Dumbledore had built an obsidian stepped altar on the second floor of the White Tower.
He would borrow the altar's power to call back the soul of the dead.
On the other side of the room, James was checking the magical cauldron one final time, holding a magnifying glass as he stared closely at the fine repair marks on its surface. He did not know he had held that position for more than half a minute, and he had also ignored Sirius's shouting.
"Jim, did you find any problems? Hey, Jim, Jim? Are you listening?"
Sirius's face suddenly appeared before his eyes. After several months of rest and recovery, the prisoner of Azkaban had gained a little flesh on his face, but he was still so thin it made people worry. High cheekbones jutted beneath his waxy yellow skin, as if his skull wanted to come out for some fresh air.
James was startled by Sirius's face, and a vague image flashed through his mind, a cloaked skeleton standing by a river, scythe in hand.
"You scared me, man. You really should eat more. Look at you, you're as thin as a pile of bones."
"You don't need to tell me that. I don't care about any of this. Did you find anything wrong with it? I'm really worried it'll suddenly break."
"It's acceptable. It just has structural flaws… You know better than I do that as long as no external force smashes it, this cauldron should be able to perform its proper function."
"That's good. We'll follow the order, resurrect Miss Ariana first, then James, and Lily last. Hopefully this cauldron can hold out until the end."
James opened his mouth but failed to say anything.
Remus gently touched the withered handprint on the cauldron's surface and murmured to himself, "Speaking of which, how exactly was this cauldron damaged? It looks as though someone struck it. Who could have that kind of strength? A troll, maybe?"
"I don't know." Hidden in James's tone was a fear even he had not noticed. "Whatever it was, that thing was definitely strong."
By the potion workbench in the corner, Snape had been standing quietly at first, but as the final preparations for the ritual neared completion, he began pacing back and forth in agitation, occasionally casting icy glances toward the cauldron from the corner of his eye.
"Those three idiots. I hope their repair work involved more than smearing a little clay over the cracks…"
"Snape, could you stop being so nervous? You're making me feel uneasy too."
Lily sat by the workbench, yawning constantly. She raised a hand and gently rubbed her earlobe. Aside from the exhaustion of sleeplessness, her eyes also held a tangled restlessness.
The old bat snorted. He coughed twice, then said loudly, "I hope everyone remembered to drink Felix Felicis."
"Of course, of course."
Only after making sure he received affirmative answers did Snape finally let out a slight breath. Fine sweat had gathered on his forehead, and his breathing was quick.
"Snape, we all know Felix Felicis can't change fate."
"So what?"
"I'm saying you don't need to be this worried. We've made every preparation we can. What should happen will always happen, and perhaps it has already happened. Praying for luck's favor is ultimately just a way to comfort yourself."
Her words seemed to carry some magic. Snape, who had been restless and confused for two straight days, finally calmed down.
The old bat was probably ill. He sagged weakly beside the table, supporting his head with both hands and burying his face in shadow, not daring to look up.
Lily leaned closer beside him. The scent of shampoo on the witch carried the sunny fragrance of clean soap, and her soft comfort seemed to fall right by his ear like a warm breeze.
"She'll come back."
"I know. I know."
"Snape, have you thought about how you're going to face her?"
"…" The Potions professor could not say a word. It was as if something had lodged in his throat, and he kept coughing softly.
"Don't be like this, Snape. I truly hope you can move on."
"And from what position are you saying these hypocritical words of comfort to me?" Snape's words were mocking, as sharp and unstoppable as his own Sectumsempra, instantly making Lily feel as though her heart had been cut open and blood was pouring out.
She lowered her voice and said emotionally, "That Lily has a husband and a child. Everything you've done for her might not even earn you a single word of thanks. Even so, you still don't regret it?"
Snape raised his head slightly. His viper-like eyes rose from beneath the arch formed by his hands, like two cold moons.
Lily stared back without giving an inch.
Her words were even more like a sharp blade. If she had to wound someone, she would draw blood. If she had to save someone, she would save him completely.
"Don't you hate James Potter most of all? You made the resurrection potion. You're helping your enemy. Even so, you're still willing?"
"Enough." Snape squeezed the word through his teeth.
Looking into his grief-stricken, furious eyes, Lily suddenly softened. She pleaded, "Snape, you didn't wrong Lily. Stop letting these things change you. Stop trapping yourself in pain, all right?"
"You don't know what happened back then."
"I truly don't, because you never tell me."
"This has nothing to do with you. Stop prying." Snape closed his eyes. "All of this is my own doing. It is what I deserve. I don't need her gratitude… I only want her to live."
Lily turned her head away and did not look at Snape again. Her voice was calm as she said, "The ritual is about to begin. I'll take the potion over."
The witch picked up a finger-sized glass vial from the table. Inside was half a vial of scarlet liquid. This was the great work that surpassed the Philosopher's Stone, the resurrection potion.
Lily walked to the cauldron and exchanged a glance with James.
He was slightly surprised, because Lily's eyes were wet.
Lily climbed the wooden ladder to the rim of the huge cauldron, opened the stopper, and poured in the potion.
It was clearly only a tiny glass vial, yet the potion that poured out seemed endless, like a red river.
Only when the cauldron was two-thirds full did the resurrection potion in the vial finally run dry. This amount was enough to resurrect four to six people, depending on the physique and power of the dead.
Grindelwald brought over Ariana's bones.
Lily took the white robe and threw the entire bundle into the cauldron.
The potion boiled. Flesh and blood were reborn.
Dumbledore began the soul-summoning. He spread his arms, raised his wand high, and chanted a long incantation. The air rippled like water, and the altar transmitted his spell toward the distant realm of the dead.
"Ariana Dumbledore, Ariana Dumbledore, return, my sister. Your young soul has stepped beyond the garden. I shall build a bridge for you across the River Styx. The unending cold wind shall not harm your soul, and the sins of the dead shall not be laid upon you. You shall return, pure as the newly born."
The spell took effect.
An icy-blue vortex opened above the altar. Then Ariana's soul drifted over in confusion.
"It worked!"
Everyone in the White Tower was overwhelmed with excitement.
Rumble.
Outside the White Tower, thunder roared.
Bone-piercing frost crept in through the window lattice, silently attacking this group of wizards who had desecrated death.
Along with it came shadows as thick as night, devouring the light like the tide of some solid thing.
When lightning flashed, James was horrified to see a hunched cloaked figure beside him.
He held a scythe. His eyes were like flames. He judged life and death, and ferried departed souls.
The figure sighed faintly. "Wizards, do you know you have committed a grave sin?"
Dumbledore faced him as if confronting a great enemy and stepped in front of Ariana's soul.
"Who are you?"
"I am the weaver of fate. I am the judge of souls. I am the lord and guardian of spirits. I am Death."
Everyone turned pale with shock. Clearly, no one had expected this accident.
James and Lily looked panicked. Both of them had a premonition that sooner or later, Death would find them. They just had not expected that day to come so soon, before they even had time to confess the truth to everyone.
Death looked at the cauldron beside him. "I once shattered this blasphemous object, yet still I could not stop greedy hands from touching the souls of the dead."
His searchlight-like gaze swept over everyone, pausing briefly on the faces of Lily, James, and Grindelwald.
A billion wails drifted from beneath the hood.
"You shall pay the price."
Without revealing anything on his face, Dumbledore reached into the pouch at his waist and gripped Azura's Star. In a deep voice, he asked, "And what price would that be?"
"A soul for a soul. To resurrect one dead person, a living soul must be offered."
"And if we refuse?"
"Then I shall take away those who should not remain in this world." Death's scythe flashed with a cold, ghostly gleam.
An orange-red polished light suddenly flashed in Dumbledore's eyes, and his voice echoed through the empty hall. "Death, forgive us, but we cannot agree."
The wizards gathered behind the Headmaster of Hogwarts, preparing to face Death in battle.
"You choose your own destruction."
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