Chapter 295: Humiliation
So, was the previous display by the Seer Grindelwald...that look of "Are you really going to help Voldemort?"...actually about to come true?
Among those present, to a person, not one was a master who would easily compromise.
Everyone drew their wands, attempting to attack Voldemort from their own respective angles.
Of course, the most important thing was to rescue Snape. As long as Snape was saved, Voldemort remained locked inside this stone house prison with no way out, possessing absolutely no bargaining chips.
"It is like attacking someone hiding in a house protected by the Fidelius Charm; I cannot even determine if he is truly standing there."
Compared to Dumbledore's more grand and overbearing magical style of sweeping force, Grindelwald's could be described as leaning toward ingenuity and fluidity, yet he still could not handle the scene before him.
After a few attempts, he stayed his hand.
He had no desire to maintain a posture of unwilling resignation by performing useless magic after determining he temporarily had no way to fix it.
That would be beneath his dignity.
Thus, he shook his head and stood there with his hands behind his back, chin tilted up, his single heterochromatic eye gazing into the future.
All the possibilities of the future...
Oh~
It seemed it wasn't such a big deal after all.
Let it be, then.
And so, he stood by with interest, watching Professor McGonagall cast her spells.
The little girl who used to follow behind Dumbledore was now aging, her magical strength possessing a power he hadn't expected, standing out among past companions like Newt, Theseus, Queenie, and Eulalie.
A pity that, like Aberforth and Snape, she was still unable to step into the ranks of true Magical Masters.
Professor McGonagall's magical path was pure, just as she had said: there is nothing that Transfiguration cannot solve.
As she solemnly raised and waved her wand, the entire scene inside the stone house began to warp rapidly. The wooden floors, the chest of drawers, the sofa, and even Voldemort himself became distorted and abstract in everyone's vision.
Behind Voldemort, Snape...dangling in mid-air, struggling and clawing at the invisible rope around his neck, seemingly on the verge of suffocation...appeared in this distorted image to be moving further from Voldemort and closer to the group.
It was as if a powerful pair of hands were violently twisting and pulling at space itself.
Such unique Transfiguration vaguely carried the scent of the Undetectable Extension Charm and Apparition.
The only problem was...
Her magical power was more than a little bit inferior to Voldemort's; this was a total gap in raw strength.
The method was correct, but it yielded no result.
In contrast, the other Transfiguration Master on the scene was much more reckless.
Accompanied by the cry of a phoenix, flames surged, and the figure vanished rapidly.
Dumbledore traveled directly through space to Lockhart's small building in Hogsmeade to check Voldemort's current location and attempt to cast spells there, but seeing his solemn face upon his return, he had clearly achieved nothing.
"Gilderoy..."
Voldemort inside the stone archway spoke again. At some point, he had taken up a glass of the liquor Snape had "enhanced," and was sipping it while watching everyone's busy efforts. "I must remind you, while I am not in a particular hurry, I fear Severus might not last much longer."
In an instant, all magic dissipated, and everyone stopped casting.
Lockhart glanced at Dumbledore. "Fine, Tom, you win."
He spread his hands helplessly. "No one can do anything to you, so we can only listen to your demands. However, since you only called for me, I assume you aren't asking me to let you out?"
If anyone were to let him out, it would be Dumbledore.
If Voldemort truly made such a demand of Dumbledore, it was unknown whether, for "the Greater Good," Dumbledore would decide to sacrifice Snape to keep this monster...whom they had failed to capture for decades...imprisoned.
Of course, he might also agree; after all, Dumbledore's character made it very difficult for him to directly sacrifice others.
Such a choice would be far too cruel for this gentle and weary old man.
But the interesting part was right here: Voldemort had no way to make Dumbledore face such a cruel choice at this moment.
Because of the blood kinship magic.
No one understood the current state better than Lockhart.
In essence, the most critical link in the blood kinship magic currently protecting Voldemort was not Lockhart, but Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Voldemort had finally compromised by adopting the mental state of "Fine, I am willing to accept this 'home'" to fully integrate into this blood kinship magic manifested through a curse; as a result, he inevitably had to accept Dumbledore, the "Patriarch," as a member of that kinship.
Any magic with the nature of a covenant is necessarily a relationship of mutual restraint.
"Yes, my request is simple."
Voldemort raised his left hand, palm open, as if demanding something. "Give me back my diary. It is that simple."
Oho~
Lockhart was amused. "I thought you would be very repelled by it. Oh, has our evil Dark Lord finally decided to search for the ability to 'love'?"
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, flickering with a dangerous light. "You don't need to understand me quite so well!"
"The diary?" Professor McGonagall spoke up from the side. She had keenly observed the solemn expressions of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. "Professor Lockhart, what is this about?"
She had to know what the impact would be if the diary were returned.
"It is the regret medicine he left behind."
Lockhart grinned. "Of course, perhaps the 16-year-old Voldemort truly detested so-called 'love' and was determined to cut it away, to the point that after Ginny Weasley brought the diary to Hogwarts, the 66-year-old him still looked on coldly as the diary's antics under Dumbledore's nose brought about self-destruction."
"But essentially, it is the regret medicine he instinctively created for himself...an alternative Horcrux unlike any other. It possesses the most complete part of Voldemort's soul, including the currently missing capacity for love."
"Clearly, our Dark Lord regrets it now. He realizes that lacking the ability to love is a massive deficiency, making him utterly unable to handle Dumbledore and Grindelwald, so he wants to take it back."
Mentioning this, Lockhart suddenly sucked in a sharp breath. "Previously, it wouldn't have mattered even if Voldemort got the Horcrux back, because his state was anchored by the Horcruxes and purely purified along the direction of the magical bloodline..."
"It is only now, after the Horcrux magic has completely failed, that he has a way to use the diary to restore his entire soul!"
As he spoke, he looked at Voldemort with disbelief. "Tom, you actually foresaw that Snape would drug you?"
Voldemort kept a sullen face, really not wanting to deal with Lockhart at this moment.
This piece of shit!
This peacock-like piece of shit!
He had "opened his box" (exposed him) so many times already!
He loathed him to his very core!
But he had no choice; he had to answer the question. Who knew if this lunatic Lockhart would use "bad attitude" as an excuse to refuse returning the diary?
He was actually gambling...gambling that in Lockhart's heart, his friend Snape was more important than a diary that could restrain him.
He wasn't actually sure; for all that Lockhart understood him, he really didn't understand Lockhart.
The guy in front of him was sometimes incredibly sentimental and other times terrifyingly cold.
"I didn't know. I am no Seer or Prophet."
Voldemort forced himself to maintain an elegant posture. "I only knew that after capturing me, the first thing you would do is destroy the Horcruxes. And I also knew that Dumbledore has no way to demand the diary from you."
"Nonsense. If Dumbledore wanted it, I would give it to him." Lockhart rolled his eyes. "Do not try to drive a wedge into our friendship!"
He's slandering me~
Voldemort only responded with a cold sneer.
Fine, the communication was over; it was time to give an answer.
Lockhart turned to the three heavyweights beside him. "What do you think?"
"Searching for the ability to 'love'? Making one's soul complete?" Grindelwald looked at Voldemort with deep meaning. "Is it because you found that the power of hatred and malice is insufficient to rule the world?"
Dumbledore frowned, still silent.
Professor McGonagall did not state a position; beside the man in front of her, she was never the one to make decisions. But she had to urge Dumbledore toward a decision. "Professor Snape is about to reach his limit."
Perhaps Voldemort truly needed that diary.
But everyone knew that given how Voldemort was becoming increasingly brain-damaged, he truly might allow Snape to die just for the sake of his pride.
"Give it to him," Dumbledore sighed, gazing deeply at Voldemort. "I hope that if he gains the ability to love, he will not act so extremely in the future."
As for hoping Voldemort would become a good person because of it?
Heh, Dumbledore wouldn't dare think that. Tom's evil was in his bones, manifesting since he was very young.
"Alright."
Since the big bosses had made the decision, Lockhart didn't say much more. He raised his wand and gave it a light flick.
In an instant, a river appeared...vast enough to be suffocating to the spiritual sense, yet completely unnoticeable to common perception. It was formless and intangible, yet omnipresent, filled with mystery and the bizarre.
The River of Time.
A ghost ship floated quietly upon it.
Accompanied by the waving of the wand, a series of clanking chain sounds rang out. The anchor, which was impaling the soul of Tom Riddle, swayed toward the real world.
This scene left everyone stunned.
"Professor!" Tom was a brilliant man. Seeing the postures of Voldemort and the others, he vaguely sensed something was wrong. He shouted with anxiety and even a touch of exasperation, "You..."
His voice turned into an unintelligible whimper.
It was Lockhart who had cast a spell to prevent the young Tom from saying anything further. He merely shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry, Tom, this is a necessary choice."
The chains swung.
Young Tom was hoisted up and brought before the stone archway.
"Tom!" Lockhart looked at Voldemort. "This is not an equal trade for me. Therefore, I have three requirements!"
Voldemort stared fixedly at the "self" before him. Aside from a fury at having his soul toyed with by Lockhart, it was more of a hair-raising sensation of facing his own ego.
And it was a more complete version of himself than he currently was.
That feeling was like a normal person staring at themselves in a mirror for too long and feeling an instinctive horror; here, it was even more visceral.
"Say it." His voice was slightly out of tune.
No one would laugh at his loss of composure...not Dumbledore, not Grindelwald, and not Professor McGonagall.
Controlling the dead.
Did this fall under the domain of the power of Death?
The appearance of the River of Time, in particular, sparked many associations. After all, The Tales of Beedle the Bard mentions that the three brothers obtained the three Deathly Hallows from Death, which was likewise related to a river.
That was a unique power of life. Describing it as the "power of life" or the "power of death" was not quite accurate.
"First, release Severus."
Even if everyone assumed this was part of the trade, Lockhart needed to make it explicit.
Voldemort said nothing, only nodded.
"Second!"
Lockhart flicked his wand lightly. The soil on the ground flowed rapidly, twisting and mixing, eventually converging in mid-air into a stone tablet. A large amount of ghostly green fire erupted on the tablet, carving out names one by one.
"I will record the names on this list into the depths of Tom's soul. This is advance notice and part of the trade: I require that you must not harm them in the future!"
It contained wizards and Muggles...Lockhart's family, Harry Potter's aunt's family, and so on.
It was a very, very long list.
Voldemort's gaze turned icy. He keenly sensed the aura of numerous high-end magics from that stone tablet: blood kinship magic, the Patronus Charm, Blood Pacts, the Unbreakable Vow...
This was sheer humiliation!
He was almost laughing from anger.
But, when one is under another's roof, one must bow their head. He was forced to look at the list on the tablet.
As he looked, the corners of his mouth curled. "No Harry Potter? No Severus? No you? No Dumbledore? No Grindelwald?"
Lockhart shrugged. "We all know the power of a covenant brings mutual restraint; we feel that very clearly at this moment."
"So you believe that the missing names on the list are the people likely to kill me in the future?" Voldemort laughed from rage.
Dammit!
This was blatant humiliation!
Lockhart gave a light flick with his wand. A massive serpent coiled around Tom Riddle, instantly snapping the chains connected to the anchor, and snatched up the stone tablet in its mouth. It twisted and plunged into the River of Time to strike the deepest soul-brand upon Tom.
It was called part of the trade, but it was actually just a notification.
He did it this way because if Voldemort truly intended to merge with young Tom's soul, the result was inevitable.
So he didn't even ask for Voldemort's answer.
The most humiliating part of this was precisely that...he didn't doubt for a second that Voldemort had the ability to clear this "whitelist" before merging the souls.
He was just that confident.
"Third!"
Mentioning this, Lockhart looked a bit embarrassed.
He put away his wand, rubbed his hands together, and spoke in a tone of negotiation. "Tom...oh, young Tom...he and I had a deal. I hope you can honor that deal."
Voldemort gave a cold, mocking laugh. "Stop posing. Just say it."
"It's like this." Lockhart gestured toward the River of Time where Tom had departed. "He once asked me how I would deal with him. I said I didn't know, but I was willing to give him a chance."
"A chance to compensate for the harm done to this world."
"And so he agreed to me that he was willing to write down all his knowledge and wisdom regarding Potions and gift it to the world."
These words caused everyone present to fall silent.
Voldemort gazed deeply at Lockhart and finally sighed. "Sometimes I wish I could kill you, and other times I think you are an truly interesting fellow."
"I agree."
Deal!
Within the River of Time, a serpent crossed through and finally landed in reality, tossing the soul of Tom Riddle, whose tail was coiled, into the stone archway.
Soon, the light inside the stone archway went out, and the interior returned to pitch blackness.
A figure was thrown out; it was none other than Professor Snape.
Lying on the muddy ground, his face pressed to the earth, he panted heavily like a dead fish.
After a moment, his wand was tossed out like garbage, landing in front of him.
When Lockhart ran over to help him up, Snape pulled away. He just climbed up silently on his own and picked up his wand.
He no longer shouted things like "I'm going to kill him" or "I want him dead."
Only, within those dead-looking eyes, there was suddenly a light.
Deep as lake water, a hint of killing intent faintly shimmered.
"Buddy, you alright?" Lockhart didn't like this kind of heaviness.
Snape forced a strained, ugly smile. "I am fine. I just suddenly know exactly what I need to do."
Previously, he wanted to kill Voldemort for Lily's sake.
Now, for the first time, he began to want to kill Voldemort because of himself.
This emotion originating from his own will had not appeared in his heart for a long, long time; it was so strange, yet so familiar.
And it suited his own character so well.
He actually felt the breath of life.
Just as Voldemort had said: "I enjoy it. I enjoy success, and I enjoy failure...though failure isn't quite as pleasant."