Hogwarts: Harry Returns from Azeroth

Chapter 220, Section 219: Troll Voodoo and Nico's Divination
“It’s a broad category,” Harry nodded and said. “If you pile up a bunch of Galleons in a room, and you’re lucky enough, you’ll find that those Galleons come together and turn into a kind of coin spirit, or you could call it the Galleon spirit, and so on.”

“Everything has a spirit,” Nico said knowingly. “In this respect, it’s not much different from traditional shamans, but traditional shamans can’t control the elemental power that Albus demonstrated.”

“Maybe it will be okay in the future,” Harry nodded slightly. “Compared to wizards, shamans who revere all things and have spirits are more likely to gain the approval of the elements.”

“It’s really interesting,” Nico said with a laugh. “You know what? I thought I knew everything about the Philosopher’s Stone because I created it and used it for hundreds of years, until I found this little guy myself in the place where the discarded Philosopher’s Stone was stored.”

“If you pile up all the unused Philosopher’s Stones together, you might find another elemental spirit,” Harry advised.

“Oh, then I’m afraid that’s no longer possible,” Nico said, shaking her head slightly. “The magic stone in your hand is the last one that hasn’t been used yet—by the way, what will happen to it?”

Nico pointed at the little guy she was holding in her arms.

“If you’re willing to feed him with the remaining empty Philosopher’s Stones, then his size will grow huge after he absorbs all those stones,” Harry thought for a moment and said. “As for abilities, whatever elemental spirit it is, that’s what kind of power it will have. The nature of elements is often very simple.”

"Could you tell me more?" Nicole asked excitedly.

“Of course, I actually have many questions about alchemy that I’d like to ask you,” Harry said with a smile. “I’ve been researching how to communicate with the elements using wizarding spells…”

The room was instantly filled with an academic atmosphere, and Dumbledore joined in. Putting aside his achievements in combat, Dumbledore was indeed a talented person who had made great achievements in academic research.

The so-called discussion was just the beginning. What kind of sparks of inspiration could there be in just one day? It was mostly just an introduction. Harry demonstrated elemental and soul magic to Nico, and even summoned the howling wind elementals from the Pyrenees Mountains in front of him. In turn, Nico demonstrated his proud alchemy to Harry.

It wasn't the kind of alchemy Harry learned in Azeroth, but rather the kind of alchemy unique to wizards, whose main output was the creation of magical items or potions.

Nicolas Flamel truly demonstrated the wisdom of someone who has lived for over six hundred years; such an elder would be revered even in a minotaur tribe.

The long passage of time made the old man almost omnipotent. He had ample time to learn anything he wanted to learn, not only in alchemy, but also in spells and potions. It seemed that there was no knowledge in the world that he did not know.

“Psychic Voodoo Potion, to be honest, that’s a really strange name.” Looking at the recipe Harry wrote down, Nico said with great interest, “Why voodoo? I admit that many of the ingredients in this recipe contain excessive amounts of toxins. If you took them out individually, I would even suspect that you were going to murder someone. But voodoo is a different concept. To be honest, I don’t know much about the magic systems in Africa or South America.”

“It has nothing to do with African and South American witch doctors. It’s called voodoo because this potion is made by witch doctors from a race called trolls,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Its effects are as I just described, but trolls have a very different body from humans. They have extremely strong vitality, so many potions that are tolerable to them are highly toxic to humans.”

“Ah, trolls…this must be the race unique to the world you visited that Albus once mentioned?” Nico said with great interest.

“Yes,” Harry explained, “so in order to recreate the effects of some of the potions I learned about over there, I have to find the corresponding ingredients in this world, but as you can see, the toxins are too strong.”

"There's no way this poison wouldn't be potent, is there?" Dumbledore couldn't help but complain. "Look at what you've used: Thestral tail hair, Infernal nails, Mandrake roots, juice from Abyssinian shrunken figs, ghost memory threads, and this last bit, unicorn blood—are you serious, Harry?"

“It’s just a guess, at least for now, I would absolutely not dare to give it to anyone to drink,” Harry shook his head repeatedly. “As for the source of the materials, Professor, you can rest assured. There’s a unicorn clan living in my suitcase world, and they’re quite cooperative.”

Let's put it this way: every single one of the herbs Dumbledore recited was deadly, and many of them would leave people wishing they were dead.

"It sounds like you already have a finished product?" Nicole asked.

Without saying a word, Harry simply took a tightly wrapped bottle of potion from his dragon-skin pouch and placed it on the table.

"Wow!" Nico exclaimed, "What amazing mobility... After drinking it, I can see the soul world?"

“I don’t know, I didn’t dare to drink it,” Harry answered frankly. “I did experiments on monkeys, but all the monkeys that drank it died on the spot. Although they did show a period of confusion and panic before they died, as if they saw many frightening things, it is hard to say whether they were hallucinations caused by the toxin.”

No one, including Dumbledore, seemed to have any complaints about Harry using monkeys to test the potion's effects.

"That's all?" Nico asked.

“As I anticipate, there should be three logical outcomes after drinking this potion,” Harry said confidently. “First, it will allow the drinker to communicate directly with the dead, whether they are their ancestors or their souls in a dreamlike state. Second, it will enhance the drinker’s spiritual perception, allowing them to see and interact with all sentient beings in their surroundings, which was my original purpose. The third is its role as bait, perhaps attracting some dangerous spirits… like Dementors? I don’t know.”

“Communicating with the dead…Are you sure you don’t mean turning the drinker into a dead person?” Dumbledore rubbed his forehead, looking a bit annoyed. “I know you wouldn’t do that, but as the headmaster, I’m afraid I have to emphasize one thing to you, Harry: the Hogwarts curriculum does not include the brewing of poisons or dangerous potions, neither Potions nor Shamanism.”

“Don’t worry, this is just my personal research,” Harry explained. “After all, you’re a shaman now, so you should know that shamans can wield more than just the elements; the power of the soul is also a very important part.” “I’ve developed a potion that allows unrelated individuals to perceive the existence of elements, but so far, I haven’t been able to make them perceive the existence of spirits,” Harry said, somewhat puzzled. “Of all my apprentices, only Luna has shown talent related to spirits, and outside of my apprentices, only you, Dumbledore, have begun to make initial contact with the power of the soul.”

“Souls, death, this world has its own unique rules, like a lid has been put on it, and only a very few people can see the other side of the world,” Harry said, frowning. “If I remember correctly, when I first called out the souls of my parents in this world, according to Dumbledore, there was an anomaly in the Hall of Death of the Department of Mysteries of the Ministry of Magic?”

The so-called Hall of Death is a dimly lit, square, large stone pit with a sunken center, about twenty feet deep. Each stone step descends gradually, like a lecture hall, and at the bottom is a raised stone platform with an ancient, dilapidated archway. Although there are no walls or ropes to support it, a tattered black curtain-like drape hangs on it.

Even though the Death Hall is a windless and enclosed space year-round, the black curtains are still swaying.

“…That’s right.” After exchanging a glance with Nico, Dumbledore said in a deep voice, “The veil has been opened. According to the Silent Men, when they arrived at the scene, they only saw that the veil had been pulled to both sides, as if something had crawled out or into it.”

"And then?" Harry continued, "There must be more to this than just the veil being opened, right?"

“Yes, and that’s not all,” Dumbledore said seriously. “The curtains are not just open, they are completely impossible to close, like two curtains that have been pulled to the sides and cannot be closed even at the cost of the lives of the silent ones.”

“So, has anything bad changed?” Nicole asked, “Within the Department of Mysteries, or within the British magical community as a whole?”

“No, not at all,” Dumbledore said, his expression seemingly puzzled. “It was as if nothing had happened, everything was peaceful… If the Silent One hadn’t lost his life while trying to pull the curtain back up, there hadn’t been any danger at all.”

“This is probably not a good sign, Albus. You didn’t mention this before,” Nico said wearily. “I’ve been to the Hall of the Dead. That archway and the curtain… Back then, it wasn’t even called the Hall of the Dead. It was just a magical ruin until the Statute of Secrecy was passed in 1692, and the British Ministry of Magic was built on that ruin.”

"The Department of Mysteries came before the Ministry of Magic. For the past few centuries, the safety of that ruin has been more important than the life of any wizard—I suspect that things there are older than the oldest history of our wizarding world."

“I know, Nico,” Dumbledore said calmly. “The Ministry of Magic has never had the authority to specifically manage the Department of Mysteries.”

“You did a good job, Albus, you protected the secrets of the Department of Mysteries,” Nico said, coughing. “I remember that in the Muggle Gospel of Matthew, it says that when Jesus died, the mysterious veil broke in two from top to bottom, the earth shook, rocks crumbled, and the tomb was opened. In the New Testament, the veil represents the two worlds of life and death, and the place with the arch is called the Holy Land, the most sacred place.”

“Muggle?” Harry asked. “I thought Muggle myths were all metaphors and fragmented records of everything wizards had ever done.”

“Only part, Harry,” Nico said with a smile. “It is said that the souls of the dead transmit images through the veil into the minds of the living, thus speaking to them.”

“I can assure you that no one in the Hall of Death experienced any strange or unfamiliar visions,” Dumbledore said without hesitation.

“But the truth is, the veil between life and death cannot be closed—Albus, you have to tell me seriously, is the veil on that arch still fluttering?” Perhaps because his mind was too active, or perhaps because his body was too weak, Nico suddenly coughed violently.

“…No,” Dumbledore said softly after a moment of silence.

“As expected,” Nico said with a look of sudden realization, “This is really… too coincidental.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Actually, I hosted this party just to see you, Harry—please forgive my guardedness,” Nico said, as he stood up unsteadily. He walked to a cabinet against the wall on the other side of the table and took out a crystal ball the size of an ostrich egg.

“I don’t want to put it so strangely, but the truth is, there have been too many changes in the wizarding world in the last two years—not just in the British wizarding world, but everywhere—and the root of these changes is the element you’ve been proposing.”

“So I did a divination,” Nicole said, sitting back down. She placed the crystal ball on the red velvet cushion and pushed it towards the center of the table, smiling as she said, “It’s a divination for the future.”

"Could you show us?" Harry asked softly, looking at the crystal ball on the table.

“That’s exactly what I’m here for today,” Nico said, placing one hand on the side of the crystal ball as he gazed at the beautiful crystal.

Gradually, it became less transparent.

Lead-gray clouds swirled with yellow smoke, then sank, sank, as if falling into a bottomless abyss, turning the entire crystal ball black. Harry could only make out the color of the brick walls. It vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving only the desolate and dilapidated archway.

“…The Hall of Death?” Harry asked softly, gazing at the two black curtains hanging on the sides of the archway.

(End of this chapter)