"Soul strength insufficient, resilience poor!"
"The body exhibits a violent rejection response to curse-based dark magic!"
"The flesh of the arm is currently insufficient to sustain mutation!"
In the deep, gloomy basement of Dumbledore's old house, Jerry sat upright at a battered table, gripping a quill as its tip raced across the parchment, leaving line after line of flowing script.
On the long table beside him lay an adult male Dark Wizard, his complexion sallow and his body so gaunt he looked malnourished, his eyes sunken deep into their sockets. Thick iron chains bound his hands and feet tightly, leaving him unable to move.
A heavy, oppressive gloom shrouded the entire basement. It was so quiet that even time seemed to have stopped. Only the faint scratching of Jerry's quill across the parchment echoed through the enclosed space, breaking the deathly silence.
"W-where is this?" As time passed, the unconscious Dark Wizard on the long table finally opened his eyes toward evening.
"H-help me..." By the dim light overhead, he endured the pain coursing through his body and looked toward Jerry, who paid him no attention, weakly pleading for help.
"Be quiet!" His thoughts interrupted by the awakened Dark Wizard, Jerry looked up and glared at him, his scarlet eyes cold and merciless.
"You..." Hearing Jerry's voice and getting a clear look at his clothes, the Dark Wizard recognized him. He was the one who had made him and another wizard take up daggers and fight each other like rabid dogs in Knockturn Alley.
Terror plunged him into what felt like a bottomless pit of ice, its cold piercing his bones. His gaze darted about, not daring to meet Jerry's scarlet eyes. His body trembled ever harder, every struggle like a battle against the shackles of fate, yet the cold