The third section of the book was an auxiliary report to the second—an in-depth study of the essence of Horcrux magic, starting from the phenomenon known as the Power of Death. After forcing himself to read through it despite the discomfort it caused, Avada finally understood why Professor Baker had said that he "didn't need to use such an evil method to create a Horcrux."
The so-called "splitting the soul through murder" was, in essence, a process that borrowed the Power of Death generated at the instant a victim died. At the moment the victim's soul was drawn away, a portion of the caster's own soul was torn free as well. Because the caster's main soul was still protected by mental strength and vitality, the severed fragment would not be taken by the Power of Death. Instead, it would remain anchored in the world.
According to analyses of mental structure, a "malicious murder" produced a very specific state of mind—one in which a portion of the mental energy adjacent to the soul's core became extremely fragile. Only under those conditions, and at sufficiently close range, could another surge of the Power of Death tear the soul apart. This was why the earliest versions of Horcrux creation required murder fueled by malice, and why the magic gained its infamous reputation as the darkest of all spells.
Once this principle was deciphered, however, it became possible to design an alternative meditation method that bypassed the requirement of "malice" entirely—and even the condition of "killing" itself. In theory, simply standing beside someone on the brink of death while circulating this meditation technique would allow one to use the Power of Death released at that moment to split one's own soul.
After finishing the entire third section, Avada closed the book at once, deciding not to read any further for the time being.
The knowledge it contained was still difficult for him to fully comprehend, and forcing himself to study it now would take too much time, potentially interfering with his main objectives. More importantly, the content itself made him instinctively reluctant to keep reading. Rationally, he knew that knowledge itself was innocent, and that the guilty researchers had all been arrested by Professor Baker—but emotionally, that sense of repulsion was not something he could simply overcome.
"Hoo…"
Avada took a deep breath, steadying his emotions. Only then did he pack up his things and leave the Room of Requirement, heading straight for the kitchens. He planned to get something sweet to lift his spirits—though an Euphoria Elixir would have worked better, it was like alcohol: drink too much and you'd get addicted. Besides, his condition wasn't that bad yet…
As usual, he made his way with practiced ease to the painting beside the Hufflepuff Common Room. He gently tickled the green pear in the painting. The pear let out a soft chuckle, then swelled outward, transforming into a door handle. Avada turned it and pulled—
"Careful—put your gloves on!"
"Don't touch the syrup while it's still hot… it's awful if that stuff sticks to you!"
"Milk! Does anyone still have extra milk?"
"We're out of fruit vinegar too… wait a moment, I'll go tap some more from the barrels."
"Summers, come take a look—this oven seems to be acting up…"
The moment the door opened, Avada was greeted by a scene of bustling activity. Hufflepuff students were working side by side with house-elves in the kitchens—some carrying ingredients, others mixing rows of bottles and jars, and still others watching cauldrons and ovens with intense focus.
"What's going on here?" Avada asked blankly.
"Obviously, it's Halloween!"
The student who had been heading toward the barrels to fetch vinegar stopped in surprise when he heard the question. "You forgot? Tomorrow's Halloween. We're preparing desserts for the feast. Normally this is the house-elves' job, but Professor Sprout always allows students who are interested—and have the time—to make their specialty dishes for everyone's table. Excuse me."
After Avada stepped aside, the student jogged over with a large bucket and knocked at several barrel lids at random. The next instant, one lid burst open, splashing a pale yellow liquid into the air—only for it to be caught mid-spill by a spell and neatly poured into the bucket. The technique was smooth and practiced.
"Lucky me—it's apple cider vinegar."
He sniffed the bucket, nodded in satisfaction, then turned to Avada. "Want some? Apple cider vinegar actually tastes pretty good on its own."
"…Thank you."
Avada lifted a small mass of vinegar with his wand, skipped the cup entirely, and—like an astronaut—separated a floating glob and tossed it straight into his mouth. The sweet-and-sour taste made him shiver, instantly clearing his head. His foul mood began to fade.
"Do you still need help? I can lend a hand."
"That'd be great—we really need someone to help with the syrup over here…"
"Excuse me—sorry to interrupt. Is Ken here?"
Avada turned to see a first-year standing timidly at the kitchen entrance, craning his neck to peek inside.
"That's me. What is it?" Avada replied, excusing himself from the older student.
"Professor Quirrell asked me to pass along a message. He said that if you're free, you should go to his office."
"I understand, thank you. Want a sip of apple cider vinegar?"
…
After the student ran off, hopping from foot to foot after being thoroughly soured, Avada tossed the last small glob of vinegar into his mouth. As he walked out, he pondered why Quirrell—or Voldemort—would be looking for him at a time like this.
"During Halloween… something happened around then, didn't it?"
It had been a full twelve years since he'd last read Harry Potter. While he still remembered most of the major plot points and settings, he was hazy on the month-by-month timeline.
"Still, by the plot's logic, the first term is already halfway through. Some major events should be coming up—Snape getting bitten by a dog, the troll attack, a Quidditch match…"
"But none of that has anything to do with me, right?"
Shaking his head in confusion, Avada arrived on the third floor and knocked on the Defense Against the Dark Arts office door, immediately activating Occlumency.
Creak—
A few seconds later, the door slowly opened, revealing Quirrell's gentle smile—and a mind still dominated by Voldemort's dark-golden mental presence.
"Professor Quirrell, you wanted to see me?"
Avada stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
"You came quickly."
Voldemort gave him an approving glance and pulled out a chair, gesturing for him to sit as usual. "I asked you here because I need your help with something."
"Help you?"Avada's heart skipped a beat, but he asked eagerly, "Is there anything I can do for you, Professor?"
"Of course."
Voldemort nodded in satisfaction. Legilimency was still taxing for him in his current state, and after thoroughly examining Avada's mind earlier, he rarely used it on him anymore.
He opened a desk drawer and took out a small paper box, barely larger than an eraser. "I want you to place this box in the dungeon classroom during tomorrow's Halloween feast. Make sure it's well hidden—and don't tell anyone."
"May I ask why, Professor?"
"Tomorrow is Halloween, after all," Voldemort said with a smile. "As a professor, I'd like to give the students a little surprise. And surprises, naturally, must be kept secret."
"I understand. After I've placed the box, what should I do?"
"Just return to the feast. Nothing else concerns you."
"Understood… is there anything else, Professor?"
"No, you may go. Ah—one more thing. As a reward for helping me, after Halloween, I'll teach you some far more interesting magic in class. Some of it will even be spells I developed myself."
"Thank you, Professor!"
Avada left the Defense Against the Dark Arts office looking delighted. The moment he looked down at the small paper box in his hand, however, his expression twisted—and the last traces of good mood from the apple cider vinegar vanished completely.
Inside was a sleeping troll.
(End of Chapter)