Chapter 191: The Potion: It Can Only Be Drunk
Chapter 191: The Potion: It Can Only Be Drunk
Within the stone basin lay a pool of emerald liquid, its surface smooth and unrippled.
Dumbledore reached out, but his hand passed through the liquid as if it weren't there. He waved his wand, casting intricate detection spells, his lips moving silently as he muttered incantations. After a long moment, he lowered his wand.
Turning to the quiet, expectant Voldemort, Dumbledore said, "This liquid cannot be separated, scooped out, or made to disappear with a spell. Not even my hand can enter..."
"In that case, Voldemort, how do you suggest we uncover its secrets?"
"Drink it," Voldemort replied.
Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, that seems to be the only way."
"When Regulus attempted to attack Sirius, I noticed traces of a curse on him, similar to what we see in this basin."
"He must have drunk a significant amount of this liquid before his death," Voldemort murmured.
"Voldemort does not view his followers as comrades, yet he treated a once-loyal young man so callously..."
Dumbledore's voice trailed off, and he shook his head in pity. With a wave of his hand, a tall crystal glass appeared.
"Surely you don't intend to drink it yourself, Professor?" Voldemort frowned.
"Oh, I'm merely curious about its effects," Dumbledore said lightly. "My magical prowess is greater than yours, and I can better withstand the effects of Dark Magic. Besides, I doubt Voldemort would want to kill anyone who comes to this island immediately."
"So you're risking your life based on mere speculation?" Voldemort asked, disapproving. "Why not take the basin, along with the stone pillar, and deal with it outside? We could find a way to contain it."
"I'm afraid that's not possible, Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "You must have noticed that the basin, the pillar, and everything on this island are intricately connected to the lake and the cave. Unless we can move everything within this cave together, we cannot remove the basin."
"There is no imminent crisis that requires us to sacrifice ourselves," Voldemort suggested. "We could find a heinous criminal to drink it—there are plenty of those in the Muggle world."
Dumbledore fixed him with a deep gaze.
"Does that not align with your sense of morality?" Voldemort asked, unfazed. "Professor, I do not share your sense of justice and goodness. If a sacrifice must be made, I would rather it be a criminal than someone I know."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment before speaking. "No, Voldemort... you give me too much credit."
"I cannot claim to have much pity for a condemned prisoner," he said. "I have seen too many innocent lives cruelly harmed... and I, too, have caused harm."
"But even so... I would never consider it right to sacrifice another for my own ends, no matter how evil they may be."
"Voldemort, the weight of a life is far heavier than we imagine," Dumbledore continued. "Even killing for a just cause wounds the soul. Voldemort scorns this, fearing death but caring little for the lives of others. Yet he is wrong, Voldemort, terribly wrong, for his soul is ravaged by the act of killing."
Voldemort thought to himself: Didn't Voldemort split his soul to create Horcruxes?
Then he realized that, according to Dumbledore, even without Horcruxes, Voldemort's soul had already been altered the moment he took a life, whether he was aware of it or not.
And then, he understood that even if Dumbledore might have done so originally, he was here at this moment.
In Dumbledore's eyes, Voldemort was a gifted child with a blurred sense of morality who could easily go astray.
The words and actions of those around him would influence his perception of the world.
He was watching.
So Dumbledore would never achieve his goal at the expense of others, even if it was the least costly method.
Voldemort sighed and said, "I understand, but I want to try my way. May I?"
"Of course," Dumbledore said.
Voldemort opened his bag, and a stern-looking man jumped out.
He was only palm-sized when he landed, but soon, under the effect of the Engorgement Charm, the magical puppet quickly "grew" to the same height as Dumbledore.
After kneeling on one knee to salute, he took the goblet from Dumbledore's hand without a word and drank it in one go.
Voldemort immediately looked at the stone basin, but the surface of the liquid didn't seem to have lowered at all.
Then came the second cup, the third cup...
After five or six cups, the puppet's movements slowed down, and finally, he sighed and said, "This is hard to drink..."
As soon as the words fell, the puppet bowed his head, his whole body stiff as a stone. Voldemort poked it, but there was no response.
The magical circuits on it had become messy, and even the nature of the material seemed to have changed. Even if Voldemort injected thoughts into it again, it wouldn't be able to move.
Voldemort and Dumbledore looked at each other.
Then, he opened up his wardrobe space and went inside. Soon, he came out again, leading a chubby gray pig.
"Pig?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, puzzled.
"Yes." Voldemort said, "It's not one of Hagrid's ordinary breeds. It's said to have one-sixteenth of the blood of a Tebo Wart Pig, so it also has a weak magical power."
Voldemort stroked the pig's ears, which were sharper than those of its peers, and its wide, flat nose. He was about to cast a spell when he remembered something.
"Professor Dumbledore," Voldemort said, "Transfiguration can turn a person into an animal. Can it turn an animal into a human?"
"Hmm?" Dumbledore was completely caught off guard by this idea and hesitated before saying, "Magic can indeed do that, but after the transformation, its essence is still that of a wart pig."
"That's perfect. If it could really turn into a human, I wouldn't have the heart to do it. But I suspect that this potion may need to be drunk by a human or a human-shaped creature."
Voldemort tilted his head towards the pig and said to Dumbledore, "Professor, could you please?"
"...Very well."
Dumbledore couldn't help but find it amusing, but he still pointed his wand at the pig as Voldemort suggested.
In the glow of the spell, the little pig struggled in panic. Its limbs lengthened, its nose and ears shrank, and its tail gradually disappeared as it spun.
After a few seconds, a chubby man in a gray robe sat on the ground.
The top of his bald head had sparse yellow hair, and his small black eyes still held a hint of panic. His mouth was wide and flat, as if he could swallow a child in one bite; his limbs were short and thick, and his belly was round.
He no longer looked like a pig, but like a toad-like creature that had turned into a human while squatting on the ground.
"Hmmoo—"
He opened his mouth and made a strange sound.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
Report
