent Thinking: Harry's exile wasn't just physical, it was a rejection of hope, which indirectly led to the downfall of those who tried to reach him.
— End of Flashback —
Harry looked at Marcus. "My failure haunts me. People died because I chose to give up. And my penance is having to see it. The Mirror of Eridanos isn't a tool for glory; it's the only way to undo my shame ."
Marcus laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "Shame. It's what keeps us alive, Potter. If you think that mirror will give you hope, you're madder than the Half-Blood Prince."
The Auror approached the brick wall and touched the Brotherhood rune. The bricks turned with an annoying scraping sound, revealing a narrow, soot-black passage.
"The path to Godric's Hollow is an old sewer pipe, lined with darkness spells. We've been keeping this route open for five years to any idiot who wants to go pray at the graves," said Marcus. "But there's a catch. At the forks, the Death Eaters put a spell on it. You have to go left at the first fork. At the second, you have to say out loud the name of someone you think you killed."
Harry frowned. "Why would a Death Eater issue that challenge?"
"Because the Darkness doesn't want your courage, Potter. It wants your soul . It wants you to face your pain. It's a psychological challenge," Marcus explained.
Harry felt the challenge was perfectly suited to Voldemort's sadistic mindset. It was a game.
"I accept the toll," Harry said.
Marcus nodded, picking up his wand. "Here's the last tip: the tunnel will lead you to an ancient sarcophagus in the Library of Death. There, you must recite the phrase 'Where sorrow is a promise' in Parseltongue, if you can still speak that serpent's tongue."
Harry nodded. He slipped through the opening, the dragonbone lantern casting a gloomy aura over the tunnel.
The Final Tunnel Challenge
The passage was claustrophobic, filled with the echoes of his own footsteps.
He reached the first fork: one path to the right, one path to the left. He turned left, as Marcus had warned. There was no magic, just a simple choice.
The second crossing was different. A faint reddish light pulsed from the opening. An icy whisper filled the air, not with words, but with the voice of memory , the sound of Ron's laughter, and Hermione's matter-of-fact tone.
Harry stopped. He needed to say the name of someone he believed he had killed.
He closed his eyes. He saw Colin Creevey 's face , fleeing, pleading. He saw Remus Lupin 's face , fallen in the last battle. He saw Hedwig 's face , dead, protecting him.
But only one name came to mind, the name that represented the destruction of everything.
Flashback: The Final Battle and the Betrayal (5 years ago) —
· Harry remembered the exact moment the defeat had been complete. It wasn't the duel. It was the revelation. Severus Snape , wounded and dying, hadn't been able to give Harry the full information about the Elder Wand in time. Voldemort arrived a moment later.
· But the bitterest memory was of Snape, desperately trying to warn him. Harry wondered if Snape's delay was intentional, a final act of resentment, or just fate. His decision to trust Snape had cost him the victory. Harry felt guilty about Snape's death—not for murdering him, but for trusting him incorrectly, which resulted in an epic fail.
He opened his eyes. The reddish light in the passage pulsed expectantly.
"Severus Snape," he whispered, the name both a challenge and a confession.
The reddish light went out, and the tunnel ahead opened with a thud, revealing a worn stone staircase leading upwards.
Harry climbed in, the dragonbone lantern lighting the way to the graveyard. The Well of Remorse had been a literal and metaphorical journey. Elijah's promise was clear: only through pain could one move forward.