Chapter 126: I Choose You, Potter!
Dumbledore fell into a long, deep thought.
Voldemort had Horcruxes, possibly more than one. Why, then, had he been unable to return for so long?
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said after a great while, uncertain if his own theory was correct, "it is because of love."
Ryan didn't think the Headmaster was just trying to sell his usual "power of love" sermon again; he wasn't that idle, especially concerning such a serious matter. "So, you're saying that when Mrs. Evans used her conviction of love, combined with a powerful magical source, to deal a devastating blow to Voldemort, she also caused the Horcruxes—magical items born from extreme evil—to lose some of their original effectiveness?"
Two balls of magic appeared in Dumbledore's hands. One was tinged with the unmistakable color of Dark Magic. When he brought them together, they reacted instantly, sizzling and boiling violently like a red-hot iron plunged into water.
He observed the phenomenon in his hands. "The magic of love has a certain restraining effect on malicious curses like Dark Magic. So what you suggest is highly possible. The power of that love may still be clinging to Voldemort's remnant soul, or perhaps it has severed the connection between his soul fragments and their Horcruxes—"
"I have a suggestion," Ryan said, suddenly thinking of a certain hero whose special abilities against Voldemort might be very helpful. He brought up the Headmaster's designated Chosen One: "What about Harry Potter? Is it possible he could cause some unforeseen complication for Voldemort?"
"There is a certain logic to that..." Dumbledore agreed. "The magic his mother used still resides within him, offering him powerful protection. Perhaps we can use that to weaken Voldemort further." It was a factor he believed could genuinely harm the Dark Lord.
That ancient, mysterious magic had become Harry's shield, while Voldemort's own failed curse had left the mark of his chosen foe on Harry's forehead. Their connection in the realm of mysticism was already extraordinary. Although their relationship was one of mortal enemies, from a mystical perspective, Harry's bond with Voldemort was closer than his bond with his own cousin, Dudley.
But could that relationship give Harry some sort of insight into Voldemort? The thought suddenly occurred to Dumbledore, and he felt it was his duty to check on his student's mental well-being.
"I believe we must speak with Harry Potter," he said, giving his opinion. "He is, after all, just a child. He can choose to refuse this, and he has every right to do so."
What a tactful way of putting it, Ryan nearly laughed. Knowing Harry Potter, the little lion would agree the moment he was asked. Harry wouldn't even consider—had never considered—the potential dangers of participating in such an experiment.
Ryan said, "I can even imagine what Harry will say. His first word will be 'yes,' then he'll give a speech about his deep-seated hatred for Voldemort, and finally, he'll beg for your permission to join."
"Of course, I agree! Voldemort murdered my parents! I've had to live with my aunt and uncle my whole life, thinking about my parents every single day! Headmaster, you must let me join the research on Voldemort!"
Harry Potter's voice was filled with emotion. He had thought that with Voldemort's capture, the matter would be closed, and the Dark Lord would vanish from the wizarding world forever, robbing him of his chance for revenge. He never imagined the Headmaster would invite him to join the research team!
What incredible luck! It was like someone handing you a pillow the moment you felt sleepy, and it came with a brand-new mattress.
Harry agreed without a second thought. In fact, judging by his expression, Ryan was fairly certain he hadn't even fully heard what Dumbledore said the research team would be doing.
As expected of our anti-Voldemort specialist. The moment he hears the name, he's a different person. Ryan had to repeat himself. "Because of the spell Mrs. Evans left behind, we suspect you may be able to inflict a unique weakening effect on Voldemort."
"No problem, Senior Ryan! I can do it!" the agitated Harry declared, ready for anything.
Ryan held up a hand, gesturing for him to calm down. "It's not a question of whether you can, but a concern that the mystical connection between you and Voldemort might allow him to use your proximity to harm you. That is why we must ask for your consent, and after getting it, take the proper precautions to protect you."
"The connection between me and Voldemort?" Harry frowned.
Dumbledore reached out, gently pushing back Harry's fringe to reveal the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. "That night... the failed curse that your mother interrupted... it left a bridge between you and Voldemort."
"A bridge means a connection," Ryan explained. "And for a wizard like Voldemort, even in his current state as a remnant soul under our control, that connection could be enough for him to exert some influence. You need to think this through carefully, Harry."
Honestly, when Dumbledore mentioned the scar, Ryan felt the Headmaster was holding something back. It seemed the scar was more than just a simple bridge. But Dumbledore was a consummate riddler; he wouldn't reveal the truth unless absolutely necessary. Perhaps in his view, whether Ryan knew the full truth of the scar or not didn't change much, so he simply didn't say?
Good thing I'm not Fudge, Ryan thought. If I were, Dumbledore's habit of not explaining things would have driven me mad by now. But Ryan didn't care about such minor details. He cared about his own magical progress and the industrial development of the wizarding world, and on both those fronts, Dumbledore was his staunchest supporter. That was enough.
Harry was horrified by what the Headmaster and Ryan had told him. He couldn't imagine that the scar on his forehead was a bridge connecting him to Voldemort! The idea that he had any sort of link, a profound mystical connection, to the man who had murdered his parents filled him with a strange sense of guilt. He felt as if, on some level, he was overlapping with his mortal enemy.
Suddenly, a powerful wave of nausea washed over him, so intense he nearly retched. It was the same visceral revulsion a normal person would feel upon discovering they were related to a pile of filth.
As his mind and body recoiled, a strange image flashed through his mind: a figure with his own face, clad in black robes, his features twisted in a cruel sneer. This other Harry waved a wand, unleashing a torrent of blinding green light. Everywhere the light touched, life fell, and the air was filled with the thud of bodies and the final, pain-filled cries of the dying. It was just like the screams that sometimes echoed in his memory.
And so, as Dumbledore and Ryan watched, curious to see what Harry's final decision would be...
The famous Chosen One, Harry Potter, bent over and, with a loud blech, threw up.
Ryan, Dumbledore: ???
~~~
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