It was a hazy, unreal place.
Harry pushed himself up from the ground and realized he'd been lying in a layer of bright, shining mist—only it wasn't like any fog he'd seen before.
It wasn't that the surroundings were covered by mist. It was that the mist itself hadn't yet become surroundings. The world felt unfinished.
He touched his face—his glasses were gone.
He patted his body—his clothes were gone too.
He panicked and immediately wished he were dressed. The thought had barely formed in his mind when, not far away, a robe appeared out of nowhere. He grabbed it and pulled it on.
The robe was soft, clean, and warm. How strange—he'd only just thought of it…
…and then he saw the black cat staring at him.
Harry was completely stunned.
"Mr. Black Cat! But—how—I was unconscious, wasn't I?"
The cat didn't speak. Instead it lifted a fluffy, ink-black paw and pressed it gently to its whiskers.
Harry felt this was oddly funny—Mr. Black Cat was telling him not to talk.
He soon understood why.
A sound drifted to his ears from the still-unformed emptiness around them:
Something small, repeatedly thudding, twitching, and struggling—tiny, muffled impacts.
The sound stirred pity and a faint sense of disgust at the same time. He felt horribly uncomfortable, as if he were eavesdropping on something secret and shameful.
Harry slowly turned on the spot. The space around him remained vast and bright and bare.
Only he and Mr. Black Cat seemed to exist here.
Then—he flinched.
He saw the thing that was making the noise.
It was shaped like a naked child curled up on the ground. Its raw, red skin looked flayed, rough and raw. It shivered under a seat, as if someone had tossed it there like rubbish—crammed under the chair, struggling to breathe.
Harry was terrified.
The thing was small, weak, wounded—pitiful—but he still didn't want to go near it.
Even so, he edged forward, inch by inch, ready to bolt at any moment.
Soon he was close enough to touch it, but he didn't dare. He felt like a coward.
He should comfort it. Yet the sight of it filled him with revulsion.
"You can't help it."
The black cat spoke.
Harry whirled around. Mr. Black Cat was padding toward him, green eyes glinting.
The bond between Harry and Voldemort was deeper than the cat had expected. Just separating the two of them had knocked Harry unconscious and driven Voldemort to the brink of death.
But that was exactly what Sean had wanted.
"What is that, Mr. Black Cat?"
Harry glanced back at the trembling little thing under the seat.
"It's something neither of us has any power over,"
the black cat said.
"He fears coming here more than anything. Right now, I've dragged him over. No matter how powerful his magic once was, Harry, in this place, everyone is equal."
The cat gazed at that tiny life. For the first time, Harry sensed that Mr. Black Cat was—on some deep level—brighter and more complete than that thing.
The cat was solid and lively, carrying wisdom and learning in every movement.
That thing was pathetic and disgusting.
"That's… Voldemort, isn't it?"
Harry asked at last.
"Harry, you're an outstanding wizard."
said the black cat.
Harry ducked his head at once. He didn't even know if he could blush here—but if he could, his face would definitely be as red as an apple.
He always liked this place. In fact, he might even love it.
Mr. Black Cat always appeared when he needed help. Even though it often said things Harry didn't fully understand, they somehow never felt confusing.
Because when he hit trouble and sat down to really think, the cat's words were like a faint but steady lamp in the darkness.
Language… really was the one magic in this world that never seems to run dry. It could hurt—but it could heal hearts too.
"Harry, look."
The cat pushed a clump of mist aside, and the frail life was sucked into it.
Within the cloud, Harry saw a terrifying wizard who ruled the whole magical world.
Yet when Harry stepped out of the mist and looked again, all he could see was Voldemort's ugly, pitiful, broken soul.
"In the world of souls, losing your way is the most natural thing."
said the black cat.
Behind them, the small lifeform twitched and moaned, then dissolved completely into the fog.
Harry sat there for a long, long time.
Finally, like snowflakes drifting gently to the ground, he slowly realized what must have happened next.
"You destroyed it… didn't you, Mr. Black Cat?"
"It chose to die. The fragment of soul inside you—its screams echoed clearly even here, in the realm of souls.
It has no love, Harry. That's why it cannot choose life. A wizard who cannot choose life will inevitably choose death."
said the black cat.
"And me…?"
Harry whispered.
The corners of the cat's mouth lifted, its whiskers trembling.
It was the first time Harry had seen it look so pleased and playful—suddenly it didn't feel so far away from him anymore.
"Harry, you are nowhere near as afraid of returning here as he is."
said the cat.
Harry thought the black cat overestimated him by a long way—far more than he'd ever rate himself.
As the mist finally flooded over the space, Harry found himself thinking that Mr. Black Cat must be his favorite magical creature in this entire world.
Sometimes he just really wanted… to pet it…
One of Voldemort's Horcruxes had been destroyed.
The black cat's steps felt lighter. It could now stay in the borderland two seconds longer, all thanks to a slim, strengthened line of mist connecting it to Harry's soul.
These anchors were what kept it from getting lost here.
And that was why, perhaps, it was willing to say a few extra words to Harry.
…Or so it told itself.
Dream Tales described how, after seven hours, the sky here would darken and the stars would gleam—clear, pure night, the best time for divination.
It also described how, after seven hours, the sky here would brighten; just before dawn you were most likely to meet souls who were waiting. They lingered in a constant pre-dawn that never quite became day.
…
Eventually the dream ended. A silence as heavy as snow on the ground settled over the castle.
Harry didn't find it oppressive. On the contrary, he felt oddly at peace. The thought that the sliver of Voldemort's soul inside him was gone filled him with joy.
Mr. Black Cat—that was the strangest, most wonderful presence he'd ever met in Hogwarts. It woke him from nightmares, it soothed him in the dark and told him he was safe; that no problem was beyond hope.
"The messenger of Christmas Night, bearer of good fortune—the Castle Black Cat.
The towering castle is his ears, the spinning staircases are his breath…"
Harry whispered with something close to reverence.
~~~
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