Chapter 191: Potion: It Can Only Be Consumed
Inside the stone basin, a pool of vivid emerald liquid filled the vessel completely, its surface unnaturally flat and still.
Dumbledore reached out, but his fingers stopped short—unable to touch the liquid. He cast a series of complex spells, muttering incantations silently, before finally withdrawing his wand.
Turning to the quiet figure beside him, Wade, Dumbledore said, “This liquid cannot be separated, scooped up, or vanished by magic. It resists transformation, and even a hand cannot pass through it…”
He paused, then asked, “In this situation, Wade, what do you think we should do to uncover its hidden secret?”
Wade replied without hesitation: “Drink it.”
Dumbledore nodded slowly. “Indeed. That is the only way.”
“Earlier, when Regulus attacked Sirius Black, I saw traces of a curse on his body—identical to this liquid.” Wade spoke softly. “He must have consumed a great deal of it before he died.”
“Voldemort never regarded his followers as equals. But to treat a young man who once served him so faithfully with such cruelty…” Dumbledore trailed off, shaking his head in sorrow. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a tall crystal goblet.
Wade frowned. “You’re not seriously considering drinking it yourself, are you, Professor?”
“Oh, I simply wish to observe its effects,” Dumbledore said lightly. “Compared to you, my magic is far better equipped to resist the harm of dark magic. And I suspect Voldemort wouldn’t want someone who arrives on this island to die immediately.”
“Just on the basis of a guess, you’re willing to risk your life?” Wade shook his head. “Why not take the basin and the liquid with us? We could study it outside. There are plenty of criminals in Muggle prisons—perfect candidates.”
“Unfortunately, Wade,” Dumbledore said, “I believe you’ve already noticed—this stone basin, the pillar, and even the entire island are deeply connected to the lake and the cave. Unless we possess the ability to move every object within the cave at once, we cannot remove the basin.”
“There’s no immediate danger demanding self-sacrifice,” Wade added. “We could find a criminal—someone truly despicable—to drink it.”
Dumbledore stared at him, long and deeply.
“Sounds rather unorthodox from a moral standpoint,” Wade said calmly. “Professor, I don’t have your sense of justice. If someone must die, I’d rather it be a stranger than someone I know.”
Dumbledore was silent for a moment. Then, softly: “No… Wade. You’re too kind in your estimation of me.”
“I won’t claim to feel much pity for a man who’s already died. I’ve seen too many innocent lives brutally destroyed. And I’ve… done harm myself.”
“But even so, I will never consider it right to sacrifice another person—no matter how wicked—for my own ends. Even if it’s a criminal.”
“Wade, the value of a life is far greater than we often believe. Even killing in the name of justice scars the soul.”
“Voldemort couldn’t care less. He fears death, yet sees lives as worthless. But he’s wrong. He made a terrible mistake—one that has left his soul shattered.”
Wade instinctively thought: Isn’t Voldemort’s soul already broken because he split it to create Horcruxes?
Then he realized—according to Dumbledore, even without Horcruxes, the act of killing itself had already warped Voldemort’s soul. He simply didn’t know it.
And then Wade understood: Even if Dumbledore once might have made such a choice, he is here now. And I am not just a tool.
To Dumbledore, Wade was an exceptional talent—brilliant, but morally unformed. A child whose path could veer off at any moment.
The words and actions of those around him would shape his view of the world.
And he was watching.
So Dumbledore could never sacrifice another—no matter how efficient the method.
Wade exhaled. “I understand. But may I try my own way?”
“Of course,” Dumbledore said.
Wade opened his bag. A man with a solemn expression stepped out—only a palm-sized figure at first. But under the influence of an Expansion Charm, the magical puppet rapidly grew, until it stood as tall as Dumbledore.
Kneeling on one knee, it took the crystal goblet from Dumbledore’s hand and, without a word, drank it in one swift motion.
Wade immediately turned to the stone basin. The liquid level hadn’t changed.
Then another cup. Then a third.
By the fifth or sixth, the puppet’s movements slowed. Finally, it sighed deeply. “This is awful… really terrible.”
The moment the words left its lips, the puppet slumped forward, rigid as stone. Wade prodded it—no response.
The magical rune circuit across its body was completely disordered, as if its very nature had been altered. Even when Wade poured fresh thought into it, the puppet remained inert.
Wade exchanged a glance with Dumbledore.
Then he stepped into his Cloak Space, returning moments later, leading a plump, gray pig by a rope.
“A pig?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“Yes,” Wade said. “Not just any ordinary pig. It’s said to have one-sixteenth Tibbit Warty Pig blood—enough to carry a faint trace of magic.”
He stroked the pig’s unusually sharp ears and broad, flat snout. Just as he was about to cast a spell, he paused.
“Professor Dumbledore,” Wade said, “Transfiguration can turn a person into an animal. But can it do the reverse? Can an animal become human?”
“Hmm?” Dumbledore blinked, clearly taken aback. After a moment, he said, “Magic can achieve it, yes—but the essence remains that of a wart pig.”
“That’s perfect,” Wade said. “If it could become a human, I might hesitate. But I doubt this potion is meant for anything other than a human or human-like being.”
He gestured to the pig with a tilt of his head. “Professor, I’d be grateful if you’d do it.”
“…Very well,” Dumbledore sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated. He raised his wand.
A beam of light enveloped the pig. It struggled, squealing in panic. Its limbs stretched, its snout and ears shrank, its tail twisted and vanished.
In seconds, a fat, gray-robed man sat on the ground.
His bald head bore only sparse yellow hair. His small, dark eyes still reflected fear. His mouth was wide and flat—wide enough to swallow a child whole. His short, thick limbs and round belly gave him the look of a toad-like creature who had just taken human form.
It wasn’t a pig anymore. But it wasn’t quite human either.
It opened its mouth and let out a strange, guttural cry.
“Hnnooo—”
(End of Chapter)
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