Jane was momentarily stunned, then couldn't help letting out a deep sigh.
She felt Voldemort probably didn't have cannibalistic tendencies—this was perhaps a form of revenge...
"Did he give a reason? What's so appetising about my flesh and blood?"
"Because he said your flesh and blood possess special power," Harry replied, still catching his breath. "You killed his Dementors at Azkaban and obstructed him and those Death Eaters."
Jane silently pressed her palm to her forehead.
She knew it—she never should have let her Obscurus feast on Dementors at Azkaban!
Looking at all those Dementors in that prison, they must have been Voldemort's personal food supply... magical elixirs for restoring power.
She'd carelessly devoured his meal and hindered his advancement—no wonder he was so furious he wanted to eat her!
Though she'd worked out the cause, it still made her rather displeased—
Couldn't he afford to treat someone to a meal?
Facing a fellow housemate, schoolmate, and ancestor—was this Voldemort's hospitality?
Honestly, she thought he was being rather petty.
But Dumbledore's reaction was even more intense. His face darkened like a burnt pot, every wrinkle drooping, his robes billowing without wind.
If Voldemort appeared before him, he looked ready to give him a thorough thrashing and blast him away with Ignis Viam.
—The kind where you couldn't even find the ashes.
Fortunately, he was Dumbledore—a man who constantly restrained himself and always conducted himself honourably.
"How dark the human soul can become. Using others' lives to sustain one's own can only result in a cursed body and soul."
After hearing Harry's complete account, Dumbledore closed his eyes, shook his head slightly, and sighed.
"He may have eaten many people," Harry continued, having caught his breath. "He said he's been constantly draining his servants' flesh and blood."
Dumbledore didn't seem surprised by this—perhaps he'd long foreseen it:
"A forbidden Dark Magic—this is why he's recovered his magical power so rapidly... by plundering others' strength."
"But with each additional dose, the curse deepens. I imagine his life must be extraordinarily painful."
Thinking of Voldemort wrapped like a mummy, Harry nodded in agreement.
Dumbledore leaned back in his armchair, pondering for a while before continuing:
"This memory proves we have indeed obstructed Voldemort. I believe his plan to attack the Ministry of Magic and obtain the prophecy orb has been completely shattered."
"Moreover... we've certainly learned some information... such as that he hasn't yet set up defences against you entering his mind. You and Jane are already being targeted by Death Eaters, and Dolores Umbridge—already dismissed and sent home—may well be the next victim."
Harry pursed his lips, his emerald eyes showing some delight as he smiled:
"And I seem able to distinguish between Voldemort's emotions and my own... When he's angry, I'm happy. What does this mean?"
"That's excellent," Dumbledore continued praising. "It means your ability to control emotions has strengthened. Even in dreams, you're gradually gaining control of your own mind. But you still need to be careful—if you dream again during the holidays, contact Sirius and me immediately."
All three people in the headmaster's office smiled slightly.
But Dumbledore was still thinking. After a long moment, he stood and walked to the Pensieve:
"Harry, I want to ask—the snake you saw in your dream, what did it look like?"
Harry placed that segment of memory into the Pensieve, and the three of them buried their heads in it together.
It was an enormous viper, fully twelve feet long and as thick as a human thigh.
Its eyes held the coldness unique to serpents as it wound up Lucius's chair, scales making a distinctive sound.
But compared to the Basilisk once killed in the Chamber of Secrets, its appearance could practically be described as adorable.
"Nagini," Dumbledore said softly. "No wonder... no wonder... I should have guessed..."
Jane detected notes of helplessness, sadness, and pity in his voice, as if an old friend had stepped onto a path of no return.
"What a cruel fate—watching oneself gradually transform into a snake, far more terrible than death..."
But Dumbledore seemed to quickly compose himself. His expression calm, he turned to discussing their holiday arrangements:
"Since Voldemort has targeted you both, I must ensure your safety during the holidays."
"Harry, you need to continue staying at your aunt's house for a while. I'll arrange for people to protect you. If necessary, you may use magic—you know about the Ministry's news regarding lifting some Statute of Secrecy restrictions, don't you?"
Jane turned to look at Harry. She'd expected him to protest about having to return to his aunt's house, but he didn't.
"I know." He hesitated slightly, then nodded. "But why—"
"Harry, I know that family aren't suitable guardians, but I don't want you to harbour hatred towards them," Dumbledore interrupted. "You only need to endure a little longer, and everything will pass."
Harry seemed to understand something, nodding silently before looking at Jane.
"As for you, Jane," Dumbledore paused slightly. "Though being by my side may be dangerous, I hope you can stay with me."
His expression was very serious, as if he were about to undertake some great endeavour.
...
As the old saying goes, the most dangerous place is often the safest.
With Dumbledore beside her, Jane felt there was nothing to fear.
She nodded quickly.
...
On the last day of term, the entire castle's atmosphere became very strange.
It was a bizarre emotion mixing anxiety, oppression, and joy—everyone's expressions varied.
Some felt happy about going home, others anxious about their safety after leaving school... and of course, some fifth-years were fretting about their dreadful O.W.L. exam performance and the impending parental "mixed doubles" they'd face.
"Bloody hell," Daphne complained, supporting her face with her hand. "I botched Arithmancy—honestly, the exam didn't specify you couldn't bring calculators, but Professor Marchbanks still confiscated my machine! She doesn't understand progress!"
"That's perfectly normal," Blaise retorted. "Your calculator key-tapping echoed throughout the entire Great Hall. Before Professor Marchbanks finally confiscated your machine, she'd already coughed loudly three or four times to warn you!"
"I don't want to go home—I feel like I'm going to get beaten," Daphne looked utterly miserable. "Thank goodness the regulations didn't mention calculators, so she didn't rule it cheating—otherwise my parents would kill me. Do you think I should catch flu and act pitiful—?"
Her sister Astoria placed a hand on her shoulder, gently comforting her:
"Dad won't hit you, sister. He just caught dragon pox a few days ago—he hasn't the strength."
"And you don't need to catch flu either—dragon pox spreads through entire households. I'm afraid Mum and we won't escape either."
Her gentle blue eyes winked at Jane, making her understand immediately—
The holidays had arrived—time for the Greengrass family to fall ill.
The enlightened Blaise stared at the sisters in amazement. Being equally skilled in such matters, he immediately caught on and showed a pained expression:
"Sigh, honestly, there's been another small dragon pox outbreak recently. My mum and her new husband keep saying they've got rashes and are bedridden... I really don't want to go home, or I feel my handsome looks will become even more captivating—permanently blue-green skin. Merlin's beard, I'll be so handsome it's outrageous!"
As he spoke, he was already mentally calculating the cosmetics he'd need from his mother:
Some blue foundation, green and purple lipstick... red rouge...
"Stop being mad, Zabini!" the older students Warrington and Montague burst into laughter. "Handsome looks... do you actually have handsome looks? Without muscles, having just a face is useless..."
Blaise angrily slammed the table, vowing to settle once and for all whose face was more handsome and whose skin colour was more spectacular.
"Even with dragon pox, I'm ten thousand times more handsome than you—my dark skin is already handsome, and blue-black skin will be even cooler!"
"We agree too," the Greengrass sisters said in unison. "Blue skin—we'll soon experience it. Honestly, turning into little green people would be really cool!"
It sounded as if dragon pox wasn't some infectious disease but rather an essential Slytherin fashion accessory.
Though the Greengrass sisters and Zabini competing to catch dragon pox made Jane feel they'd all gone mad, there was someone on the scene even madder—
The famous Oscar-winning actor and recent Voldemort escapee, Draco Malfoy.
"The Malfoy family has more dragon pox experience than any of you!" he declared, stretching his neck. "My most renowned grandfather, Abraxas, died of dragon pox!"
He grabbed Goyle and Crabbe by their collars, his voice rather hoarse:
"You don't understand—those beautiful scars, that blue-green hardened skin all over—it makes you feel like you've become one of Jane'sAvatars. You grow lovely green and purple scabs, and when you sneeze you breathe fire like a dragon—though my grandfather died of illness, his handsomeness while sick remains forever etched in my memory!"
Everyone present fell silent, each person stunned.
This speech was truly remarkably filial.
Amidst the little snakes' buzzing discussions of "completely mad" and "hysteria acting up again," Jane couldn't help pressing her temples:
Though acting mad was indeed very effective...
She still hoped Draco could survive the parental "mixed doubles" awaiting him.
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