great-warnovel Chapter 367 The Prisoner of Death
Chapter 367 The Prisoner of Death
Chapter 367 The Prisoner of Death
Rushing to the underground greenhouse, I pushed open the door and saw Dumbledore's milky-white ghostly form standing quietly beside the largest lily of the valley in the graveyard.
The large, pure white flowers radiate a nitrogen-like glow, bringing a sense of peace and tranquility.
Dumbledore, with his back to Hermione, looked up at the dim moonlight, lost in thought.
"Professor—" Hermione called softly.
"You've come." Dumbledore's voice was calm and hoarse, as if he had just experienced a roar.
Without turning around, he stroked the lily of the valley's slender leaves: "When I have some free time in a while, let's go to New Paris."
Hermione was taken aback, but then the bad feeling grew stronger.
It's highly unusual that Dumbledore didn't inquire about the refugees and the school, and his arrangements for himself inexplicably carried a sense of entrusting his orphans to others!
"Is the Death Curtain really that powerful?" she asked gravely.
Both were intelligent people, and with just a few words exchanged, they were able to guess the subtext of each other's words.
Dumbledore turned and looked at the girl with his aged eyes. Hermione immediately noticed something in his eyes...
Something radiant seems to be slowly slipping away.
"I underestimated that door. Simply moving away from it won't solve the problem. I'm afraid even Lucius himself didn't expect that the door's power would be so great."
The White Wizard confessed that he pulled open his shirt to reveal the chest of his soul, where a translucent heart beat slowly—a manifestation of a certain image in a form that Hermione could easily understand.
It was as if there was a hole in my heart, from which pure white substances were seeping out and disappearing into the air.
"This is—" Hermione frowned, indicating that she didn't quite understand.
She could sense that the integrity of the soul contract had not been damaged, and Dumbledore's soul was still healthy and strong; this dissipation was clearly not a sign of damage to the soul core.
"Ghosts linger in the world, anchoring souls that should have departed to the present world with their powerful obsession," Dumbledore explained.
"That door did not damage my soul, but it tore apart my obsessive heart."
His voice was flat and monotonous, like that of an indifferent dead man.
"It opened a wound in my heart, making me desperately want to go to the other side. The call grew louder and louder. No, I didn't even need to call out. I spontaneously wanted to get closer to that side, to be close to that cold and peaceful death—"
"But—" Hermione could barely understand the magical principles behind it. The Death Curtain had shaken the foundation of Dumbledore's existence as a ghost. Even though the Soul Pact ritual was still intact and the magic allowed him to stay here, his own heart had been twisted. The longer it went on, the less he could bear the torment of the mortal world, until he spontaneously broke the contract and enjoyed the peace he deserved.
Hermione wanted to say that she could use magic to force Dumbledore to stay, since the soul-binding ritual didn't need to care whether the soul was willing, and this magic could even force someone else's soul to become a slave.
But how could she bear to torment an old man like this, an old man who dedicated the rest of his life to the world and could not even rest in peace after death?
"I should have been able to resist it—" the wizard said softly, head bowed.
"But my obsession is to see Hogwarts return, to see the school thrive, to see this civilization rebuild—and now, you've done it all for me—" He looked at the girl with a gratified gaze.
"When I was shrouded in the veil of death, in my confusion, I saw you fighting Lucius alone. You have grown up. You handle matters with friends and enemies with ease. You are much stronger than I was when I was young, and you never go astray."
He reached out and magically transformed his hand into a warm physical form, stroking Hermione's head.
"How can this not make me feel at ease? How can this not make me let go of my obsession?"
At that moment, Hermione's pent-up anger flared up, and her pent-up grievances surged up all at once.
Poor Lucius! Why did he have to prepare such a contingency plan?!
Cowardly Dumbledore! How could he be satisfied with just this!
Hogwarts has only just settled down, and the new Hogsmeade is already facing new challenges! How can he possibly just abandon them?
She lowered her head, not wanting to speak, feeling the old man comforting her with his fake, warm hands.
"But I know I can't just walk away like that, even if everything is going in the right direction, I can't just leave you with a mess without saying a word."
If Dumbledore had vanished in a flash in front of so many people at Malfoy Castle, even if Hermione had defeated Lucius, the battle would have been a Pyrrhic victory. Two great wizards from Hogwarts had joined forces to defeat a fallen dark wizard, but at the cost of losing one of them.
This is a heavy blow to Hogwarts, which has built its prestige on a great victory. In particular, the departure of Dumbledore's banner will make everyone doubt the school and the city.
Can it uphold the principle of kindness? The two remaining great wizards are still children. Can they support this power amidst the deceit and treachery?
Will allies who initially joined based on overwhelming strength develop ulterior motives, and how many will choose to kick someone when they're down?
Or is he two-faced?
Even though Dumbledore was determined to leave at that moment, he knew he couldn't just walk away.
"I suppressed those thoughts and hid here," he said.
"These little flowers can soothe my restless heart, allowing me to stay in this world longer and do more for you."
"But I have to leave eventually, and I think we need to find a perfect excuse so that everyone can accept my departure." He stared into Hermione's eyes, his increasingly cold expression revealing a desperate plea; he was now finding it difficult to express strong emotions.
"How much longer can we stay?" Hermione looked away, trying not to look into the old man's eyes, and asked in a low voice, as if she were asking a relative who was about to leave.
"It's January now—" Dumbledore pondered, estimating.
"If I stay here and don't show myself as much as possible, I think I can last for two months at most, but you'll have to make me ghost meals a few more times, otherwise I'm afraid I won't be able to hold on," he said, trying to sound cheerful.
Hermione rubbed her stuffy nose and said in a hoarse voice, "I don't want you to leave."
At this moment, she was more like a child.
"We are all prisoners of death, and we must all accept separation." The old man knelt down and put his hand on the little witch's shoulder.
"Dumbledore, bound by death; Grindelwald, who created death; Riddle, who fled death—they are all prisoners of death—" he said, as if Death were speaking through him, or as if he were subtly reminding the forcibly conscripted souls.
Hermione, who defies death.
In a mere instant, Dumbledore came to his senses, and without realizing it, he guided the overflowing white substance from his heart, causing it to surround Hermione.
Those are warm memories, joyful laughter, sweet love and farewell.
Those are the ferryman's oars, the waves of the River Styx, and the pomegranates that cannot be turned back—that is the path people have walked on their way here.
"Easter! Let it be Easter! Let it be Easter! That will signify the end of the old and the hope of a new one!" Dumbledore decided on his death date; he wanted to say goodbye to people when spring returned.