And Lily Potter stood before him, red hair spilling over her shoulders, green eyes exactly like his own. She smiled.

She reached out, and her hand passed through his chest like light through glass. Harry felt a click —like a key turning in a lock. The cottage faded. The white void returned, then collapsed into darkness.

The system was no longer in Safe Mode.

But before he could celebrate, the panel blinked red. “English, please.” Translation: You need someone who loves you to use a specific magical artifact on your body within the next twelve minutes. Suggested artifact: the Resurrection Stone (currently in your pocket) or phoenix tears. Harry’s hand instinctively went to his pocket. The Resurrection Stone—Dumbledore had left it to him in the Snitch. He hadn’t used it yet. He was afraid of who he’d see.

He sat up slowly. The Resurrection Stone lay beside him, now cold and gray—spent. He pocketed it anyway.

He stood up, brushed off his robes, and walked toward the sound of Voldemort’s voice.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, and her voice was exactly as he’d imagined it a thousand times. “You’ve been so brave. But you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

He was ready to reboot the whole damn world.