"Uncle," Harry said, hurrying forward, his voice trembling with nerves, "it's this..."
He set the cold Wooden Plaque on the table piled with parts.
The Wooden Plaque landed with a soft, dull thud.
Douglas put down his tweezers.
He picked up the Wooden Plaque and understood everything with a casual glance.
His expression did not change in the slightest.
"Sit down, Harry."
He pointed to the chair opposite his desk.
Harry sat down uneasily, wringing his hands, his palms slick with cold sweat.
"The... the thing inside it is gone," Harry said urgently, speaking so fast he almost bit his tongue. "That Dementor disappeared, and then my scar started hurting."
"Just hurting?" Douglas asked, seemingly unsurprised that this had happened.
"No, I had a dream, too."
Harry struggled to remember, the chaotic, broken fragments churning wildly in his mind.
"I dreamed about... Wormtail. He looked frightened, all hunched and cringing, as though he was... mixing baby formula."
The detail was absurd yet utterly real, and even Harry found it incredible.
"And there was a voice in the dream, a very shrill voice. It kept shouting, kept shouting Dumbledore's name."
"Is that so."
Douglas turned the Wooden Plaque over and tapped its back lightly with a fingertip.
The Wooden Plaque gave a dull, hollow sound.
The energy inside had indeed been completely exhausted.
Voldemort's remnant soul was trying to reestablish a mental link with Harry, the accidental Horcrux.
Those bizarre dreams were merely fragments of consciousness spilling through the cracks as the link formed.
This Amulet had been using that unfortunate Dementor's negative energy to invisibly block the connection all along.
It seemed the bond between the two was even stronger than he had predicted.
Now, the fuel had run out.
The underlying workings of this Dark Magic were too complicated,