When magic floats in the air, it cannot maintain a stable form. Sometimes it is like smoke blown away by the wind, and sometimes it is like torn silk. It can never be gathered into a complete spellcasting structure.
But Gori had lived for so many years, and his mastery of mind magic was second to none among the Vampire clans. Moreover, Slytherin hadn't considered Vampire when designing the dungeons, and hadn't imposed any special restrictions on Vampire mind magic.
The accumulation of hundreds of years in the Gori gave him a patience and precision in manipulating magic that far exceeded that of ordinary people. Although the dungeon's restrictions were powerful, they were ultimately just a filter. It could block or distort most of the magic, but there would always be a tiny gap.
I found that crack in the Gori.
His consciousness, like a tiny stream, squeezed out of the dungeon's oppression, climbing up the stone walls of the underground corridor, passing through the gaps in the abandoned staircase, rounding the corner outside Snape's office, and stretching towards the Slytherin Common Room.
It's getting closer.
The stone wall of the Slytherin Common Room came into his perception range. The protective magic on that wall was much weaker than that at the dungeon entrance. It was probably because the builders felt that with layers of protection in Hogwarts Castle, there was no need to set up too many defenses for the common room, at least not for mind magic.
The consciousness in the Gori easily crossed the boundary of the stone wall and entered the corridor leading to the student dormitory.
He could sense the closed doors on both sides, and behind each door was a sleeping little wizard.
Their brains release fluctuations of various frequencies during sleep—some calm, some undulating, and some pounding rapidly—presumably indicating they are having an intense dream.
He carefully discerned the fluctuations in the Gori. In the Forbidden Forest, he had already pinpointed the location of the Child of Prophecy. Now, he only needed to recall the information and quickly found Herman's house.
Found it, right across from that really interesting little girl.
The Gori made my heart skip a beat, something I hadn't felt in a long time. Behind that door, the Vampire's thousand-year curse was about to end in my hands.
He immediately began building the connection.
The core of mind magic is to establish a stable two-way channel, one end connecting the caster's consciousness and the other end connecting to the target's dream.
Once the channel is established, he can appear in the other person's dream and communicate directly with the Child of Prophecy.
This is the safest way because a person's consciousness is open and most vulnerable in a dream. They will not resist, will not be alert, and one can even give them suggestions to change their consciousness.
However, constructing the passage requires a continuous output of magic.
The magic in the Gori was constantly diminishing under the suppression of the dungeon; for every ounce of it sent out, three ounces were distorted. He could feel the power accumulated within his body being rapidly depleted, like trying to fill a pool with water into a leaky bucket and lift it out—more was leaking out than was being lifted up.
One end of the passage finally touched the edge of the Child of Prophecy's consciousness.
The Gori's spirits lifted, and it channeled the remaining magic into the passage, attempting to complete the final connection.
Then the passage was cut off.
The thin, hair-like tendril of consciousness, upon contacting the consciousness of the Child of Prophecy, seemed to have struck a smooth glass wall, finding no point of contact and being bounced back.
Before Gori could even react, the passage shattered into countless points of light, vanishing completely from his perception.
He was stunned.
He refused to believe it, regrouped his magic, and tried again.
The second channel was more difficult to construct than the first.
His previous energy expenditure had not yet been recovered, and the limitations of the dungeon continued to weaken his power.
The Gori gritted its teeth and pushed its consciousness out again, retracing the path to find the location of the Child of Prophecy and rebuilding the passage.
This time he was more cautious, slowing down and carefully adjusting the rhythm of his magic output with each step to avoid being interrupted by the dungeon's distortion effect.
The passage touched the edge of the Child of Prophecy's consciousness.
Then it broke again.
It was still that smooth glass wall, still without any point of attachment.
In the Gori, you can feel the Child of Prophecy behind that glass wall; his magical fluctuations are so clear, it's like they're right next to your ear, but you just can't get in.
The third attempt.
This time, Gori had almost exhausted all his reserves, pouring all his magic into that passage. The dungeon's restrictions, like sharks that had smelled their prey, surrounded him from all sides, tearing at his consciousness. He gritted his teeth, pushed the passage to the edge of the glass wall, and used his last bit of strength to push forward.
The glass wall remained completely still.
The passage broke for the third time, shattering even more completely than the previous two times, leaving not a single fragment behind.
Gori suddenly opened his eyes, leaned back, and slammed his back heavily against the stone wall.
He slid down the stone wall, slumped onto the stone chair, his hands on his knees, his head bowed, and his chest heaving much faster than usual.
His pale face had an unhealthy grayish tinge, a sign of excessive magical depletion. Even Vampire's regenerative abilities take a long time to recover, unless he drinks something fresh.
He took a while to catch his breath before he could regulate it.
"Does the Child of Prophecy not dream?" he said softly, his voice hoarse and dry, "Or does he simply not sleep at all?"
He simply couldn't understand it. How could an eleven-year-old wizard, with so many classes every day and homework to do at night, not sleep? Surely he would dream if he did.
A normal person has at least three to five dreams every night, and there's always one that they can get into.
Gori sat there for a long time, until her magic power recovered slightly, before she could barely stand up, supporting herself on the stone chair.
He looked around at the place where he was currently living.
Stone table, stone chairs, stone walls, stone floor.
Everything is made of stone, the same kind of stone used in the castle outside the dungeon—grayish-white, covered with rough textures, and has a cool, wintery feel to the touch.
There was a thin layer of dust on the table. He had noticed it when he came in earlier, but he hadn't been in the mood to pay attention to it at the time.
Now that he has it, he can't do anything else anyway.
Gori reached out and wiped his hand on the edge of the stone table, leaving a layer of fine dust on his fingertips.
He held his hand up to his eyes and looked at it. The layer of ash contained some extremely fine brown particles, probably the residue left behind after various things had rotted here over the past few hundred years.
"Isn't it a bit much that they won't even give me a bed?" he muttered to the empty dungeon.
No one answered him.
The skeletons locked in the cells cannot speak, nor can the darkness deep within the dungeon.
After complaining, the Gori can only face reality.
He sat back down on the stone chair, his gaze shifting from the dust on the table to the rack of torture instruments in the corner, and then to the iron bars of the row of cells in the distance.
Should we clean it up?
He could indeed tolerate the dust and filth; Vampire are much more adaptable to their environment than humans, and not bathing for hundreds of years was no big deal for him.