The newspaper, Daily Prophet.

  Harry knew this was his chance to get an idea of what was going on in the world.

  But there was a slight problem. How to reach for it.

  The issue was not with the distance. On the contrary, the newspaper was within arm's reach. The problem was with Harry himself, as he found that he had no force to move his hand.

  The aftermath of so much trauma, combined with hunger, has left him with a very weak body. After so long, Harry was presented with such a chance, he swore he could not just give up.

  He tried and tried.

  "Move, dammit!" Usually, moving the arms was such an automatic thing. As soon as he wants, the brain would order the arms to move. But right now, Harry felt he had no control over his hands. Harry did not know if shouting was of any help, but he kept ordering and forcing a connection in this part of his body.

  Finally, his right arm responded to his instructions, and with trembling fingers, he was able to pull the sheet toward him.

  He had to pause and fight the aftermath. The mere act of extending his arm was causing his whole body to ache.

  When the discomfort decreased, Harry grabbed the newspaper. Due to the darkness, Harry could not distinguish the exact words. He shifted his position slowly and turned the newspaper toward the lamp.

  It was still not bright, but now it was readable. The very first thing Harry noticed was the date.

  June 25, 1995.

  When did the last stage of the Triwizard Tournament occur? Harry tried to remember, but no exact date came to his mind. On top of that, the newspaper did not seem new, so Harry was not sure he could guess from this to know the current date.

  The final stage of the Triwizard Tournament occurred on the 24th of June, and this was the paper from the day after. But as Harry had guessed, many days had gone by, and this was an old newspaper.

  Next, his eyes moved to the bold headline.

  *THE BOY WHO KILLED*

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  Harry blinked a few times. His heart started to beat louder as he could already guess who the boy referred to.

  Beneath the ominous headline was a picture, confirming Harry's assumption. The image was unmistakably his. He recognised the image as the one taken just before the Triwizard Tournament's first task. Then the image changed, showing the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge.

  Beneath the image, Harry began reading the text, his heart felt heavy with each word. The painful truth unfolded before him, painting him as the one responsible for Cedric's death.

  In the corner of the front page, there was another image showing Cedric Diggory. The section narrated how he was an exceptional boy and his achievements in the Triwizard Cup. There was going to be a memorial held by the ministry and Cedric's father to remember a bright boy who had passed away early.

  As he read on, a mix of emotions surged within him.

  "Oh no, the world knows that I'm responsible for Cedric's death." Tears started forming in Harry's eyes as that thought emerged in his mind. Due to the accusation from Voldemort and the nightmares he was having, Harry slowly accepted that he was the reason behind Cedric's death. And now, on seeing that news, Harry has fully accepted the accusation.

  The article delved into how the Ministry of Magic had found traces of Harry's blood on Cedric's lifeless body. The newspaper went on to describe how the Ministry had officially declared Harry Potter a fugitive, issuing a warrant for his arrest. Aurors were actively searching for him, and the wizarding world buzzed with discussions about the "Boy Who Killed."

  A sinking feeling settled in Harry's stomach as he read further. The article detailed his unique abilities, the ability to speak Parseltongue, and the mysterious pain in his scar. These were aspects of himself that he believed only Dumbledore knew. His mind was in such a state that he could not even think of anyone other than Dumbledore. The revelation of these personal details to the public fuelled Harry's anger and frustration. Why had Dumbledore exposed such private and vulnerable aspects of his life?

  The sense of betrayal intensified, and a flicker of doubt about Dumbledore's motives crossed Harry's mind. His mind raced with conflicting emotions. Anger, confusion, and a profound sense of isolation.

  The weight of such a mix of emotions broke Harry. He had saved people so many times, and just one mistake, just one kill, and the Ministry was labelling him "The boy who killed".

  Although his ability to talk in Parseltongue was exposed in a duel at Hogwarts, no one knew about the pain in his head except Dumbledore. How could he let the public know? Now they would think of me as a mad boy.

  Harry sobbed, his hands clutching his head in despair.

  In his lowest moment, he began whispering for help, not caring who or what might answer, pleading with anyone or anything to ease the torment.

  "Someone, anyone, please help me," Harry whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

  In the dimly lit cellar, as if in response to his desperate plea, there was a sudden popping sound.

  Startled, Harry wiped away his tears and strained his eyes to see through the darkness. He felt an unfamiliar presence, a subtle shift in the air that hinted at the arrival of someone or something.

  Then, a soft glow appeared as a gentle light that pushed back the shadows. Harry squinted against the sudden brightness, trying to figure out the creature emerging from the light. Harry recognised it as someone using the Lumos spell. As the illumination grew, he saw it.