Dumbledore did not insist that Harry join this trial, but only on the condition that Harry "coincidentally" learned all the information and made the decision himself.
But everything?
Boy, you had caught my attention.
Dumbledore blinked. After saying goodbye to Hagrid, he vanished entirely into a whirlwind of flames.
Basil had no idea what had happened in the cabin.
As usual, they finished dinner and climbed the stairs back to the common room.
Only, something had gone wrong with the staircase between the third and fourth floors, sending them to the restricted corridor on the fourth floor.
Because the decorations and flooring all looked the same.
They did not notice and walked straight to the end.
Only then did they realize they had gone the wrong way. A large door stood before them, slightly ajar.
Before Basil could stop them.
The fidgety Ron opened it.
It was a huge Three-Headed Dog!
It was so enormous that it filled every inch of space from ceiling to floor.
Three pairs of vicious, rolling eyes, three noses twitching and quivering in their direction, and three drooling mouths. Its saliva hung from its yellowed fangs like sticky ropes.
"Run!" x4
Boom! The sound of an engine igniting, audible only to Basil, rang out.
Dragonfire ignited in his heart, his blood turned to magma, and Dragon Scales emerged beneath his skin.
Under the gaze of his golden vertical pupils, everything slowed.
Bang! In that instant, his left hand slammed the door shut.
His foot struck the floor hard. As he retreated, he spread his hands and shielded the other three behind him.
Amid a murky black-red current, a strange, ferocious wand emerged.
"[Armor Charm]!"
The Grimoire and Dragon Knight activated at the same time.
A colossal, invisible wall that flickered with fire completely protected the four of them.
Boom!
The door flew outward.
One of the Three-Headed Dog's heads stretched through the doorway.
Its jaws gaped wide.
Crystalline drool sprayed everywhere.
With a crunch, its hard, yellowed teeth bit the door to pieces.
They scraped against the wall, producing the sound of clashing metal.
Under the recoil of the Shield Charm, the Three-Headed Dog felt its head buzzing.
Its other two heads struggled to squeeze through the doorway.
But the dizzy middle head blocked them.
Taking the opportunity, they turned and ran, practically flying.
That foul stench and blood-red maw were now deeply etched into their minds.
Driving their little legs to pump frantically back and forth.
The scene gradually pulled away, surrounded by silvery-white mist.
The blank space in the middle reflected everything.
A crooked nose, blue eyes, and half-moon spectacles appeared beside it.
It was Albus Dumbledore.
He reclined in a high-backed chair adorned with brass and upholstered in purple velvet.
His long legs were stretched out as he watched the young wizards' perilous moment in an exceptionally relaxed posture.
A voice came from the six-inch Silver Mirror on his desk, its back facing him.
"Too bold, Albus. If you were the headmaster of our school, I would definitely impeach you."
Dumbledore moved a finger.
The image within the silver mist began to shift.
It arrived at the room containing the Three-Headed Dog and the trapdoor.
The Three-Headed Dog's other two heads barked continuously, but no sound came out.
Its body was being dragged toward the trapdoor by invisible chains.
It struggled futilely, leaving streaks of scratches across the stone floor.
The voice sounded again. "You cast magic. Of course, your beloved boy was there."
Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry is not special. I would not sacrifice any life to protect him, except my own. This test was not for him either."
He moved his finger.
The image reversed.
It came to rest on the boy who had previously had blond hair and blue eyes.
Golden vertical pupils flickered in and out of sight.
Patterns of scales flashed across his fair skin.
And there was that strange wand.
Its handle resembled the head of a dragon raised in a roar. Its black body gleamed with a metallic luster, while the fiery-red shaft was covered in a black dragon spine full of spikes.
"Hiss! Don't you think he resembles someone? Aside from the eyes." The owner of the voice did not seem concerned by the wand's strangeness, and Basil's abnormalities appeared to be nothing new to him.
"Gellert?" Dumbledore's azure eyes went unfocused for a moment before suddenly clearing. "No, this boy is more handsome. Their hairstyles are merely similar. And only to Gellert when he was young."
"What a pity. I thought you were about to find new love in old age. After all, I already entrusted that thing to your care. These old bones of mine thought that, before I died, I might still see you have a family." The voice teased.
"Dying? The potion you left behind is enough to last you another century. If you regret it, you can always—"
"All right, let's talk about the boy! Your new target."
Dumbledore stopped while he was ahead. "Don't you think that boy is extraordinary?"
"Extraordinary?" A soft laugh came from the mirror. "It is merely a simple magical transformation. In my long life, I have seen far too many geniuses. There are countless people more extraordinary than that boy. That wand has merely been altered through skilled alchemy."
"What about me? Why did you treat me so specially? Have you grown tired of Pernelle?"
The voice in the mirror turned flustered. "Don't! Don't say that! Don't let Pernelle hear you! You should understand it yourself. There are many outstanding, gifted wizards. But true Archmages like you—throughout my life, I have encountered only two."
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, there are four."
For the first time, the voice trembled. "Who? Other than you and Grindelwald? That ridiculous Voldemort? Him too? How is that possible?"
"Magic inheritance bears everything of our ancestors. Slytherin's descendants engaged in too much inbreeding, causing their ancestors' madness to increase generation by generation along with their bloodlines. This is also called the Forbidden Bloodline. No matter how highly pure-bloods value noble blood and ancient family lines, they would not marry someone with the Forbidden Bloodline. The exceptional talent it brings also drives them mad and hysterical. Forget learning magic; they struggle even to support themselves. Only a few are exceptions, such as Isolde Sayre, founder of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Why are you reciting history to me? I witnessed all of it."
"Tom and that great witch shared one trait. They were both half-bloods."
"I know that. I went to see that Voldemort with my own eyes. His Slytherin side was too pronounced, to the point that he hardly seemed half-blood at all. Though he appeared courteous and refined, the madness lingering within him even startled me somewhat. He could never overcome it and become an Archmage."
"You may not know this. His father impregnated his mother while under the effects of a Love Potion. Born under such circumstances, he was naturally missing a certain emotion. A small amount of negative emotion could not affect him. And perhaps becoming an Archmage did not require spiritual ascension."
"It does not? You and I both know that magic is an illusion. But the essence of our magic, aside from all that damn nonsense about magnetic fields, is belief. An Archmage is someone who turns the unreal into reality, someone who truly possesses magic. Without a breakthrough of the spirit, there is no other shortcut!"
"What about magical transformation? The most dangerous kind, the kind that should be impossible? Prying open one's own skull, tearing out one's own blood vessels, tempering every bone in the body, dismembering an intangible soul."
"How did he survive? Never mind the danger. The pain of that magical transformation alone should have shattered his soul."
"At least three Horcruxes, keeping him from dying. Murder—countless murders to vent the pain. Did you think he merely made his nose disappear?"
Upon hearing that, the voice said, "Madman," and fell silent.
His heart was filled with mixed emotions.
He had once thought it was merely a trick.
Dying time and again before countless witnesses, then returning to life in unexpected ways.
That miracle, like the resurrection of Jesus, had likely played out many times upon Voldemort.
Was that why those Death Eaters submitted to him so completely, convinced that he would rule the world?
After a long while, the voice sounded again. "And the other one?"
Dumbledore pursed his lips, looking at Basil with a gaze even more fervent than the one he gave Harry.
Before you continue