https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-191-Potion-It-Can-Only-Be-Consumed/13685015/
Chapter 192: R.A.B
Wade cast an Enlargement Charm on the goblet, filling it with a potion volume nearly equivalent to half a basin. Yet when the goblet was lifted from the water, the potion level remained unchanged—as if it had never been diminished at all.
He directed the pig-turned “Frog-man” to drink from the cup. Thanks to countless trials with various insects, Wade’s Confusion Charm had grown remarkably precise. With ease, he convinced the pig that the liquid was its favorite food. It gulped down the potion with loud, eager slurps.
As it swallowed, the surface of the stone basin finally began to lower—but only slightly. The drop was far too small to match the amount consumed.
“Wow,” Dumbledore breathed, unable to hide his astonishment. He hadn’t expected such a clever workaround to actually work.
Wade, however, frowned. “The potion reduced is less than I anticipated.”
“Perhaps because its magical core is too weak,” Dumbledore mused. “Maybe only magic itself can truly digest it.”
“But magic puppets have magic too!” Wade protested.
“Not innate magic,” Dumbledore speculated. “The magic in a magic puppet is imposed by another spell. Perhaps the potion did decrease—but so little that it was instantly replenished by the basin’s natural restoration speed.”
Wade poured a second cup into the pig. By the third, the Confusion Charm faltered. The creature struggled violently for a few seconds before finally drinking.
The pig collapsed onto the ground, writhing in agony. The Transfiguration charm Dumbledore had cast began to unravel. Within seconds, parts of its body reverted to pig form—twisted, grotesque, more horrifying than before.
Suddenly, it stilled. Dumbledore intervened.
He made the pig drink four more cups—then five, then six—before finally stopping.
The pig lay motionless on the floor, panting weakly, its life hanging by a thread.
Dumbledore收回 his wand. “It still has a chance of recovery. Push further, and it will die.”
“Professor,” Wade cautioned, “there’s pork and lamb on the table.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore replied. “But killing other creatures for survival—especially those who’ve helped us—is not the same as sacrificing a hero.”
“Alright,” Wade shrugged. “You’ve convinced me. Lucky I have plenty of other animals.”
He turned and stepped back into the Closet Space.
Two young Cat Foxes tumbled playfully beneath a tree. A female magic puppet tended to a Tree Guardian perched above. Meanwhile, a broomstick chased after a Ball-Run Bird that had dared to pluck a branch.
Everywhere was chaos—joyful, vibrant, alive.
Wade passed through the scene, gently placing a young Silence Bird back onto a branch when it landed on his shoulder. These fantastic beasts had all been gifts from friends. They trusted him deeply. He couldn’t sacrifice them to drink poison.
But the Closet Space also housed other creatures he’d brought in for other reasons.
He rounded a large stone. Before him stood a structure resembling a prison—high walls, topped with iron mesh and protective spells.
He opened the door.
Inside, the creatures froze for a split second—then surged forward with a chorus of clicks and scuttles.
A swarm of man-eating Acromantula.
Each had eight thick-furred legs, giant pincers, and eight eyes glowing with ravenous hunger. They slammed their limbs against the ground, eager to tear Wade apart.
When Wade had first “found” them, they’d been about the size of basketballs. Now, each was larger than an ordinary goat. Their reproduction rate was terrifying—up to a hundred eggs per clutch.
Had they not been magically confined to this narrow space, they would have overrun the entire Closet Space long ago.
But with limited room and finite food, they’d learned to regulate their numbers. Even at their peak, there were never more than fifty.
Wade raised his wand and controlled the fastest few. He shrank them, then brought them out.
“Pfft!”
A spider at the back lunged forward, launching a web directly at Wade.
An invisible shield materialized midair, blocking the sticky strand.
Before the creature could react, Wade slammed the door shut. A flash of magical light flared.
“Chirp-chirp!”
Above, a voice called out. Mihal spread his wings and dove from the sky, slipping through a narrow gap in the iron mesh. He landed directly on the attacking Acromantula.
Flames erupted from his body, engulfing the spider. It shrieked in pain, screeching as it burned—until only black ash remained.
Mihal stood proudly, fluffed his wings, and let out a defiant cry at the dozens of larger spiders now cowering in the shadows.
Wade smiled, then transformed a stone into a box. He placed the shrunken, petrified spiders inside and left the Closet Space.
“Professor,” he said, opening the box. “Do you think they’ll work?”
Acromantula were naturally magical beings—classified by the Ministry of Magic as Danger Level Five X, on par with Fire Dragons and Dementors. They were not comparable to a mere pig with a quarter-bloodline.
The surface of the stone basin began to drop visibly, now.
The final spider collapsed, its legs twitching uncontrollably, unable to withstand the potion’s power.
At the same moment, the Golden Locket Box inside the basin finally revealed its true form.
Wade returned the spiders to the Closet Space. When he emerged, Dumbledore had already retrieved the locket and was studying it intently.
“Professor?” Wade asked.
“Ah, Wade.” Dumbledore set the locket down. “I’m afraid… we’ve misjudged our goal.”
He turned his hand over, showing Wade the locket’s surface.
“Voldemort did possess a golden locket—Slytherin’s artifact, marked with a distinctive ‘S’ shape. But this one… has nothing.”
“Nothing?” Wade echoed.
“Not entirely,” Dumbledore said quietly. “There is a trace… a final legacy left behind by a brave soul.”
He opened the locket.
Inside, folded neatly, was a parchment.
Wade unfolded it. The words were familiar—words that struck deep:
> To the Dark Lord:
> By the time you read this, I will already be dead.
> But know this—I discovered your secret.
> I stole the true Horcrux and plan to destroy it as soon as possible.
> I risked my life so that, when you face an opponent,
> you may finally be killed.
> R.A.B.
“R.A.B,” Dumbledore said, his voice low and solemn. “Regulus Arcturus Black. He was not slain by his master. He died… choosing to defy Voldemort with his own life.”
(End of Chapter)
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