Chapter 61: The Astral Revelation
"Elian! What are you doing?!" Harry shouted, horrified, as he saw Dumbledore's body crumple to the floor. He scrambled for his wand, all previous hatred forgotten in a surge of protective panic.
Elian didn't glance his way. His focus was on the figure now standing before him—a translucent, shimmering image of Albus Dumbledore, looking down in astonishment at his own prone physical form.
To Harry, it looked as if Elian had struck the Headmaster dead. He dropped to his knees, checking for a pulse. Relief flooded him—Dumbledore was breathing, but unconscious, utterly unresponsive.
"Stop the noise!" Elian's voice was sharp, cutting through Harry's panic. "He's fine. You'll understand in a moment."
Harry tried to protest, but the words died in his throat, choked by the sheer strangeness of the scene.
Elian studied Dumbledore's astral form. This was his first time using the advanced projection on another person. The sensation had been like tapping a hard shell to release the soft essence within—the physical body was the shell, the spirit the vital core now freed.
Dumbledore's spirit—a luminous, white-silver phantom—hovered just above the ground, gazing at his translucent hands with profound shock.
"Is this… a ghost? No… ghosts are different. This is… the soul? You've separated my soul from my body?" Dumbledore's voice, when it came, was the same, but echoed faintly, as if from a distance. He floated closer to Elian, his expression one of awe and intense curiosity. "What manner of magic is this, Elian?"
Elian allowed himself a small, enigmatic smile. "I told you, Headmaster. My abilities extend beyond the magic you know. What you're experiencing now is one of them." He gestured toward Harry, who was still crouched by Dumbledore's body, utterly blind to the spectral conversation happening above him. "Harry cannot see you. Your state is… similar to the sentient memories magic can sometimes create, but not the same."
Dumbledore fell silent, his brilliant mind racing to process the impossible. The initial shock subsided, replaced by deep, solemn thought.
"Why show me this?" Dumbledore asked finally, his tone grave. "You guard your secrets closely. There was no need to reveal this power to me."
It was the central question. Why expose such a monumental secret? Dumbledore saw the calculation behind Elian's calm eyes. This was not a reckless act; it was a deliberate demonstration.
Elian met his gaze, the golden light of the fading mandalas still flickering around his fingers. "Why not? I trust you. And we share an enemy. Voldemort has marked me. The enemy of my enemy, as they say."
It was a perfect, non-answer. It revealed nothing of his true motive—the System's mission. Dumbledore recognized the deflection but also the underlying truth: this was a display of power. A statement that Elian Thorne was not a child to be protected, but a potential ally—or a formidable variable—to be reckoned with on equal terms.
"I see," Dumbledore murmured, his spectral form glowing softly. "No wonder five Death Eaters were no match for you. You are… far more than you appear." He hesitated, then spoke with renewed purpose. "Elian, would you consider joining the Order of the Phoenix? We are an organization dedicated to fighting Tom Riddle and all he stands for."
Elian pretended to consider it. The Order? He had no interest in being a foot soldier in Dumbledore's army. He had his own path to walk, dictated by the System.
"Perhaps another time," he said, dismissing the offer politely but firmly. He then looked from the astral Dumbledore to the confused, frightened Harry on the floor. "But first, Headmaster… aren't you curious why I asked Harry to stay?"
He turned his full attention to Harry Potter, whose scar was still livid on his forehead. "The connection you share with Voldemort is more than a curse scar, Harry. It's a parasitic link. And through it, we can see what he sees. We can prove what he has become."
Elian raised his hands again. "With your permission, Headmaster, I will use the astral link not just to show you Harry's soul, but to trace the tainted thread back to its source. I will show you the fragmentation. I will show you the Horcrux."
The word hung in the air, silent and terrible. Dumbledore's spirit recoiled as if struck. Horcrux. The darkest of magics. The final, horrifying confirmation of his deepest fears about Voldemort.
"Proceed," Dumbledore whispered, his voice thick with dread and a terrible, necessary resolve.
Elian nodded. The real work was about to begin.
(End of Chapter)
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