"I really want to meet the Death you speak of," said Dumbledore.
Morris shook his head. "There might be a chance. They're probably looking for me."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow slightly. "Why?"
"I don't know," Morris said honestly. "Perhaps it's because he's petty and thinks I offended him."
This answer gave Dumbledore a headache.
What exactly did his student do during the summer vacation?
"So," Morris asked, "Do you have a solution?"
Dumbledore didn't answer, but turned to look at the wall and called out, " Fawkes!"
Morris then realized what was happening.
Yes, Dumbledore has a phoenix.
Professor Binns said that breaking this curse requires forces that are the opposite of death, such as "new life, creation, continuation, and hope."
The phoenix, on the other hand, can rise from the ashes and be reborn.
Isn't this the opposite of death?
" Fawkes's tears have powerful healing properties," Dumbledore said, "But I'm not sure if they'll work."
"It will definitely work," Morris said confidently.
Dumbledore gave Morris a strange look, wondering where the other man's confidence came from.
Meanwhile, Fawkes had already flown over.
Morris stretched out his arm so that it could have a place to stand.
The phoenix's claws gripped his forearm through his robe, with a force greater than he had imagined.
"Wait a moment," Dumbledore said. " Fawkes needs to prepare a little."
Fawkes closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, a few glistening tears were visible in the corners of his eyes.
It lowered its head and let the tear fall onto Morris's finger.
Morris could sense the magic within it—a warm aura.
Are these the Phoenix Tears?
Without hesitation, he immediately covered his face with the liquid.
A mild pain came over me, not unbearable.
He took out his wand, waved it gently, and turned an empty candy box on the table next to him into a mirror, which then floated towards him and hovered in the air.
In the mirror, the color of the black line had visibly faded.
He closed his eyes and focused his mind, using his Mental Power to perceive things carefully.
I can feel the effects of the curse slowly fading.
"It's working?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes," Morris nodded, letting out a long sigh of relief, "If all goes well, a few dozen more treatments should be enough for a complete cure."
Dumbledore glanced at Fawkes on the perch, his expression becoming somewhat subtle.
Dozens of times?
Wouldn't that drain Fawkes dry?
" The Phoenix Tears are no ordinary tears," Dumbledore said, his tone tinged with helplessness. "They need time to brew. Each time Fawkes sheds a tear, it expends a great deal of energy; too much of it can even affect its rebirth cycle."
"That makes sense then." Morris stroked his chin.
Phoenix Tears are such a precious thing; it would be abnormal if they could be obtained easily.
"And," Dumbledore added, " Fawkes probably wouldn't be willing to shed so many tears either."
Fawkes, standing nearby, let out a short squeak.
Even if it cried its eyes out, it wouldn't be able to shed that many tears.
"See?" Dumbledore said. "There's nothing it can do."
Morris said with some regret, "Then I'll have to think of other solutions."
Fawkes helped him out of kindness, and it was his right not to; he has no right to ask for more.
"No need for that." Dumbledore smiled mysteriously and went behind his desk.
There's a cabinet there that looks almost integrated with the background wall.
Dumbledore reached out and knocked gently; the cabinet door opened silently.
Morris peered in curiously, expecting to see something remarkable, but the cabinet only had a few shelves with some inconspicuous odds and ends scattered on them.
Dumbledore rummaged around for a while, and when he turned around again, he had a small bottle in his hand, with dust on his cuffs.
Morris's gaze was immediately drawn to the bottle.
The bottle was made of a very peculiar material, like a cloudy glass, making it impossible to see inside.
"What is that?" he asked, a vague guess forming in his mind.
Dumbledore placed the bottle on the table very quietly.
"When I was young, there was a time when I specially collected and preserved Fawkes's tears using special magic. You might not know, but back then it was a crybaby."
Morris thought it was a very wise decision.
If Fawkes ever runs out of tears, or encounters some emergency, those tears will be her lifesaver.
but..
"Can I use these tears?" Morris asked.
Dumbledore smiled gently. "Of course."
Upon receiving an affirmative answer, Morris became somewhat hesitant.
Dumbledore took out the Phoenix Tears at this moment, clearly intending it for him to use.
But this thing is just too precious.
He spoke again, "Is there anything I can do? Or rather, what price do I need to pay?"
Dumbledore chuckled to himself.
" Morris, not all gifts require a return," he said, sitting back in his chair, looking at Morris with a peaceful, almost loving look in his eyes. "Helping students out of their predicaments is simply my responsibility as a professor."
"But if you really want to do something for me... I hope that in the future, if Hogwarts is in danger, you will do everything in your power to protect the school."
Morris replied solemnly, "No problem, Professor."
This doesn't even qualify as a request.
As a student of Hogwarts, he would naturally do his part when the school was in danger.
Dumbledore smiled with satisfaction.
"If these tears aren't enough, there's nothing more I can do." He blinked and said, "Then you'll have to ask Fawkes for help. Brush its fur more often, maybe it will agree."
Morris picked up the bottle, uncorked it, and flicked his right hand lightly.
The liquid in the bottle transformed into a thin stream, evenly covering the black lines on his face.
"Hiss!"
This time, the pain was unusually intense, as if the skin was festering.
He could feel the force of death struggling, resisting, making its final stand.
But in the end, it was all in vain.
Under the influence of the Phoenix Tears, the lines on Morris's face began to twist and contract violently, eventually turning into wisps of black mist that seeped from his skin and floated in the air.
The Fawkes emitted a sharp, explosive sound.
Morris immediately realized what was happening.
" Energy Gathering!"
He stretched out his right hand, and the mist, as if guided by something, began to gather in his palm, eventually transforming into a small black bead.
It was only the size of a pea, round and smooth, but pitch black, as if it wanted to devour all the light around it.
Morris looked at the bead and smiled.
It contains pure " Death Energy ".
That's quite a gain.
A blessing in disguise.