The Cursed Greengrass
Can the Philosopher's Stone cure diseases?
The answer is obvious; otherwise, Voldemort wouldn't have been so weak he was practically falling apart, yet he still managed to storm Hogwarts and steal their treasures.
But just as there is no cure-all medicine in the world, this stone is not as miraculous as the legends say.
The essence of alchemy is equivalent exchange; the Philosopher's Stone is a large-scale concentration of magical energy that can convert magical energy into life force.
Some illnesses can be healed by replenishing vital energy, while others cannot.
Vitality can actually become nourishment for pathogens, worsening the condition.
Voldemort needed the Philosopher's Stone, not because he was sick, but because he didn't have a body.
A person without a body cannot grow a body no matter how much Elixir of Life they drink.
But Daphne didn't ask "What disease can it cure?" she asked, "Can it cure diseases?" Her tone was urgent, expectant, and fearful.
What is she afraid of? Is her family member sick? Or is she sick herself?
It seems I'll be going to Knockturn Alley to find materials during Christmas, and I should also inquire about the Philosopher's Stone while I'm at it.
Tom put down his quill and looked at Daphne.
She looked up, her eyes filled with anxiety, longing, and fear.
Afraid of getting an answer, afraid that the answer wouldn't be what she wanted, Tom had never seen Daphne like this before.
She's always been carefree; when she laughs, her eyes squint into slits, and when she's angry, the corners of her mouth turn down—she's never like this before.
"The Philosopher's Stone can cure diseases, but not all diseases." Tom's wording became more cautious.
"It can replenish vitality and allow the body to heal itself, but if the pathogen itself consumes vitality, replenishing vitality may actually worsen the condition."
Daphne's fingers gripped the pages of the book tightly. "What about the curse? Can a curse be cured?"
Tom paused. "What curse?"
Daphne lowered her head and looked at the book on the table. The pages were crumpled from her gripping.
"My sister, Astoria, she's not exactly sick, it's a curse."
"Regarding the curse on the Greengrass family, more than twenty of my ancestors have died under this curse."
"A curse?!" Hermione nearly jumped up, her voice cracking. "Daphne? Who's so wicked as to curse your sister? That's too cruel!"
Daphne is only eleven years old, and her sister is at most ten. How vicious would someone have to be to lay a hand on a little girl?
Tom added in his mind: Voldemort, he's an expert at this kind of thing, he wouldn't even spare a one-year-old, let alone a ten-year-old.
Daphne didn't look up; her voice was very soft, as soft as the wind rustling through the leaves.
"This curse isn't aimed at Astoria, it's aimed at our Greengrass family."
"More than twenty of my ancestors have died because of this curse. I had an aunt who died before I was born; she was also cursed."
"My younger sister has been frail and sickly since childhood. No matter how much nutrition we give her, she remains so thin that a gust of wind could blow her over."
"Every time I see Astoria squatting by the window flipping through fashion magazines, her eyes sparkling as she says to me, 'Sister, look how pretty this dress is,' I feel like someone is squeezing my heart."
"She's so small and thin, but she still wants to grow up, wants to wear pretty dresses, and wants to go to Paris to see fashion shows."
Hermione's eyes welled up with tears. "That's too cruel!"
Hermione stood up, the chair scraping loudly on the floor. "I'm going to look it up."
Daphne grabbed Hermione's hand with great force, Hermione wrist turning white from the grip, and looked at Hermione's anxious eyes.
Daphne felt a warmth in her heart. Apart from always trying to steal Tom from her, Hermione was a true friend most of the time.
"No need. This is a curse that can be passed down for many generations; it's definitely the most powerful form of Dark Magic. Records of it are probably in the Restricted Section; you can't access it."
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sat back down in her chair and said dejectedly, "I'm sorry, Daphne."
Tom looked at Daphne; her eyes were red, but she didn't shed a tear.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her chin was slightly raised. She was holding back.
"Don't worry, Astoria should be fine these days," Tom finally spoke, successfully drawing their attention.
"Our top priority right now is to learn. Only when we are strong enough can we have the confidence to do whatever we want; otherwise, we'll just be busy doing nothing."
Daphne and Hermione nodded quickly. Seeing how enthusiastic the two were, Tom impulsively decided to add another lesson.
After the two girls finished training and left, Tom was left alone in the Room of Requirement, stroking his chin and muttering to himself.
He hadn't originally planned to get involved with the Philosopher's Stone, but that old fox Albus Dumbledore was watching the whole thing. Daring to steal a treasure in his first year, what would he be like in the future?
Daphne's words piqued his interest; what if the Philosopher's Stone really could save Astoria?
He went into the Study Space and told Andros everything. After listening, Andros frowned so deeply that he could have trapped a mosquito.
"This curse is too vicious," Andros clicked his tongue. "I know a little about curses, but I've never seen one that lasts this long."
"Sorry, Tom, I haven't seen him, so I can't guarantee anything. There's a high chance I can't be of much help."
He paused, then added, "But we could try the Philosopher's Stone you mentioned. If that doesn't work, we can just go find Nicolas Flamel, right?"
"Damn, an alchemist who's lived for over six hundred years? How come I've never heard of him before?" Andros exclaimed in amazement at the Nicolas Flamel.
"Back then, alchemy wasn't a systematic field. Only those with poor magical talent would bother with such trivial tricks."
"To be able to concoct Philosopher's Stone, this Nicolas Flamel is on a completely different level from those fraudulent alchemists I met back then."
"That's right!" Tom's eyes lit up, and he slapped his thigh, almost cursing himself for being stupid. The person who made the Philosopher's Stone is still alive, what's the point of stealing the stone!
In an instant, his goal changed from stealing the Philosopher's Stone to finding a way to contact Nicolas Flamel.
As the new week begins, the weather grows colder, and an endless drizzle falls outside the castle.
Tom was secretly relieved that he had finished brewing the strengthening potion a few days ago before the rain; otherwise, he would have had to put the Potions away and wait for the sun to come out before he could continue making it.
The cellar was already damp, but now it was even wetter. The clothes, bedding, and curtains were all soaking wet, feeling like they had just been pulled out of the water.
Zabini carried the blanket to the fireplace to dry, while Nott moved the book to the table, far away from the wall.
Malfoy sat on the edge of his bed, wand in hand, and cast Drying Charm on the blanket.
After repeating it three times, the humidity in the blanket dropped from 100% to 90%.
Tom sat on the bed, looking out at the lake.
The lake water churned in the rain, and he felt very agitated.
It wasn't because of a curse, it was because of the dampness; my clothes were clinging to my body, the blanket was pressing down on my legs, and the air was thick with moisture.
It would be great if all the excess water could be squeezed out.