Chapter 294: Voldemort: Do Me a Favor?
Aberforth was a standard Gryffindor; he liked to view the world through the lens of "good people" and "bad people."
Even at over a hundred years old, the old man remained full of childlike innocence.
This was not a derogatory term...at least not in Lockhart's eyes.
To be able to immerse oneself so purely in the "romance of fairy tales" was a happy thing, and Aberforth's strength was sufficient to support his own purity.
The only problem was that he had not played a role of sufficient weight within that "fairy tale."
Although his life was swept into the vortex of Albus and Gellert, he always received the script of a mere sidekick.
He was Gryffindor enough, but he was not a standard hero.
By comparison, although Severus Snape was a Slytherin, at this moment he was truly playing the role of the "hero."
He intended to kill the Dark Lord!
This was no simple task; even wizard toddlers had heard fairy tales of witches bound to pyres ready to be burned, who, despite lacking wands or any casting materials, could still curse their enemies to suffer some irreversible pain for generations.
Moreover, Voldemort was no such pitiable witch; he was the most dangerous Dark Wizard in history.
That was a title even Grindelwald could not obtain.
Dumbledore was only referred to as the "greatest wizard of the contemporary era."
Even in the magical fields familiar to common wizards...Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts...Voldemort was an undisputed master in every single field.
And for such an all-around powerhouse, his greatest specialty was the even more dangerous Dark Arts.
This forced everyone to be extremely cautious.
When Snape prepared to poison Voldemort, Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Professor McGonagall, and Lockhart were all present.
Even though Voldemort was already imprisoned right there.
Such emphasis was a "treatment" that any person present would enjoy if the roles were reversed.
Forbidden Forest, Stone House.
Snape gripped his wand tightly, holding a potion bottle in one hand, his lips pressed thin in silence, staring intently at Lockhart, who was checking the status of the stone house.
After a while, Lockhart stepped back, nodded to everyone, and then waited with them for Dumbledore to step forward and inspect the magic he had added.
Then came Grindelwald; he had previously applied a series of "castle magics" that even Dumbledore and Lockhart could not understand.
"Rest assured, he cannot get out."
"You may proceed freely; any outcome is within the acceptable range."
Grindelwald smiled to soothe the young Snape's emotions, showing the utmost vigilance toward Voldemort while maintaining absolute confidence in his own strength.
This little Dark Lord couldn't stir up any waves.
Dumbledore was clearly not so optimistic; he stood to the side holding the Elder Wand, his gaze solemn. In his mind, flashes of the helplessness he had felt facing Voldemort over the past decades involuntarily flickered.
He took a long look at Snape and finally flourished his wand.
The cold wind whistled through the Forbidden Forest, carrying an indescribable sense of desolation.
Every stone of the house seemed to tremble, then suddenly split from the center. The stones flipped and shifted, eventually forming a stone archway at the front.
Inside the archway was pitch black.
Suddenly, a wave of warm joy drifted through the desolate wind...a joy akin to humming a little tune in contentment.
"Damn!"
Lockhart let out a cry of surprise. Seeing everyone look over, he touched his chest in astonishment. "Voldemort just activated a spell; it passed through Hogwarts to me, and then transmitted back."
What he didn't say was that this spell of Voldemort's extended all the way to Tom Riddle on the ghost ship in the river of time.
"It's blood kinship magic!" Lockhart breathed a sigh of relief. "It doesn't seem to have had much of an effect on me."
It's here! That detestable feeling is here!
Dumbledore's brow furrowed deeply; he sensed Tom's restlessness. In an instant, everyone became alert.
Soon, the changes began to manifest.
First, a candlelight flickered to life in the darkness within the archway. The light it cast seemed suppressed by the surrounding desolate wind, making the environment indistinct.
However, soon, this warm candlelight quickly broke free of the wind, dyeing everything in all directions.
Wherever it passed, everything inside the stone house flickered and refreshed like a layer being swapped.
Old, oil-stained wooden floors; An oak chest of drawers with reliefs of grapevines and rabbits; A fluffy, soft Muggle sofa; A solid wood tea table...
Everyone looked at the scene inside the archway in confusion. It did not look like a stone prison at all; one wall even had a window. Looking out through the snow-covered windowsill, one could see the Hog's Head Inn across a small flowerbed.
"This is my house!"
Lockhart marveled. The scene before them was the small building he had purchased in Hogsmeade.
Blood kinship magic... Home... There seemed to be some interesting connection.
As expected of you, Voldemort, Lockhart thought in awe.
Whoosh...
Pale, slender fingers reached out from the wide sleeve of a wizard's robe, pointing at the fireplace directly opposite the stone archway. A flame ignited in the hearth, quickly driving out the last trace of chill from the room.
The wizard's robe fluttered as the man turned around. He looked elegantly toward Snape outside the archway, smiling as if warmly hosting an old friend from afar.
"Please, come in."
The words were not directed at a specific name, but everyone outside the stone prison clearly felt they were meant for Snape.
"Severus!" Lockhart called out instinctively as he saw Snape move to enter without hesitation.
Snape looked back at him, his lips curling into a faint but resolute smile. Then, with a flick of his long hair, he moved like a giant bat toward the stone archway.
Everyone's eyes followed Snape closely until he came to a stop in the middle of the hall.
"Let me see what we have here?"
Voldemort walked elegantly to the wine cabinet, pulled out a bottle, looked at it, and shoved it back. After some picking and choosing, he finally selected a bottle of Rémy Martin from the Muggle world.
Two empty glasses flew from the cupboard, following him to the sofa, and then landed together on the tea table in front of it.
Voldemort looked at Snape with a smile. "Severus, long time no see."
Snape pressed his lips together without speaking, his gaze indescribably complex.
This was once the banner he had followed fanatically, desiring to change the world together.
This was once his mentor. Voldemort admired him so much that he didn't even guide Barty Crouch Jr....whom he loved enough to treat like a son...yet chose to teach Snape far too much magic (such as the Flight Charm).
This was once his close colleague. They each had their own directions of exploration in Potions; they had discussed, researched, and debated. Those times were so wonderful that when Snape later encountered potions, he often felt disgusted.
This was also once his Master. Yes, Master. Snape did not shy away from this point. Before his first death, Voldemort possessed an extremely convincing charisma. It made one unable to help but feel that following such a person to strive and fight...even if it meant suffering...was worthwhile.
And now, everything, along with Lily's death, had shattered completely. It was mixed together in a jumble, churning in his stomach and rushing up his throat, blocking him so much he couldn't speak a word, making him want to rush to a corner to retch.
A bottle of liquor was handed over.
Voldemort shook his hand to signal. "I believe I kept my promise to you not to actively harm Lily Potter. Unfortunately, she stood between my wand and her son, Harry Potter. You cannot blame me for that."
"So, for the sake of that past promise, it wouldn't be too much to ask you to pour me a drink, would it?"
Not too much? Ha!
You still dare mention Lily, and you call her Lily Potter!
Oh, are you trying to remind me that Lily got married, changed her surname, and had a son? That it has nothing to do with me?
Ridiculous!
Snape kept his head lowered, letting his long hair shroud his gaze.
You asked for this, overly arrogant Voldemort. Since you want me to pour your wine, don't blame me for taking the opportunity to add something extra.
Drugging...this was an extremely important branch of Potion-making that was not taught in magic schools; it was a skill held tightly by the major pure-blood families and the Ministry of Magic.
Snape understood it all too well.
He snatched the bottle away, stepping toward the glasses on the tea table like a piece of wood, moving as if he might creak with rot. He opened the cork.
To avoid raising the suspicion of this monster...yes, he knew all too well how powerful Voldemort was in Potions...he drugged the entire bottle the moment he opened the cork.
Drink it for Voldemort, and drink it for himself.
After finishing, he placed the bottle on the table, took a few steps back, sat down on a single-seater sofa, and remained silent.
"Truly no sense of style at all. No wonder no one likes you."
Voldemort muttered with disdain, as if still speaking to his closest and most trusted subordinate and student. He picked up the glass and swirled it.
In an instant, a layer of frost appeared on the glass; the chilled liquor sparkled with a unique light under the lamps.
"Heh~"
He laughed with an enigmatic expression and sat down on the opposite sofa with his drink.
"Tell me, why have you come here this time?"
"I certainly don't believe you came to pay me a visit of condolence."
Snape finally raised his head, his hollow eyes reflecting Voldemort's figure. He opened his mouth but still didn't speak, suddenly grabbing the glass on the table and gulping it down.
Afterward, perhaps having choked, he coughed miserably.
He caught his breath and then said in a hoarse voice, "Voldemort, do you regret it?"
"Regret?"
Voldemort was amused. He swirled his glass elegantly, his voice full of banter. "Regret what? Regret believing the prophecy you told me about my death? Or regret that I tried to kill Harry Potter only to die unluckily and welcome the most disastrous failure of my life?"
"Or regret that because my strength was too great, my followers too numerous, and my desires too many, I wanted to remodel this world so it would suit me?"
"No."
"Severus, I do not regret it at all."
"The path of magic is like this. Magic chose me, and then my actions chose magic again; this allows me to keep moving forward."
"Success or failure, it is merely a state."
"I enjoy it."
"I enjoy success, and I enjoy failure...though failure isn't quite as pleasant."
He flicked his index finger toward Snape while holding the glass. "You don't enjoy your magic at all. You even detest your spells and detest your potions. It is truly a pity; it keeps you from ever walking the correct path."
Saying this, he raised the glass and took a sip, narrowing his eyes and smacking his lips as if savoring something. Then he took another sip.
"Excellent potion, Severus."
Snape's pupils shrank violently. He gripped his wand tightly inside his wide sleeve, forcibly suppressing his shock, and merely looked at the other man stolidly. "What are you talking about?"
"Your potion."
Voldemort took another taste, marveling, "A hatred so intense that it is quite conspicuous in my eyes. I suspect that even I, at best, could only brew to such a level."
He let out a grunt, and a trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
He wiped it gently and took another sip from the glass.
"A pity. You should have been even more formidable. Just as I am in the field of Dark Arts, you should not have stagnated here in Potions."
"Even now!" Snape finally couldn't help but stand up, looking down at him coldly. "Even at a time like this, you still maintain that posture of lecturing me!"
Like treating a child.
"I am nearly seventy years old." Voldemort spread his hands somewhat innocently. "Although I don't feel aged at all, surely I have the right to look down and lecture a young man like you who once studied under me?"
"Oh~~"
He suddenly let out a long sigh of exclamation. "Now I feel it."
The potion was taking effect rapidly, pulling at his soul piece by piece. In this moment, he clearly felt the existence of each Horcrux...existences that pulled at each other like magnets yet repelled each other with the same polarity.
And now, this potion was pushing him away from these Horcruxes.
"What a unique effect!"
He exclaimed, took another sip from the glass to savor it, and couldn't help but marvel again, "Severus, it seems you haven't lived in vain these past ten-plus years; at least you have some results!"
Bang!
The wizard's robe at his chest exploded. Accompanied by a spray of blood, a massive blood-hole appeared, as if it were about to hollow out his entire viscera.
"Horcruxes..."
Voldemort murmured, lifting his pale arms and turning them over as if observing something. "The Horcruxes really have completely disintegrated."
In fact, Dumbledore, outside the stone archway, was waiting for the potion to take effect.
He was currently holding one of the Horcruxes...Marvolo Gaunt's ring.
Opening his hand, he could see the ring rapidly becoming dull and lusterless.
Compared to a Horcrux being destroyed, this invalidation of the entire "Horcrux magic" was a much more conspicuous effect.
Dumbledore couldn't help but exchange looks with Grindelwald and Lockhart, who had leaned over to check.
"Something's not right!"
Grindelwald smelled the scent of a conspiracy. " I don't believe for a second that he would abandon himself like this, drinking the potion even though he clearly knew Professor Snape intended to poison him."
Thus, Grindelwald and Dumbledore both turned to look at Lockhart.
"Why are you looking at me?"
Lockhart was bewildered. "You surely don't think I'm an inside man planning to help Voldemort with something?"
"Oh, no, don't be nervous." One of Grindelwald's eyes flickered with light. "I just know that in this world, you probably understand Voldemort best, don't you?"
"You tell us...what exactly is he trying to do?"
Lockhart was speechless. "How the hell should I know? No one truly understands anyone else; you said that yourself."
"Albus said that," Grindelwald corrected.
Dumbledore didn't bother responding. He just observed with a solemn gaze. Suddenly, his expression shifted, and he drew his wand to sense something from Lockhart. "You said just now that he performed a blood kinship magic?"
"Yes!" Lockhart nodded. "It's still being maintained now, but it has no offensive inclination. It's a positive effect and hasn't done me the slightest harm. This prevents my Patronus Charm from acting directly against it."
In fact, this spell had always been in a state of maintenance. Previously, it was attached to the position of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. After Lockhart embedded himself into it, it had been running continuously.
This was also the reason why Voldemort couldn't kill Lockhart with the Killing Curse.
And just now, Voldemort had merely "lit up" this magic. To be more precise, he had lit up himself within the various links maintained by this magic, clarifying his own existence.
Compared to his previous attempts to mobilize the curse to directly kill Lockhart, this mobilization was almost infinitesimal.
"It seems Severus has no way to kill this monster."
"And we have no way either."
Dumbledore finally grasped the key point and sighed. "Blood kinship magic..."
Just like Harry Potter; clearly he lived on Privet Drive, and so many wizards knew he had lived there since he was a child, yet he was protected by blood kinship magic, and didn't have to worry at all about harm from Voldemort's spirit or the Death Eaters.
Some magic is just that powerful.
Facing such magic, even a Master of Magic is utterly helpless.
Just as back then, Voldemort had to first learn the location of the Potters' house from Peter Pettigrew before he could actually push open that door and find the Potter family.
Holy cow!
Lockhart also realized it. Thinking about it was terrifying!
Previously, because Voldemort was so hard to kill due to his Horcruxes, people had directly overlooked the effect played by the blood kinship magic.
He had embedded himself into Voldemort's blood kinship magic and received protection, but this magic would likewise protect Voldemort in return.
It was just that when his strength was weaker before, he hadn't thought of it from this angle at all.
I... have actually become Voldemort's protection?
Thus, everyone looked toward Voldemort inside the stone archway with some despair.
There, the blood-stained Voldemort finished the liquor in his glass, even though the liquid poured out from the hole in his chest.
He stood up elegantly, sensing his own state with a smile, and murmured, "I am still missing two parts."
"One part is the magical bloodline, but that isn't important." (Referring to Harry Potter).
"One part is my lost youth."
Saying this, he directly ignored Snape...who had already completely drawn his wand and was pointing it at him...and walked to the front of the stone archway.
He had no way to walk out; the magical restrictions set collectively by Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Lockhart were no joke. His current state was unable to break through the imprisonment.
He simply looked at Lockhart with a smile. "Gilderoy, how about doing me a favor?"
"Huh?" Under the gaze of Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall, Lockhart pointed at himself in bewilderment. "Me? A favor?"
"Yes."
Voldemort nodded with a smile.
Behind him.
Snape held his wand high. After confirming that the potion had taken effect and completely settled the Horcrux magic, he could no longer suppress the resentment and malice in his heart. He allowed it to surge out from the depths of his heart, turning into the most powerful magical force.
Stronger than ever before.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green light instantly lit up from the tip of the wand.
Only...
The moment his hostility erupted, he seemed to completely lose his visual lock on Voldemort, even though he clearly saw Voldemort standing right in front of him with his back turned.
He looked completely defenseless.
Despair! Indescribable despair!
It was as if the offensive magic had lost its target.
"Avada Kedavra!" He cast again, unwilling to give up. "Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!!! Avada Kedavra!!!!"
Useless! None of them could be cast successfully!
"Aaaaahhh!!!" He let out a shrill wail and lunged angrily toward Voldemort, dropping his useless wand, attempting to use his fists and teeth and every possible means to kill this monster.
However, blood kinship magic was just that overbearing.
Snape, intending to use violence, could no longer even see Voldemort, even though the position he was standing in began to overlap with Voldemort's.
His wails of despair didn't affect Voldemort in the slightest.
Voldemort merely lifted one hand in an elegant gesture, slowly raising a finger. With this movement, Snape's neck seemed to be caught by something and he was hoisted up.
"Yes."
Voldemort stood there barefoot, his wide wizard's robe fluttering in the desolate wind, yet he still answered Lockhart with a calm smile. "Do me a favor, how about it?"
Behind him, Snape was hoisted up by his neck as if pulled by a rope, leaving the ground inch by inch, suspended in mid-air.
At the same time, the spells cast by Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and Professor McGonagall in response all poured toward Voldemort, but these spells could only penetrate into another dimension, hitting the physically existing stone house.
Voldemort, as if existing on another layer, just stood there, smiling as he waited for Lockhart's answer.
..........
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