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"I remember you blasting that innkeeper with a Reducto last time," Sullivan said, glancing back at Snape. "The guy started stitching himself back together right in front of us. So why is the Green Apple Inn still closed for renovation?"
"Maybe something went wrong with whatever's controlling him," Snape replied, frowning. "He said stuff that wasn't in the script. Could be a glitch in the system."
Sullivan shrugged. "Whatever. The town's running normally again, so let's just head straight for the temple. We're wasting time."
The three of them—Sullivan, Snape, and Teemo—started down the main street toward the gleaming white marble building in the center of town.
From everything they'd pieced together, only three possible "rulers" of this pocket dimension made sense: Count Dracula, Frant Slytherin, or the Hopping Pot itself. Dracula wasn't even here. Snape had already thrown his vote behind Slytherin, and Sullivan trusted his friend's gut. Besides, Sullivan had been chewing on one question since the beginning: who made that human-skin book, and why?
Dracula was out—guy wasn't in the realm, so no reason for him to plant clues. If the story in the book was true and Slytherin really was the dark wizard the Pot dragged in here to seal away, then the book had to be Slytherin's work. But that created problems. Why bind it in wizard skin—his own skin, since he was the only wizard in town? And if he wanted rescue, why paint himself as the villain? He should've flipped the script and made himself the hero.
The only story that actually fit was the opposite of what the book said: Slytherin had been the one protecting the townspeople, and the Hopping Pot was the monster that killed them all. The diary backed it up. This whole realm wasn't a prison for Slytherin—it was a prison for the Pot. After Slytherin died, the thing slowly clawed back partial control. When the innkeeper almost spilled the truth yesterday, the Pot had no choice but to "recycle" him.
They stepped into the Hopping Pot temple. The same white-robed nun glided forward with the same warm smile, ready to guide them. Sullivan and the others followed her straight to the altar where the massive one-legged brass cauldron stood.
This time Sullivan didn't bother pretending. He looked straight up at the Hopping Pot and asked, flat-out, "Why did you kill everyone in this town?"
The deep, calm voice rolled out exactly like yesterday. "Outsider, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Sullivan cut in. "You also tried to trick us into drinking those potions you handed out. Don't act like you forgot we were here yesterday. It's a stupid lie and you know it."
The Pot went quiet for a second, then answered, "Visiting wizards, yes, I remember you came yesterday. But I have not killed anyone. You must be mistaken about something."
"Mistaken?" Sullivan gave a cold laugh. "Fine. If that's true, then let us leave right now."
"Of course," the Pot replied smoothly. "Yesterday I already gave you a spatial-perception potion. Drink it and you can take your friends and leave anytime."
"So it still comes down to drinking your potion," Sullivan shot back. "What if I say no?"
The Hopping Pot's tone turned almost regretful. "I'm sorry, outsider. I am only a Hopping Pot. I can only create potions based on what people ask for. Anything else is beyond my power."
Sullivan couldn't help laughing. "Oh, that's rich. 'Beyond my power.' Let me tell you something." He pointed at Teemo. "See him? That's Teemo. He's a house-elf. Their magic works completely different from ours. They can Apparate anywhere they want. If we decide to walk out of here, he can take us anytime."
"Then why are you still here?" The Pot's voice lost every trace of warmth. It sounded like it had decided Sullivan was bluffing.
Sullivan grabbed Teemo's hand. "Looks like you're not gonna budge until you see the rabbit. Fine. Teemo, we're leaving. The second we're out, I'm burning that human-skin book to ash."
"Wait!" the Pot said quickly. "You came all this way because you wanted me, didn't you? You're really willing to leave empty-handed?"
Its voice had picked up a subtle, silky layer of charm magic.
"Whether I want you or not, staying alive matters more," Sullivan answered lightly. "Everything else is just extra."
The Hopping Pot fell silent again. Then—pop—a new vial shot out of the cauldron and landed neatly in Sullivan's palm.
"Wise wizard," the Pot said, "this is a contract potion. Scrape a little piece off my surface, mix it in, and drink. You will become my master."
Sullivan raised an eyebrow, but his eyes flicked to Snape. "You sure about this?"
Snape examined the vial and nodded. "There are potions like this, but they're usually for binding animals. I'm not positive it would work on a living cauldron."
"I cannot lie," the Hopping Pot insisted. "You have heard the legends. I must obey anyone who prays to me and provide the potion they need. Drink it without fear. Once you do, we will be family."
The charm magic in its voice grew stronger. Even Coal Ball, tucked inside Sullivan's robe, poked her head out and let out an angry growl at the cauldron.
Sullivan stared at the Hopping Pot, completely unmoved. He spoke slowly, one cold word at a time: "I don't believe… a single… word… you say."
A burst of wild laughter echoed through the temple. "Hahaha! Very well, very well. Modern wizards really are something else. How about I tell you a story instead?"
Sullivan gave a small, polite bow. "I'm all ears."
The Hopping Pot's voice took on a storyteller's cadence. "More than five hundred years ago, the people of this town lived in misery. Their lord, Count Dracula, taxed them into the ground every single year.
"One day a young man from the village found me hidden in a mountain hollow and brought me back to the human world. To repay him, I decided to become the guardian spirit of the town.
"The first enemy we had to deal with was Dracula himself. I brewed strength potions, speed potions, and stamina potions for the townsfolk. Using what I gave them, they drove Dracula out. No more taxes. The town grew rich and prosperous.
"They built this very temple for me and placed me on the altar. Every day crowds of believers came to pray and offer their faith. In return I granted them whatever potions they needed.
"At first I thought I would watch over this town forever. But human hearts change… and greed grows faster than any weed."
The voice paused dramatically, waiting for Sullivan to react.