Professor Snape could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
Yet it only hardened his conclusion.
If someone could withstand Sectumsempra with bare flesh, who but Voldemort—who had mutilated himself with Dark transformations—could achieve such a thing?
Theodore Ashbourne, and he still claimed he wasn't Voldemort?!
In that heartbeat of Snape's blank shock, a jet of red light hit home—Expelliarmus—and his wand spun from his hand to land in Theo's.
Theo shook his head.
"Professor, don't misunderstand. I let Harry sleep for a bit because hearing what we're about to discuss may not be good for him."
Then Theo set Snape's wand on the centre table—and even placed his own staff aside.
Snape stared him down. Only after confirming Theo truly had no intent to kill Harry did his rigid posture loosen a fraction. He stepped forward, retrieved his wand, and only then felt marginally at ease.
"Theodore Ashbourne—what are you, and what do you want?"
Calmly, Theo said, "Professor, I'm a first-year—Hogwarts, Class of 1991. I'm your student.
All I want is to consult you on a potion. There's no need to be so tense."
"What potion?" Snape asked.
Theo's voice dropped to a murmur.
"A potion that can bring back the dead—or at least call their souls home. Do you know of such a thing, Professor?"
Snape's face changed at once; his wariness sharpened.
So, Voldemort, unable to seize the Philosopher's Stone to rebuild a body, was pinning hopes on a potion of his own?
He gave a cold, dismissive laugh. "Impossible. No such potion exists."
Theo sighed.
Snape was a double agent; the man's guard was ironclad—he still suspected Theo was Voldemort's puppet.
Then Theo remembered.
Right—the note he'd made Malfoy write on the Hogwarts Express.
Under Snape's ever-suspicious gaze, Theo drew out the slip of parchment.
"Perhaps look at this, Professor?"
He tossed it to Snape.
Without taking his eyes off Theo, Snape skimmed the words with the corner of his eye.
"'Support Albus Dumbledore, and—'"
"'The Dark Lord is a pile of dung?'"
He stared, struck dumb.
"This is how you dealt with Malfoy on the Express?"
Theo spread his hands. "Now do you believe I've nothing to do with Voldemort?"
Snape's guard ebbed—not because he was easily gulled, but because he knew Voldemort too well.
The Dark Lord's narcissism was pathological. If Theo were in league with him—or possessed by him—he would never leave such words in ink.
To tread on Voldemort's face hurt him worse than killing him.
On Theo's "System" pane, the Perfected Jade Cauldron's attitude slid back from "Mortal Enmity" to "Cold and Wary", and Theo let out a quiet breath.
"Professor, can we speak properly about a revival potion now?"
Snape's brows knit hard.
*"You're a first-year. Why chase a revival potion?
"With your knowledge of Potions, you must know any experimentation touching on resurrection has been forbidden since antiquity."*
Theo countered softly, *"Professor… have you never tried?
"I can see it in your eyes when you look at Harry's mother. If there were even the faintest chance to bring her back, you would seize it."*
The words struck the rawest nerve.
For years after Lily's death, he'd hunted every whisper of resurrection.
He'd tried every historical draught that claimed to raise the dead or summon the fallen—and found nothing but failure.
Now he looked at Theo and, all at once, something clicked.
Of course. The boy was an orphan, raised in an institution.
If he had heard rumours of a revival potion and wanted to bring back his parents—what could be more natural?
Snape's gaze briefly softened with pity, then he shook his head.
*"Useless.
"Revival draughts are forbidden for a reason—they don't work. I've tried them all. Not one succeeds.
"To restore life, you'd at least have to call the soul first—but there is no potion that can do even that.
"In all the wizarding world, only the legendary Resurrection Stone is said to summon souls—children's tales."*
Snape's voice went cold. "Ashbourne, I advise you to apply your talents to the proper path. Don't squander your time on vapours and legends…"
But Theo's eyes flashed, and he cut in.
*"Professor—what if I told you calling a dead person's soul isn't impossible?
"The Resurrection Stone can summon the dead, yes—that is impressive. But it is not beyond replication."*
Snape went still, half-wondering whether he or the boy had gone mad.
"What nonsense are you spouting?"
"In fact," Theo said quietly, *"I can demonstrate the possibility of reviving the dead. Now.
"A thousand years ago, someone fashioned the Resurrection Stone—but that revival was imperfect.
"A thousand years on, we need not be less than our forebears. We may surpass them—with a potion that truly brings back the dead.
"Will you try? A chance to reclaim the love of your life."*
Theo raised his hand; his staff flicked.
From Snape's office, the photograph he kept locked away flew into the room.
Then Theo nicked Harry's palm, drawing a string of bright blood.
In Harry's blood ran the last Magic of Love Lily had used; paired with the soul-scent upon the photograph, it would serve as a sufficient conduit for Soul-Calling.
Theo's voice rang out, and the Soul-Calling talent surged.
*"Lily Potter, mother of Harry Potter…
"Return, O soul!"*
In an instant, the ambient power Theo would normally draw through Earth-Spirit Primordial Soul, Night's Demon, and Dining on Wind & Drinking Dew ceased to nourish his body and magic and was wholly seized by Soul-Calling.
A faint wind breathed through Snape's office.
Snape had not blinked since Theo began.
Was he mad, to credit such lunacy?
A first-year claiming the art to summon the dead—and proposing a joint study of revival potions?
No Potions Master would accept such drivel. Yet Snape still held to one last, nameless, desperate hope as he stared ahead.
And in the next heartbeat, lightning struck his mind.
Harry's blood seeped into the photograph of Lily Evans, and from the picture a translucent figure rose, dazed—but unmistakably real.
"Lily…"
"You truly… have returned?!"
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