A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 105 Curse

"curse……"

Upon hearing Owen's answer, Voldemort repeated it with great interest, and sighed softly, "This is an extremely fascinating field in dark magic, vast, complex, and magnificent, and it happens to be a field I am very good at."

Owen inhaled the scent of the potion in the air, a look of anticipation appearing on his pale face.

He glanced casually at the steaming cauldron; the pale purple mist looked somewhat dreamlike. Why do Voldemort's potions smell so good? Most potions should smell strange. Did the Dark Lord sense my germaphobia and specially adjust the flavor to suit my taste? If so, that's incredibly thoughtful…

Owen was almost moved by his own imagination, and his smile widened even further. "Hmm, let's set a small goal first: one day, I'll add a little something extra to the Dark Lord's potions."

Voldemort's voice drifted over, snapping him out of his reverie: "...Using curses, you can inflict unbearable pain or even a gruesome death on someone thousands of miles away. If a curse fails, the caster often faces the risk of backlash. Of course, if you are powerful enough, a mere backlash is nothing more than a trivial incident."

"Curses take many forms. You can curse a person's body, from the inside out, but the most powerful ones are those of blood, flesh, and bone. Curses targeting blood can be passed down through bloodlines to future generations, curses targeting flesh can cause decay and deformity, and even create diseases and spread plagues, while curses targeting bone often have extremely strong lethality."

"But those are just curses on the body. When you go deep enough into this area, you can curse a person's spirit and magic, even their soul, and even cast curses on some conceptual things..."

Voldemort's narration was filled with fervent admiration and seduction, and Owen couldn't help but follow along, his heart pounding with excitement. Despite the cruelty of dark magic, Owen felt an overwhelming sense of anticipation.

"Is this guy trying to tempt me again, or am I finally starting to become a pervert?" Owen licked his lips, a strange smile creeping across his face.

His eyes darted around slightly, and he suddenly asked curiously, "Rumor has it that the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts is cursed, and no one can stay in that position for a full year. Professor, what do you think about this? Is it really possible for someone to curse a position?"

Irving carefully observed the expression on the other person's face. Asking this question to the person in question was perfectly appropriate.

Voldemort gave him a half-smile, then looked out the window at the increasingly dim sky and the figures still tirelessly flying around the field, and said softly, "Of course, it's an interesting curse. I put a lot of thought into it back then."

"You mean, Professor, you cursed this position?" Owen raised an eyebrow. Although he was somewhat prepared, he was still surprised to hear the other party admit it. Could a curse really be this powerful?

Voldemort did not deny it, but simply said, "When you delve deep enough into a certain field, you will find that things you never dared to imagine before are actually within your grasp. It's just a curse; once you have enough means and enough obsession, completing it is not difficult at all."

"What an obsession that must be..." Irving thought to himself.

"Yes, I once really wanted to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor." Voldemort gazed into the distance at a tall tower outside the window, as if talking to himself. "In fact, I've always quite liked this school."

"You are the best professor," Owen said sincerely. But if Dumbledore actually hired him, wouldn't Defense Against the Dark Arts class turn into Dark Arts class?

Owen couldn't help but think of the rampant dark magic at Hogwarts, where first-years were proficient in the Unforgivable Curse and second-years were ruthless killers... The thought was actually kind of exciting.

Owen twirled his wand with a deep smile. Wasn't that how he himself had been tricked into the path of dark magic? But wouldn't a young wizard of this age go crazy if he learned too much dark magic? In fact, he felt that he was also somewhat inclined towards it.

Voldemort leisurely withdrew his gaze from the window, a slight smile playing on his lips as he glanced at Owen with amusement. He didn't continue the topic, simply saying, "I happen to have a curse here that's perfect for you to learn."

Owen straightened his back even more, his posture becoming even more upright. Without a doubt, the person before him was probably the most skilled wizard in the world at present when it came to curse magic.

Whether it's a curse on a position or something else, such as the spell Voldemort cast on his name at the height of his power, which allowed him to pinpoint the location of anyone who called his name, Owen believed it definitely involved knowledge of curses. Even the Dark Mark invented by Voldemort seemed more like a variant of a curse to Owen; once branded, it was extremely difficult to remove, only with added functions.

"A curse allows you to harm your enemy without face-to-face contact, though it is not without its dangers," Voldemort said slowly. "First, you need a medium. It can be something on the person you want to curse; the more important and closely related it is, the easier it is to succeed. For example, a hair is not as effective as a drop of blood."

"But sometimes, the other person's name, or even your own obsession, can become your medium. Of course, such curses are very profound and often require you to pay a price."

Owen nodded thoughtfully. Such a method of cursing must come at a high price, right? Otherwise, Voldemort could simply kill his enemies one by one by name. Of course, it's also possible that the other party wouldn't bother paying any price to curse those lowly minions he despises, and cursing Dumbledore would be very difficult.

He took out a notebook and started taking notes while listening attentively to the lecture.

"Besides, the more you know the cursed person, the closer you are to them, the stronger your magic is, and the stronger your will, the easier it is for the curse to succeed," Voldemort said quietly. "If you are willing to pay a greater price, it is not impossible to curse someone stronger than you, but if you suffer a backlash in this situation, the result will be extremely tragic, and you don't want to experience that."

Irving smiled and nodded, saying, "I understand, Professor."

"Then, I will teach you about the curse of flesh," Voldemort said with a grin, "to cause flesh to rot and decay, to lead to death in pain and despair, and even if one survives, to suffer lifelong, unhealable damage... Isn't this the best gift for an enemy?"

Irving chuckled and nodded, listening quietly to the in-depth yet easy-to-understand lesson that followed, while also taking notes of the key points in his notebook.

Once the sky outside the window had completely darkened and the office had returned to silence, Irving realized that it was almost dinner time.

"Try it before you leave." Voldemort then picked up a rat from a cage.

Owen glanced at the ignorant mouse, wondering just how much the Dark Lord hated mice. He wondered what Peter Pettigrew would think if he saw this.

Owen shook his head, waved his wand, plucked a whisker from the rat, and placed it on the table in front of him. He pointed the long whisker at the tip of his wand, quickly reviewing the key points of the curse in his mind, and a surge of malice suddenly welled up in his heart and burst forth from his wand.

"Flesh and blood rot." He slowly uttered the incantation, his voice sounding extremely cold.

The whisker pointed at by the staff quickly turned black and curled, eventually becoming a small puddle of black ash. At the same time, Owen felt his own curse magic being transmitted through an unseen connection, and under his control, it was being applied to the rat in the distance as if through an invisible channel.

The rat suddenly let out a sharp, agonizing scream. Its skin, beneath its gray fur, began to swell and bleed, then large patches of black boils appeared, eventually turning into horrifying black wounds. The flesh within the wounds rotted rapidly, becoming foul-smelling. In just half a minute, the rat became shriveled and black, resembling a rotting corpse that had been dead for days, yet it still convulsed in agony.

Owen watched this scene indifferently, coldly maintaining the erosion of the curse, his mind analyzing it with icy composure. Once this curse is inflicted on a person, it is absolutely worse than death. Even if they survive, they will likely be disfigured, crippled, and become neither human nor ghost; it would be better to be dead.

The curse's greatest effect was clearly torture rather than death; even a rat without magic endured for a full five minutes before finally going still. Owen silently cleaned up the mess, then calmly took his leave.

It wasn't until he was on his way to the auditorium that he began to feel nauseous and disgusted.

He slowly descended the stairs. In the ornate oil paintings hanging beside the stairs, figures in various attire were bustling about. Owen's pensive expression suddenly faltered. He put his hands in his pockets and gently stroked his wand. He then realized that he had felt incredibly at ease while casting dark magic earlier. Most importantly, the malice originated entirely from himself, rather than from the prompting of his dark magic guards as before.

"Is this the change that Dark Magic's transformation has brought me?" Owen tilted his head thoughtfully. The malice seemed to have silently seeped into his nature, more deeply than ever before. He could possess and control the Dark Guardians with his soul, but conversely, weren't the Dark Guardians also subtly influencing him?

If a person can harbor malicious intent anytime, anywhere, and use dark magic freely, is that person evil?

Obviously, yes. Irving immediately came to that conclusion.

"This is the consequence?" Irving muttered to himself, then slowly curled the corners of his mouth into a smile. "I never thought I'd push myself like this."

But at least he succeeded. He was aware of his problems, maintained rationality and a clear understanding of himself, and avoided unintentionally becoming paranoid and insane, never acting irrationally or making baffling decisions. For example, Voldemort's obsessive pursuit of immortality led many dark wizards to become cruel and gloomy, even exhibiting various eccentricities such as being gloomy and sneaky, indifferent to their appearance, and unconcerned about filth…

"Tsk, that's fine then." Owen chuckled. He's always been very resilient, and the current situation isn't unacceptable to him. At least he can assure himself that all the choices he makes are his own, and that malice won't spread endlessly.

The biggest difference between humans and animals is that humans can control their instincts. Irving has always had a moral compass.

"Ha, evil me." He walked slowly into the auditorium, looked at the sumptuous dinner already laid out on the table, but then remembered the rat from earlier... He instantly lost his appetite.

Owen pursed his lips, popped a mint into his mouth, and flipped through the notes he had just taken. He only snapped them shut when Harry leaned over.

"It's time for your confinement," the little wizard said listlessly, showing no curiosity about the notes in Owen's hand.

"I must have been out of my mind to follow the Dean with you..." Draco said, his face also looking dejected.

"Isn't this great? I can learn a lot about Potions by helping Professor Snape." Owen was in a good mood. He was really looking forward to the knowledge and skills that Snape would occasionally share. Hmm, it would be even better if the Potions office were brighter and warmer.

"But you should think about how much homework we have piling up..." Harry said, half-laughing and half-crying. Especially since he himself had to complete the learning tasks assigned by Dumbledore, he felt so busy that he was going to lose his hair.

"Huh? Does doing homework really take a lot of time?" Owen looked utterly bewildered.

Do you think everyone can control a quill pen to automatically do homework like you do? Besides, aren't you just showing off?

The two young wizards exchanged a glance, then reached out to grab Owen's shoulder, only to be dodged by him. Owen strode out of the Great Hall, a playful wink in his left eye: "Sorry, I didn't know this would hurt your young hearts..."

The three of them, bickering and joking, arrived at the Potions Department office. Owen's mood brightened, and he stopped thinking about those messy things.

Under Professor Snape's direction, they dealt with some messy potion ingredients. Harry did the dirtiest and hardest work, while Owen and Draco had it much easier. Clearly, Snape was intentionally punishing the main culprit, and there was also a bit of personal grudge involved.

Harry, who was being targeted, dared not be angry or speak out, and could only obediently do his work until the end of his confinement. Then he sincerely extended his hand to Snape and said, "Headmaster, thank you very much for your guidance just now."

Snape stared down at Harry's outstretched hand, his sallow face contorted with a strange, repulsive expression, as if it were covered in snot. He didn't touch Harry's hand, but simply gestured towards the door behind him. The meaning was clear: Get out.

Harry had just stepped out the door when the Potions office door slammed shut. The three young wizards stood outside, looking at each other in bewilderment, before heading together towards the Slytherin common room.

"You want to verify whether Professor Snape is an Aetherian in disguise?" Owen asked, looking at the decorations above his head with amusement, his hands behind his back.

"Yes, I've checked almost all the students recently and haven't found any lurkers, so those guys can only be impersonating professors." Harry nodded seriously. "And Professor Snape just refused me."

"That's normal, isn't it? The headmaster knows your abilities." Draco glanced at Harry's hand with some envy. "You suddenly found an excuse that anyone could see was suspicious to shake his hand, which shows that you doubt him. I would be angry too if I were in your shoes."

"That's true..." Harry finally realized, "Then what should we do..."

"If you want to get up close and personal with Professor Snape, I have a good idea," Owen said with a mysterious smile.

"What method?" Harry looked at Owen's malicious smile, his lips twitched weakly, knowing that Owen's wicked sense of humor was at it again, but he still resignedly asked.

"Seduction!" Owen looked Harry up and down, gesturing with his hands as he softly said, "Put on a long, deep red wig, speak in a soft, sweet voice, cover your face... just your eyes, then run to the Headmaster and call him Severus affectionately..."

Harry stared at him blankly, while Draco struggled to suppress his laughter.

"Then, while the dean is distracted, you can take advantage of him as you please. Of course, the likely outcome is that the dean will kick you away once he realizes what's happening..." Owen said with a grin. "But paying a little price is worth it, isn't it?"

"Stop messing around, Owen." Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Looks like we'll have to check on the other professors first."

"By the way, what exactly is your ability? What did Dumbledore say about it?" Draco asked curiously.

"Mr. Dumbledore seems to have some suspicions, but he didn't tell me, and he said he didn't know anything about the Aether Society." Harry shook his head gravely, recalling the unprecedentedly serious expression on Dumbledore's face when he heard about the Aether Society. "I didn't want to bother him. You know, Mr. Dumbledore is very busy; he's been elusive these days..."

Owen smiled. He knew Dumbledore had been busy these days, his schedule at Hogwarts very irregular. The last time he arranged for the Aether Society to appear, he specifically chose a day when Dumbledore wasn't at school; otherwise, he wouldn't have dared to be so brazen. As for how he knew Dumbledore wasn't there that day, it was Harry, who had more contact with Dumbledore, who told him…

"Keep it up," he said, offering a somewhat perfunctory word of encouragement.

(End of this chapter)