Chapter 232: The Obscurus’s Request
On Christmas Eve in 1990, a blizzard enveloped the New Salem Philanthropic Society, thick clouds shrouded the sky, not a ray of light could be seen, and howling cold winds whipped the snowflakes, rattling the glass windows incessantly.
The dreadful weather did not dampen the Christmas evening party atmosphere; the orphanage kitchen had prepared the banquet food early, with freshly baked bread emitting sweet, steaming aroma, and the turkey in the oven having crispy golden skin.
The firewood blazed in the fireplace, dispelling the cold, allowing the nuns to change into dresses indoors, looking radiant, while the gentlemen were equally well-dressed; even when encountering young slaves occasionally, they no longer kept cold faces and would pretentiously pull out a few candies from their pockets, saying amusing things.
“Pickaninny, have you finished your work? Oh, the snow in the yard was cleared by you, very good!” The priest with a scar on his face squatted down, affectionately patting the boy’s face until it was red and swollen, then showing a satisfied smile, “What a good child, Merry Christmas.”
“Then who cleared the snow in front of the door? Who wiped the dining table? It’s our Kuhn…” The priest reached out and twisted another boy’s face until it was red and swollen, then pretentiously gave him two pieces of chocolate.
They all wore collars symbolizing their slave status, which were also means to impede and control them; the entire orphanage had only the two of them wearing collars, because they had already shown the talent for Obscurus, capable of killing and doing things for the gentlemen.
Bastard shrank in the corner behind the curtains; she had done everything her mother instructed, not to run around, to try not to appear before priests and nuns; she also wanted to taste the flavor of chocolate and fruit candies.
She was not as clever as Pickaninny and Kuhn, her age still too young to understand the content of the priests’ and nuns’ classes, only knowing that the magic power flowing in her body was unwelcome, but she did not think it was anything bad.
“Bastard, don’t be greedy; Mother said you can’t appear before the gentlemen and ladies.” She swallowed her saliva, her body shrinking further into the shadows.
Her mother was not a nun of noble status, just a servant needing atonement, working in the kitchen, occasionally bringing back apple peels or breadcrumbs as kitchen waste; she did not know what good food there would be tonight.
The great hall was already filled with many priests and nuns, having changed out of their usual dull, monotonous robes into splendid formal wear and dresses, embracing under the speakers and colored lights, chatting and twirling in dance steps.
When no one was passing by, Bastard slipped out of the room and came to the corridor outside, shivering in the cold wind as she glanced toward the end of the passage; sure enough, her mother was standing there, one hand tucked into her shoddy coat, a smile on her weary face.
“Magic is truly an evil and filthy thing.”
The young priest stood by the great hall window, watching the warm scene of the slave mother and daughter from afar, “The kitchen was left unguarded for less than three minutes due to the Christmas evening party; this lowly slave who consorted with a wizard stole food from New Salem to feed her own child—greedy and selfish.”
“Yes, wizards are like this, Purifiers are like this too; just a little temptation turns them into devils, willing to betray their own kind for gold.” The bishop sat in front of the fireplace, dipping a handkerchief in a transparent potion to carefully wipe the whip, inspecting the thorns and barbs on it, “We of New Salem will purify them; the wizard bloodlines in this church are vile and filthy; under our guidance, they will complete their transformation, converting magic power into a new wondrous power.”
“Pickaninny and Kuhn’s conditions are very stable; the transaction some time ago was successfully completed only because they were present; we need to ensure Bastard completes her transformation smoothly.” The priest stated the sinister plan in a gentle tone, “Punish her mother, make her mother wail in front of her, let her understand that all this is because of the magic power in her body.”
“And make her mother die slowly before her eyes.”
The bishop finished wiping the whip and put on his usual robe.
The two pushed open the door and went out, locking the warm and harmonious festival atmosphere of the great hall inside; snowflakes swirled wildly in the sky, the biting cold wind howled, the slave mother and daughter huddled together, sitting by the vent rubbing against the warm air inside, the girl smacking her lips, savoring the sweetness on her tongue; this moment of beauty seemed to be forever etched in memory.
The footsteps of the bishop and priest caused the two to quickly separate, their bodies trembling slightly, unsure if from fear or cold.
The bishop looked down at the two, at the syrup on the girl’s lips like lipstick, and showed an affable smile:
“Poor lady, lost lamb, your soul has been polluted by magic power, lost in the wilderness of greed and selfishness. Today is Christmas; of course God is willing to forgive you, but are you willing to accept this forgiveness, willing to atone for your sins?”
Bastard knelt on the icy steps, watching her mother bitterly beg for mercy, prostrating to kiss the bishop’s shoes, repeatedly admitting her mistakes, claiming it was all due to the evil magic power controlling her, having nothing to do with Bastard.
Bastard did not understand why they cared about that bit of sugar frosting; there was endless bread and roast turkey, endless red wine and juice, but one accusing and one begging for mercy seemed like a matter of course, convincing her immature young mind.
The bishop believed God’s forgiveness was unconditional, but sinful wrongdoers still had to accept punishment, so he raised the long whip and lashed heavily; the whistle of the whip through the air was like thunder, the priest standing high above, her mother rolling and wailing in the snow, her outer clothes shattered by the whip, blood and white snow melting together.
The gentlemen and ladies in the great hall were still celebrating Christmas; a few young slaves heard the commotion and rushed out, standing by motionless, their faces solemn.
Bastard was the youngest among these slaves; the other children looked a bit older than her, Buck and Winky around 6 years old, Kuhn and Pickaninny 7; they had experienced similar pain, their expressions unmoved at this moment.
Hundreds of miles away, on the fir tree outside Ilvermorny Castle, the White Snake blended with the snow, its pupils silver-white.
……
“The barbs on the whip were soaked in poison, preventing wounds from healing; Bastard’s mother could only work with her injuries and did not survive that winter.”
Pickaninny spoke softly, his face thin and pale, “Bastard became an Obscurus after her mother died.”
No one could imagine what torment such a young girl endured, transforming from an innocent child into a cruel and indifferent weapon; the wizard who should have grown healthily bore heavy sins due to magic power, and under the cultists’ guidance, washed away this nonexistent sin with others’ lives, but that little girl did not fall because of it, finding a new path from despair.
“How did you transform into an Obscurus?” Melvin asked.
“My parents were tortured to death in front of me, just like this.”
“Obscurials generally don’t live past ten years old.”
“I know, because I am already New Salem’s most senior Obscurus, with four months until I turn ten, so I don’t care about the death sentence; my body is filled with uncontrollable power, and when I transform into Obscurus, I always lose consciousness, only instinctively obeying their commands; it’s the tree they planted in my mind, they call it the subconscious.”
Pickaninny knocked on his head, “Bastard hasn’t carried too many murders; we started frequent transfers right after she transformed into Obscurus, as if fleeing someone’s pursuit; we didn’t stay long in Waco before going to Paris, where you caught us.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“I hope you treat Bastard a bit better; her seventh birthday is coming up soon, and she won’t live much longer.”
He stared straight into Melvin’s eyes through the window, gray mist swirling in his pupils, “If you’re worried about her losing control and causing casualties, locking her up is fine too; she’s a girl who’s easy to satisfy and won’t hold grudges against others; please, Professor Levent.”
Melvin felt a momentary daze, a few strands of hair swaying.
In this enclosed underground room, it was as if a faint breeze blew in his face; looking up, it was still that prison flowing with mercury potion, with an open space in the middle; Pickaninny had already collapsed, and no matter how Graves shouted, he refused to communicate further.
……
“Hiss…”
“Woof…”
The young snake looked up at Melvin, trying several languages in succession, but unfortunately Melvin could not understand.
These past few days had been spent rushing around investigating the case; Yurm could only shrink in the emerald to sleep during the day, coming out at the hotel at night to move around; today returning to the hotel late, the young snake had been cooped up in the emerald too long, so anxious it was almost learning human speech.
Melvin stroked the young snake’s head; this cat- or dog-petting method perhaps shouldn’t work on snakes, but this snake had been with Fang too long, picking up dog habits, happily wagging its tail when petted on the head or chin, coaxed in just a few minutes.
Melvin closed his eyes to sense the magic power in his body, suddenly feeling an additional grayish thing; if the Horned Serpent’s gift was cool stream water, the unicorn’s blessing silver-white moonlight, the fire dragon’s gratitude bright blue fire, this thing was like mist.
Like the scene of opening the window on a deep winter morning: gray clouds shrouded the sky, moisture pervaded the earth, thick fog enveloped the forest and castle, damp and oppressive, making it hard to breathe.
Melvin’s heart stirred slightly; perhaps his subconscious thought Obscurus was a wizard, or perhaps he overlooked that Obscurus also counted as a magical creature; he hadn’t expected to harvest their strange power too.
“Is this… an Obscurus’s entrustment?” Melvin said softly.
This was the fourth type of magical creature magic power he had gained, seeming different from the previous ones; he could vaguely sense the differences, as if the previous ones stemmed from positive emotions, while this magic power was ambiguous.
If it was gratitude for salvation, there was no gratitude in Pickaninny’s words.
And the hatred from Fiendfyre burning, his attitude just now seemed indifferent.
Melvin was not yet clear on this magic power’s effect, so he drew his wand and cast a few spells to try his luck: simple elementary spells, the Patronus Charm representing positive emotions, even malicious dark magic and Unforgivable Curses, but none produced special reactions.
“Hiss…”
Yurm coiled on the table watching his performance, curiosity in its silver slit pupils.
Melvin did not dwell too much on the magic power’s effect; such things could only rely on luck, perhaps suddenly activating someday. With no sleepiness in the short term, Melvin simply summoned Voldemort and shared his recent case investigation experiences with him.
“…So that scar wasn’t caused by any dark magic, but an Obscurus, transformed from a young wizard?”
Riddle’s phantom floated above the golden goblet, dressed in a black suit, cheeks slightly sunken, face pale and handsome; frowning in thought, he indeed looked like a professor or scholar.
“New Salem and the Purifiers find young wizards no one cares about, tormenting their bodies and minds to make them despise magic, plus the stimulus of their parents’ death, twisting their souls to mutate the magic power; the Obscurials created this way have destructive power far exceeding ordinary wizards.” Melvin said.
Riddle was silent for a moment, a contemplative expression in his pupils, as if caught in some dilemma.
Voldemort and the Death Eaters revered pure-blood, ultimately still in the wizard camp; the Muggle cultists’ actions disgusted him, but setting that aside, transforming mudbloods and enemies’ descendants into weapons was superior to Inferi in power for Obscurials.
Riddle ultimately shook his head: “They are truly foolish; compared to Obscurials that can only grow to 10 years old, adult wizards can exert greater power; they can control Obscurials and also control grown wizards, gaining more benefits.”
“They loathe magic, they hate magic.” Melvin’s gaze was complex.
“No, it’s not loathing, it’s fear; they fear the unknown, fear power they cannot control, fear existences stronger than themselves.” Riddle said sarcastically, “Muggles are such foolish things; I recognized their ignorance and arrogance early on.”
He said lowly to Melvin, his pupils dilating slightly, recalling distant memories.
Melvin looked into those eyes, suddenly thinking of something, and asked softly: “Then what about you, why do you hate Muggles?”
“I won’t hate lowly insects.”
“Or despise?”
“I won’t despise insects either.”
“You kill them and turn them into Inferi; what’s the difference from the cultists torturing little wizards and turning them into Obscurials?” Melvin raised his eyes, gray mist swirling in his pupils.
Riddle felt himself falling, intense weightlessness enveloping him; he suddenly realized he was not in the Paris hotel room, but on a black rock, below not Hufflepuff’s Goblet but waves crashing on reefs; he remembered a cave among the reefs with a water lake inside, falling in resulting in being devoured by Inferi.
He tried desperately to break out of the illusion, but his illusory soul seemed to gain weight again, unable to escape the cave.
In an instant, thick fog seemed to envelop Riddle’s soul, past scenes floating: an old, dim orphanage, hot summer day, tides crashing on reefs before him, salty damp mist hitting his face; he and the other orphanage children stood on the shore.
The young Tom Riddle was insulted and mocked, not knowing who pushed him, pressing his head into the water.
