Before coming to the Department of Mysteries, Harry wished he could sit down, have a cup of hot tea, or some sweets, wrap himself in a blanket, and not talk to anyone for at least three hours.
But, he can't do that now.
cannot.
Harry looked up at the black iron door and reached out to touch its surface, feeling its coldness for a moment. Then, like a soulless puppet, he stiffly raised his hand and knocked.
"Hello," his vision was a little blurred, his eyes were dull, and his voice was weak, but his attitude was firm, "I have some... information that you probably want to know. If you are willing to open the door to me right away, , I would be very grateful."
As he spoke, he wondered whether this door would ask for documents like last time, and whether he would not be allowed in because he didn't bring them. To others, the document looked like ordinary parchment. It would usually be rolled up and placed on R's body. They had agreed that if things changed, Harry would quietly take the document away for safekeeping, but now he didn't have the time. There is no reason to ask R to get the documents.
Ah, r, y rubbed his forehead. This is not the first day that r has met him. When he goes back, they will have another intense question and answer session.
Unexpectedly, but not quite what Harry expected, the door was silent for a while, then opened with a creak and let him in.
Did they put a spying spell on the door and see the blood on me, Harry thought, or was the profile of everyone who signed the contract known?
Then, putting aside these thoughts, he walked in silently, with his head lowered.
The inside was still the same as last time. The entire space was shrouded in darkness. Only the curved table and the spot where Harry sat last time had clear light shining down from above his head. He looked at it, walked over quickly, and sat on the floating chair prepared for him. He sat firmly and felt a little dazed.
"Can you change a chair?" he asked softly. "My head hurts a lot now. A chair with a backrest would make me more comfortable."
The figures behind the curved table didn't care about this kind of thing. One of them raised the staff in his hand, and the hard chair under Harry's butt turned into a soft sofa, and the latter fell directly onto it and pushed it. The back of his neck was placed on the back of the sofa, and his whole body collapsed into the soft backrest.
I feel like their attitude is better than last time. Harry thought as he relaxed.
"Please explain the situation, Mr. Potter-Xavier," the person in the center behind the long table said, still speaking in a multi-voiced voice that was neither male nor female, and it was impossible to tell who it was, "Are you hurt?"
"Why do you call me Mr. Potter-Xavier? Because I have two household registrations?" Harry leaned on the sofa, closed his eyes, and asked a question without answering their questions first. He wondered in his mind whether the other party would not explain such a trivial issue to him.
"Because both of your surnames are valid in a magical sense," the voice actually explained, "This has nothing to do with household registration. Magic only depends on what the wizard himself admits and how much he admits - if you sign a contract with either surname , take the oath, they are all valid."
Harry tilted his head, which was resting on the backrest, without opening his eyes, and nodded, "That's right - that's very thoughtful."
After speaking, he reached out and tapped on his neck and cheeks.
"And, yes, I was indeed...injured. It doesn't matter. I have temporarily dealt with this emergency." His voice was very soft, but he felt that the other party would not miss it. "But, these bloods are not Mine is your main target."
The shadows behind the long table made no sound.
"You - you know what I'm talking about, right?" Harry sat up straight, opened his eyes, and spoke like the most well-behaved student, "Great, do you guys see what the blood is for?" I know blood is useful in a magical sense - if it wasn't, I'd have to clean it all up, which would be very...well,
Appropriate. ” He said it very lightly, as if he was just making a suggestion in class.
If he goes back like this, his father will be able to see through his disguise at a glance and be frightened...
Harry calmed down his emotions slowly in his mind.
The shadows behind the long table squirmed and exchanged glances with each other. Then, an apparently female figure came out from behind and approached Harry.
"You are indeed very smart, Mr. Potter-Xavier." This time, when the witch spoke, it was no longer the synthesized voice that could not distinguish between men and women, but a soft and gentle female voice. "These are important to us. It does have an important use, if you don’t mind...?”
Harry sat on the sofa, looked up at the lady quietly for a while, and then nodded.
"Of course, ma'am," Harry said softly, "in order to ensure that their availability does not decrease with time, I rushed over as quickly as possible. If I mind, I will clean them up immediately." No wait. When the woman spoke again, he said, "However, I also want to ask you to do a check-up on me. I don't want me to be tracked because of this conflict."
"This is what we should do." The witch agreed quickly. Then, she waved her hands gently, activated her magic, and recited a spell that Harry could only half understand. Harry noticed that when she did this, her fingers moved with a strange grace, and the palms of her hands shone with some colored light, just like when Anda used her powers.
After thinking about it and considering the current situation, Harry decided to postpone the question.
As the witch moved, some light surrounded Harry and touched the blood spots on his body. As time passed, the blood stains were slowly floating from his body like dust. A chill spread through those parts, but Harry endured it well. He sat there quietly the entire time, not expressing any discomfort.
After all the scarlet color disappeared from the clothes and skin, a glass bottle appeared in the witch's hand. She waved her hand gently, and the blood was obediently sealed into the bottle.
"They have to remove some of the remaining magical effects," the witch said, and even though Harry couldn't see her face clearly, he knew she was very relaxed at the moment, "but it's better than having nothing. We'll do something with it, thanks Your contribution, Mr. Potter-Xavier, I can assure you, will also be very helpful in your mission."
"Excuse me, but I would like to ask a question," Harry asked, "Can't you get the target's blood even with your magical skills?"
Even though wizards do pay attention to things that can easily kill them, such as hair, blood, nails, etc., in Harry's opinion, these things are easy to obtain as long as they have the right means, and a ring with a blood needle can do it. Even if you don't know magic, it's the same - unless someone hangs a magic spell specially invented for this purpose, and once these things are lost, they will make a beeping sound.
"This is not allowed by the rules." The witch said with deep meaning, "And we are also very sure that you did not collect these blood on your own initiative, Mr. Potter-Xavier. The contract will not allow it."
"..."
Harry was silent for a long moment.
"I stepped into a trap and had a conflict with...the target." When he spoke again, his eyes were a little distracted, "——I don't know what kind of protective magic he touched on me, but it was very useful. He was bounced away. Then, he bled. He seemed to be in a very abnormal mental state, so no magic was used to heal his wounds."
Having said this, his tone was still very calm: "He is very confident in his trap and his own strength, and he seems to think that I will not fight back - or some other reason, because he is half crazy? In short, he lets it go His own blood dripped on my body, trying to get the first step... He used the Unforgivable Curse on me, trying to control me first."
recall details
It took him a lot of effort to suppress the desire to vomit. Even though the witch had drained away all the blood, he could still recall the rusty smell and the curse-like chanting of his name.
"He did not succeed," said the witch.
Harry said nothing and stared at the witch again for about ten seconds before slowly nodding. But he no longer looked at her, but at his hands.
"Yes, he didn't succeed." Harry said softly, a green light flashed in his lowered eyes, and then was hidden, with a meek posture, "I fought back."
"Counterattack?" the witch repeated, as if they didn't know what the counterattack meant.
Harry's expression remained calm: "Yes, fight back - but, strictly speaking, this is an act of self-defense."
"My instinct—my ability, completely exploded for self-defense," he said slower and slower. "While he was still entering his brain, I followed the link and entered his first."
Almost immediately, he heard the less obvious but still audible sound of the witch's breath hitching.
"This is...theoretically not allowed," the witch said.
"This was an accident other than self-defense," Harry said with a very calm expression, "Believe me, ma'am, I personally would never want to do this. If I hadn't counterattacked in time, your goal would have been achieved, I have to say. That's terrible."
At this point, Harry's expression suddenly became serious.
Regardless of appearance or temperament, Harry was more elegant and gentle than cold and arrogant. But when he raised his eyes, his expression changed, and the traces of gentleness slowly disappeared on him, replaced by a It is as hard and sharp as a metal weapon.
"So, now, could you please tell me," he said, "why you are committed to driving Riddle crazy?"
Then, he quickly asked:
"Is this related to the "secret incident that happened many years ago" that you mentioned?
…………
Riddle woke up in darkness.
He opened his eyes and found that he was just like every time he got sick - his thoughts were confused, he was dizzy, and a piano was randomly opened in front of him. His fingers didn't have particularly good accuracy in the dark, and they just relied on instinct to randomly fall on the elegant black and white keys, playing crazy and chaotic tunes. Every high note it plays is mixed with painful magic, and every note lingers around for a long time. There were times when some servants or staff who were not experienced enough ignored the instructions of the butler and Lius and boldly approached this room, wanting to explore the secrets of the Dark Lord, but they were knocked down by the music that was not pleasant enough. Immediately afterwards, Riddle will cast the Cruciatus Curse on anyone who dares to get close, and they can only roll on the ground begging for his forgiveness——
——My lord, my lord, spare me, spare me! Please, my greatest and most merciful master!
Those people always begged so much, with such humble postures, that they wished they could kneel on the ground and sing praises to him. At first, Riddle thought that making people wail like these was a good way to kill a bad mood, but as time went by, he gradually stopped getting pleasure from it.
Thinking of this, Riddle's hand stopped and rubbed his forehead, which was still aching.
Even though his brain was awake at this moment, Riddle's face was still horribly pale.
For a moment, he wanted to call all the servants in the manor and execute them all so that he could be happy for a while; for another moment, he wanted to wipe out all the servants on the table, floor, and cabinets. He threw all the things out of the window, listening to them fall to the ground lightly or heavily, so as to free up an empty room so that he could have more freedom; however, the next moment, he felt that the room was too deserted, and he It would be best to find his subordinates and let them hold a banquet and dance downstairs, while he sits at the highest place, watching their eyes and postures, and guessing what kind of dirty thoughts they have.
he can do all he
What I want to do, but——
pain. pain. Aching, tearing pain.
The pain that was enough to drive him crazy was like a nail being driven into his brain. He immediately fell on the big bed a few steps away, covered in cold sweat. His thin shirt clung to his back, twisting as he moved. The lines are twisted and folded.
The pain was always so long, and phantoms and auditory hallucinations followed him. Every time, Riddle felt that if he hadn't been able to find peace in his dreams, he would have chosen to cast a coma spell on himself.
Not enough, not enough. Such uncontrollability is too ridiculous. Even using the coma spell is still not enough.
"Lius——"
The bed curtain had long been lowered due to the magic of the ***, blocking the view of anyone who might come in. Riddle yelled manically from inside: "Lius! Liuus!"
After a burst of footsteps, the door was suddenly opened, and Riddle could hear his capable subordinates running in almost wildly.
"Master! You're awake!" There was a little surprise in Liuus's trembling voice, "Are you calling me? Do you need anything, Master, I will arrange it for you right away-"
"Medicine!" Riddle gritted his teeth, but had to open his mouth and yell at Liuus, "Bring the medicine!"
He originally wanted Liuus to find a few people for him to torture, but...
No. Not the time. No one can know his current situation, not even the dead.
When Lius heard "medicine", his expression changed. He quickly approached the bed, took out a box with complicated patterns from the pocket of his robe, and tapped it seven times in a certain order with his wand.
The metal box opened with a click, and inside lay two identical silver bottles with finger lengths. Lius picked up one of the bottles, knelt beside the bed, and quickly handed it in. He then lowered his head and did not try to spy on the owner through the gap. Instead, he waited there quietly, waiting for Riddle to take the potion. , through the neutralization of medicine, the pain can be turned into peace.
The whole process lasted about ten minutes, and Liuus knelt until his legs were almost numb before he heard Riddle calling his name from inside the bed tent.
"Sit, Lius, my boy, sit."
Riddle said hoarsely. Apparently, the strange illness had caused more than just mental damage to him. But after getting the medicine, he was finally the master that Lius knew - or to him, an elder - instead of a powerful madman that no one dared to approach.
Lius breathed a long sigh of relief.
He who knew such a secret was naturally Riddle's closest confidant. Since Riddle asked him to sit down so gently, he certainly didn't feel too panicked. He stood up slowly, moved a chair from the side, and placed it next to the bed. Sit down nearby.
"Nagini's...funeral," Riddle asked slowly in the tent, "have you finished handling it?"
This was something that Liuus had already thought about the content of the report, so as soon as Riddle asked, he quickly replied: "Yes, my master, we have held a very grand funeral for Miss Nagini, and the invited guests We have also laid flowers and mourned for her one by one; her statue has also been completed, and we followed your instructions and placed it among your beloved lilies. In addition-"
His report came to an abrupt end as a hand stretched out from the curtain, signaling him to stop.
"I believe in your ability." Riddle said softly, "But, Lius, before all the guests leave, have you brought anyone upstairs?"
Lius replied without hesitation: "I will not let them disturb you, my master."
"Then let me ask another question," Riddle laughed in the curtain, "Has Mr. Bagshot been invited?"
"...Yes, Master," Liuus frowned and asked with some fear, "Is there anything wrong with this?"
"No, no, no," Riddle's voice became cheerful, "You did a good job."
Lius station
He stood up and bowed slightly: "This is what I should do, Master."
"Then you have to do one more thing for me," Riddle said. "Find out what Mr. Bagshot has been up to before this is all over."
…………
"I played around with the target's head a little bit. Harry said frankly, "With some minor adjustments. But, I don't understand, gentlemen and ladies," he paused, "I saw pictures and information that I didn't understand."
A voice roared inside him—it was his face. His grown up face. If there is any difference, it is an extra scar.
Harry took a deep breath, resisted the urge to tell all the information, and asked the people behind the long table again: "Is your intention to make that person crazy?"
If their purpose was to turn Riddle into a madman, judging from the situation more than ten years later, they were quite successful. In Harry's eyes, the current Riddle could barely be considered a human being - a madman could still be considered a human being - but the Dark Lord more than ten years later was like a crazed car, wanting nothing more than to run over everyone at every moment. In every sense of the word, you can't say it's a living thing.
For Harry, he would calmly point out what he thought was the most incomprehensible point - who would hunt down a one-year-old baby? !
The figures behind the long table, including the witch, were silent for a long time. For a moment, Harry could feel a numbing gaze focused on him - although those black shadows couldn't be seen clearly, they definitely had eyes that could glare at him. Paired with the dim scene, this feeling was definitely creepy, but things had reached this point, and Harry had no intention of going back. He just took control of Riddle and immediately washed it away. Just like the memories of several key people, don’t think about going back when you start doing something. That won’t solve the problem.
They were silent, unwilling to be the first to speak or give in, but Harry was not anxious at all. He threw himself onto the comfortable sofa again, closed his eyes, and tried to suppress the mess of information in his head.
Unfortunately, perhaps due to some precautionary measures, Harry's ears have been very "quiet" ever since he entered this place——
——Otherwise, maybe he can get the answer and leave without speaking to the other person, because the switch in his mind cannot be turned off for the time being.
"In your opinion, Mr. Potter-Xavier," one of the figures behind the long table finally spoke, "are we turning him into a madman?"
Harry thought for a while and chose between "long story" and "long story."
"Of course," Harry made a surprised expression, "I dare not say that I have studied the brain thoroughly, but the human brain is a very contradictory and complicated thing. Let's put it this way, sir -"
He stretched out his left hand and right hand, intertwined their fingers and put them together, then let go of a few fingers and pulled hard in the opposite direction.
"The consciousness here is what you did, or created. It is making your target forget something." Harry shook his left hand, then his right hand, "But, he is very sure that something exists. But he is still fighting to keep it. Look, sir, they are two wills in a man's head, two lines on a piece of paper."
"If you continue to erase his memory -" Harry conjured a piece of paper and pulled hard.
Hiss!
The blank paper was split in two in a savage way.
"Look," Harry said, "if a person's memory is broken in half, how can he look like a madman?"
