By the Sea in Wales

That afternoon, Dumbledore led the two to a beach in Wales.

He discussed it with Gavin and ultimately chose this place as the location for the experiment.

Not Hogsmeade, not the Black Lake behind Hogwarts Castle, not the corridor of any building or any room with a roof; they need to be completely undisturbed and spacious enough to handle any possible accidents.

However, they cannot directly Apparition there; no one knows if Cordelia can withstand even one Apparition now.

When Dumbledore offered to provide transportation, Gavin simply said, "It has to be smooth."

Dumbledore, then pulled out a neatly folded Flying Carpet from a dusty corner of a storage room in the Headmaster's Office.

There's a strange sense of ritual when the Flying Carpet unfolds. It has a deep blue background with silver-gray geometric patterns woven in. The edges are slightly worn, but the surface is still smooth and flat, like a stone slab polished by time.

After the three of them boarded, the Flying Carpet rose Silencio, passing over the spires of Hogwarts, over the dark green border of the Forbidden Forest, and over the undulating ridgeline of the Scottish Highlands, heading west. The wind brushed past their ears, carrying a faint salty scent from afar.

Cordelia sat on the edge of the blanket, her legs dangling over the edge, her hair a mess from the wind, but her eyes remained bright.

She suddenly turned to Gavin and said, "Go ahead and tell me."

She has calmed down and is more open to new things.

Gavin sat cross-legged in the center of the blanket, took the Philosopher's Stone out of his pocket, and held it in his palm.

The red light danced at her fingertips, swaying slightly in the wind created by the flying Flying Carpet, like a small flame that would never go out.

He explained the principle from the beginning, and told Cordelia that what he needed to do now was to enter her Consciousness Space and pull her consciousness away from that black hole.

Cordelia lowered her head, looking at her feet dangling outside the Flying Carpet, and remained silent for a moment.

"Will this work?" she asked curiously.

Gavin didn't answer immediately; he wasn't entirely sure himself.

The Flying Carpet passed through a low layer of clouds, and suddenly everything around us became a white blur, obscuring all visibility. When the clouds dispersed, the coastline appeared at the edge of our vision—a gray-blue arc that cut the sky and the earth apart.

"We shouldn't have been in such a rush," Gavin said carefully.

"What was the original plan?"

"Originally," Gavin said, "I would have let Dumbledore continue practicing Meditation, and I would continue experimenting with the Philosopher's Stone, further refining its precision, and then I would have found another person—an ordinary person whose consciousness had not been taken over by the Obscurus —to conduct a complete rehearsal."

"And then? Is that all?"

"Then I'll transform myself into Obscurus again."

Cordelia turned her head sharply and stared at Gavin.

"Don't glare at me." Gavin switched the Philosopher's Stone between his hands, avoiding her glare. "I have to try. If it works on myself, I'll try it on you. That way, the chances of success will be much higher."

"Are you crazy? You almost got into trouble last time."

"I've always been clear-headed, and this time I'm even more confident."

Below, the coastline becomes increasingly clear.

They flew over a gray, windswept grove of low trees, over a winding gravel path, and then over a vast expanse of golden sand. The sea stretched out at the edge of the beach; the wind was light today, and the waves merely nibbled at the edges of the sand with a continuous, low swishing sound.

"But there's not that much time now," Gavin said. "So all the drills are canceled, let's just get started."

The Flying Carpet began to descend.

It circled halfway in the air above the beach, found a flat spot, and then slowly fell down like a leaf finding its way.

The blanket made a very soft rustling sound when its edge touched the sand.

Cordelia stepped barefoot onto the sand, having already kicked off her flip-flops on the Flying Carpet. She felt the texture of the sand beneath her feet—slightly warm from the sun, yet cool underneath, like a thin blanket enveloping the icy interior.

The smell of the sea breeze was completely different from the smell of disinfectant mixed with medicine in the St. Mungo's's corridors; it was salty with a hint of fishiness.

There is no ceiling, no walls, only a few Seagull calling from a very, very far away place.

Dumbledore stepped off the Flying Carpet, tucked it under his arm, and looked around at his surroundings—an open beach with the sea on one side and low sand dunes on the other, offering excellent visibility. There was nowhere to hide, and no innocent bystanders who might be accidentally injured.

Then he walked about ten steps behind the two children, stopped, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and became quiet, like an old tree that had been blown by the sea breeze for a long time, without making a sound.

There wasn't much more he could do; all he could do now, besides his duty to protect the children, was to trust them.

"Are you ready?" Gavin asked Cordelia.

Cordelia brushed the hair that had blown the sea breeze to the corner of her mouth aside and nodded.

She sat down on the sand, not in the way a patient is seated in a treatment chair, but in a position she chose herself and found comfortable—legs crossed, hands on her knees, back straight.

Gavin sat down opposite her, and the Philosopher's Stone shone with a bright red light between them.

He closed his eyes and re-entered that Consciousness Space.

Gavin found Cordelia's consciousness beneath the Whirlpool.

The small, listless silver-haired girl still stood in the same spot, a black Whirlpool slowly swirling above her head, casting a shadow over her entire body.

Her eyes were empty, her Gavin strode over, and without hesitation, reached out and took the girl's hand.

The touch was icy cold, just like Dumbledore's, but even colder, like a coin that had been left to dry in the winter.

Gavin didn't stop. He channeled the Magic of the Philosopher's Stone, letting it flow down his arm to his fingertips, and then from his fingertips to that small, cool palm.

Then he took a step back.

He pulled the girl along, and she took a step forward as well.

It was a very small step. But with that one step, she left the place where she had been standing.

Before Gavin could even feel joy, the accident happened.

At the very same second that this step happened—

The entire space shook.

Suddenly, a bubble rose from the surface of the black Whirlpool above, like asphalt being boiled in a pot to a critical point. A huge, viscous black bubble arched up from the center of the Whirlpool, paused in mid-air for a moment, and then burst.

Gavin felt overwhelmed in an instant.

Not in a visual sense, but his eyes could also see the white space, the black Whirlpool, and the girl he had pulled a step in front of him. He was being overwhelmed by something else—emotion.

Those weren't his emotions. Anger, fear, sadness, despair, loneliness, the coldness of being abandoned, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in the St. Mungo's's ward forever—they all rushed into his brain, as if someone had packed up everything that had tormented Cordelia, stuffed it into his head, and then tore off the seal.

He was constantly being washed over by negative emotions; every inch of his skin, every thought, and every heartbeat was accompanied by even stronger negative emotions.

But he didn't let go.

Maintaining composure is not difficult for those who practice Meditation regularly.

He can stand firm amidst the torrent of other people's emotions, refusing to empathize with those scenes and memories, but what about the owner of those emotions? Can she still hold on?

Thinking of this, he immediately turned his head and looked at Cordelia beside him.

Her eyes were no longer vacant.

A small flame suddenly ignited in the silver-haired girl's pupils, not the warm, orange-yellow hue of ordinary flames, but a dark red, eerie and bewitching flame.

She was quietly looking ahead.

Suddenly, her eyes turned and stared directly at Gavin for a moment, then the corners of her mouth curved slightly.

Gradually draw out a sharp, asymmetrical arc.

At first, Dumbledore thought it was just the sea breeze.

The wind along the Wales coast naturally carries a salty, humid scent, and after a while, it will leave a fine layer of salt residue on your robes.

But the thing emanating from Cordelia wasn't wind.

It was heavier and slower, like soot rising from a chimney, or like the lingering embers on a candle wick after it has been extinguished.

Black and viscous, it seeped out from her cross-legged posture, thread by thread, climbing up the loose neckline of her clothes and extending into the air along the ends of her hair that hung over her shoulders.

Dumbledore's expression changed in that instant.

Before he could react, the silver bracelet on Cordelia's wrist lit up.

A silver light rose from the Runes.

The light threads flowed along the surface of the bracelet, winding upwards in circles, attempting to envelop the overflowing black mist.

A few wisps of black energy were indeed suppressed by the white light, pressed back onto Cordelia's skin, emitting a very faint hissing sound at the boundary between the silver light and the black energy, like cold water splashing onto hot iron.

But the black aura grew stronger, and Cordelia began to emanate a black Magic from her entire body. Black aura seeped from her shoulders, back, arms, knees, and all the skin exposed outside her clothes.

The silver bracelet was shining brightly, but it looked like someone trying to block a cracking dam with both hands. They would block it here, and then it would crack there. They would block it again, and then it would crack again.

This continued until--

A crack appeared on the surface of the bracelet.

Extremely fine, extremely light, with a snap, as small as a needle tip piercing the thinnest layer of glass, then a second, a third.

The crack spread from one corner of the bracelet to the entire circle, and silver light leaked out from the crack, flashing intermittently a few times, like the few rapid breaths before death.

Finally, the bracelet broke.

A few silver fragments fell from Cordelia's wrist, landed on the sand, bounced once, then bounced again, and then remained still.

The black energy, having lost its only suppression, surged outwards, spreading from her entire body. A thick, oily substance, shimmering with a dark sheen, formed an irregular, writhing black outline around her.

Dumbledore didn't wait any longer. He raised his hand, and the Wand slid into his palm. The first Spell was immediately released from the tip of the wand.

A beam of silver-blue light shone on Cordelia; it was a sealing technique used to block the source of Magic.

The moment the silver-blue light came into contact with the black mist, it sizzled and made a loud noise, like water being poured into a pan of oil, but the black mist quickly swallowed the silver-blue light.

The light of the spell was enveloped by black Magic, then melted away little by little, like a small piece of food being digested by gastric juices.

The second Spell followed, then the third. Dumbledore's Wand drew arc after arc in the air, and silver, gold, and blue-gray Nimbus fell on Cordelia in turn.

Each one was a sealing technique he could think of that was safe and wouldn't harm the host.

He saw Cordelia's face—

His eyes were tightly closed, his brows were deeply furrowed, and his lips were moving silently, as if he were experiencing a nightmare from which he could not wake up.

Gavin sat opposite her with his eyes closed, motionless. The Philosopher's Stone in his hand was still lit, but the Red Light had begun to dim, as faint as the last mast light struggling in a storm.

Dumbledore raised his left hand as well, gripped his wand with both hands, and thrust forward with an even stronger sealing spell. A circle of white light exploded from the tip of the Wand, forming a sphere of light that attempted to envelop Cordelia completely.

The ball of light began to be devoured by the black energy halfway down, its edges bitten unevenly. The white light and black energy churned at the contact surface, emitting a low whimpering sound.

It's no use; none of the Spell worked.

The black silhouette behind Cordelia began to expand, suddenly swelling half a circle in a single breath, with several thick black tentacles extending from its edges, slowly waving in the air like the tentacles of a sea anemone probing the water.

The tentacles swept across the seashell fragments on the beach, instantly melting them into black powder, which was then swept up by the sea breeze like a fine, inky rain.

If he really had to make a move now, he certainly knew which Spell to use; one Spell would suffice.

Grindelwald's previous records state that the only way to deal with Obscurus host is with a single Spell, and it's all over.

But his gaze returned to Cordelia. How old was this girl? Twelve?

How many years did she sit in that chair by the window in St. Mungo's's?

She was standing in the courtyard this morning; her shoulders, wrapped in her Restraint Garment, were so small that they could be covered by a single hand.

The name of the Spell slipped off his tongue, but he didn't say it aloud. He glanced at Gavin again.

The Hufflepuff boy's eyes were still closed, his face contorted in pain, but his body was moving slightly, his fingers twitching as if he were gripping something tightly. He was still inside.

He's still trying to bring her back.

Dumbledore a deep breath and made his choice.

He stretched out his right hand, lowered the tip of his cane, slightly spread his fingers, and rotated his wrist—

Finite Incantatem.

A massive silver halo exploded from the tip of the staff, not striking Cordelia, but spreading outwards.

The silver light was like a dome, trapping the three of them inside—the boy with his eyes closed, the girl writhing in pain, and himself.

The moment the light shield landed, it melted a circular mark on the ground, and the sand was burned into glass by the high temperature, shimmering with a faint light.

The black mist hissed against the inner wall of the light barrier, but it couldn't get out for the time being, and nothing from the outside could get in either.

Inside the light shield, the black silhouette behind Cordelia was still writhing, but it was suppressed by the silver light, and its expansion slowed down a little, a little, but it didn't stop.

Dumbledore lowered his left hand and rubbed his temples with his thumb.

The cracked, Half-moon Spectacles were askew on his nose, a result of being bounced back by some kind of magic spell, but he didn't notice it himself.

He quickly searched his mind for all possible options.

A forced Stunning Spell could be cast on her, but the dark aura has enveloped her too tightly; the spell might not be able to break through.

He could try to forcibly sever the Magic connection between her and Gavin, but he dared not; he didn't know what terrible consequences severing the connection would have on Gavin's consciousness.

One proposal after another flashed by, only to be rejected one after another. For the first time, he realized how powerless his magical knowledge was in the face of the Obscurus.

He felt as if he had returned to that day, the day he watched Ariana die.

He hesitated, wondering whether to make a decision that wouldn't require much thought, just a moment of ruthlessness.

As the chief wizard of Wizengamot, he could not allow the Obscurus unchecked. The destructive power of a fully formed Obscurus would be devastating, and no living creature within a hundred miles would survive.

As the headmaster of Hogwarts and the temporary guardian of the two children, he could not ignore their safety; their lives were always the top priority.

Just as he was about to make a decision, he saw the black smoke dissipating—

It's stopped.

The black mist stopped expanding outwards, the tentacles stopped in mid-air, and the newly formed viscous threads ceased to spread.

Cordelia's expression was still one of struggle, but her brows had slowly, little by little, relaxed a bit.

Dumbledore didn't move, he even held his breath to the shallowest. He wasn't sure if this was the last calm before the storm, or just a stroke of luck he'd finally encountered after living for over 110 years.

Time stretched out, and every inch of air felt tense.

Cordelia didn't move, and the black energy stopped overflowing. Then, as if a tap had been turned on, the overwhelming black Magic began to slowly recede.

From the surface of her shoulder skin, from the tips of her hair, from the tips of those tendrils in the air, slowly, reluctantly, strand by strand, they retracted back into her body.

The feeling was like being pulled back from the inside. Fine black powder was left on the beach, some still emitting wisps of smoke, while others had dried completely and were blown by the sea breeze into the glass ring inside the silver dome.

Dumbledore watched all this, raised an eyebrow, breathed a sigh of relief, and then slowly put his Wand into his sleeve.

Gavin felt a chill run down his spine as he looked at Cordelia's mocking, slightly cruel smile; he understood that expression.

She thought—

"Destroyed me?"

Cordelia broke free from Gavin's grasp.

She took half a step back, raised her right hand, spread her fingers, and made a fist in the air towards Gavin.

From the crack on the surface of the black Whirlpool, something new surged forth—pure black Magic, viscous like magma, pouring out of the Whirlpool and rushing straight toward Gavin.

The Magic coalesced in mid-air into the shape of a hand.

Five fingers extended downwards with black tendrils, each tendril twisting in the air and emitting a low, guttural sound, like fingernails scraping against glass.

Gavin's first reaction was to run away.

He mobilized all available consciousness and Magic, attempting to sever the connection and exit Cordelia's Consciousness Space.

But the black Magic had already arrived. One hand gripped his shoulder, and the other gripped his waist, holding him suspended in mid-air. He could feel the Magic of the Philosopher's Stone protecting him. A faint Red Light enveloped him, keeping the black tentacles a few inches away. But the Red Light was dimming. Every time the black tentacles tightened, the Red Light shrank inward.

The Magic of the Philosopher's Stone was being consumed much faster than he had anticipated.

The silver-haired girl opposite did not stop. At this moment, her eyes had turned completely black, with fine black lines extending outward from the edges of her eye sockets, like radial cracks on porcelain.

Her fingers tightened one by one, and the giant black claw in the void tightened accordingly. The Red Light retreated to its last layer, clinging to Gavin's skin, and was about to shatter under the immense pressure.

Just then--

A flash of white light.

It shot out from inside the black hole overhead, like a needle piercing a black curtain, then the entire direction was torn open. The white light pierced through the surface of the black Whirlpool, penetrated the black Magic that was crushing Gavin, and fell straight in front of Cordelia.

It was so fast that Gavin only saw a white arc of light streak across his vision before the ball of white light landed in front of the silver-haired girl.

The girl looked up, and the outline of the white light was reflected in her black eyes.

The white light was shrinking, condensing, and taking shape, slowly coalescing from a blurry ball of light into the shape of a woman.

She was in her thirties, not very tall, with a slender frame, and beautiful long silver-gold hair that fell over her shoulders, the ends of which swayed gently at a very slow pace, as if floating in water. Her face resembled Cordelia's by about 70%, but with more rounded features, slightly upturned eyes, and a few barely noticeable smile lines.

She opened her arms and hugged Cordelia.

Two arms wrapped around the silver-haired girl's shoulders, their palms resting on her back, pulling her into their embrace. The silver-gold hair blended seamlessly with the girl's hair, making them indistinguishable.

"Enough, Cordelia," the woman's voice was soft but gentle. "Don't do anything foolish."

The eruption of the black Whirlpool stopped abruptly.

The black claw in the void shattered into countless tiny fragments, scattering in mid-air and being vaporized by the white light into a layer of pale gray mist before disappearing. The moment the Magic binding Gavin dissipated, he plummeted for a second before regaining his balance.

In the silver-haired girl's eyes, the black lines were receding, starting from the edge of her eye sockets and gradually shrinking into her pupils, as if they were being pushed back by the white light.

The dark red light faded from the girl's pupils, revealing the original silver-gray underneath.

Then that touch of silvery-gray eventually lost its luster.

She returned to a dazed state, as if nothing had happened.

Gavin finally had the strength to look at the woman who had transformed from the white light.

The woman released the girl from her arms, gently placed her back in her original position, and then turned around.

Her body floated in mid-air, the hem of her dress—a very old, plain-colored Robes —swaying gently a few inches above the water's surface.

She looked at Gavin with gentle eyes.

"Hello, little friend." Her voice was as gentle as before.

"Let me introduce myself, I am Elizabeth Rowle, Cordelia's mother."