Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (MOD Novelization)

20

Harry walked steadily down a dim corridor lined with burnished black-olive tiles, the soft echo of his footsteps the only sound in the stillness. The corridor was scarcely lit, the torches flickering weakly against the encroaching darkness in stark contrast to the florescent light that still gleamed from the crack beneath the door of the interrogation room. Harry's stride was purposeful yet cautious as entered the main thoroughfare, a shrewd grin growing wider with each cluster of witches and wizards he passed. Every nod or whispered greeting seemed to bolster his spirit. That is, until his gaze fell upon a hunched figure at the door of his office.

A man in his mid-sixties, frail and weary-looking, wandered the hall with a sort of aimless determination. His thinning hair peeked out from beneath an ivy cap, and his robes hung loosely on his stooped frame. As their eyes met, recognition sparked between them. The man's face brightened, a flicker of energy revitalizing his tired features. Harry's grin faded, replaced by a look of surprise and apprehension. This had to be a coincidence. Harry could not — and would not — accept that Theodore Nott had been right.

"Harry! I wonder if we could have a moment," called the man, his voice thin but earnest.

"Mr. Diggory. Sorry... Amos," Harry replied, forcing a polite smile.

"I've tried to make an appointment," Amos began, his words tumbling out in a rush. "They said, 'Ah, Mr. Diggory, we have an appointment for you, let's see, in two months.'"

Harry sighed softly. "Amos, I understand, I really do—"

"The reason I'm here with such urgency is I've just heard rumor—strong rumor—that the Ministry—"

"—but I'm afraid it's been a rather busy day thus far and—" Harry continued, attempting to gently deflect the conversation.

"Is it true?" Amos pressed.

Harry hesitated. "Not at all, sir. Voldemort has not returned."

Amos blinked, momentarily confused. "Voldemort? No, no..." His eyes lit up with a fervent excitement. "A Time-Turner has been found. The Ministry has a Time-Turner, does it not? Kept... for investigation?"

Harry felt a jolt run through him. "How...? No, the Time-Turners were all destroyed," he managed to say, struggling to keep his composure.

Amos caught the look on Harry's face. "Oh. But I was told you knew. Arthur Weasley... He explained it all to me. His son Ronald discovered one during last night's raid at the home of Theodore Nott. Arthur was quite proud." Trembling, he reached out and grasped Harry's hand with surprising strength. "Mr. Potter, please. Please, use the Time-Turner to save my son, Cedric. You do remember Cedric, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember your son. His loss was—" Harry began, his throat tightening.

"As one father to another... I implore you. Get him back," Amos pleaded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Get him back? Amos, that's not possible," Harry said gently, though an ache was growing in his chest.

"You must stop Voldemort from taking my son, Harry. You owe it to him," Amos insisted.

The ache grew stronger as Harry was overwhelmed by a surge of emotion. Memories of Cedric flickered before him—the Triwizard Tournament, the graveyard, the intense flash of green light. He looked down at Amos's hand clutching his and carefully pulled away. From the shadows, Delphi emerged but remained at a respectful distance.

"I... I'm sorry, Amos. You are misinformed," Harry said haltingly, each word a struggle.

"Please, Harry. You cannot understand the pain I have suffered. I've never gotten over it," Amos said, his voice quavering in desperation.