Chương 49: Metamorphism
Another attempt to make a test subject metamorphic ended in his death. I'm afraid you can't fool Dark Magic: in order to attach something to something, you have to take something from somewhere. And don't forget to receive a gift in the form of necroenergy. Perhaps it's time to stop reinventing the wheel and go back to good old plagiarism. I mean, creative use of life experience. The problem is that, in addition to a living metamorph, something else was required for the work.
What do I need? I need a wizard with a body transformed beyond recognition. Then we can think about how to create a modified body for the magician, which he can consciously control. After that, we can begin conscious, safe self-transformations that do not cause death from old age due to cell division within a few hours after active use of the gift.
And what I get can be called "A Thousand and One Fatal Mistakes in Mastering Animagus." Like horns growing into the head, followed by the destruction of the brain and exiting through the lower jaw. Of course, every cloud has a silver lining—rumor has it that the Lord is even more terrible at torturing than before. But I would sooner destroy all the wizards than achieve a result.
Together with Bellatrix and the Lestranges, I used search spells to look for something to latch onto. Some magical creature that was a wizard, but became something else. Werewolves, vampires—similar, but not exactly. In the end, I managed to find something suitable: the half-forgotten history of the Isle of Drear off the coast of Scotland.
According to legend, two families of wizards lived on the Isle of Drear several centuries ago: the McCliverts and the MacBoons. One day, a drunken brawl broke out between the head of the McClivert clan, Dugald, and the head of the MacBoon clan, Quintius, which ended with Dugald's death. They say that in revenge, the McCliverts surrounded the MacBoon village one night and turned every single one of them into five-legged monsters.
Too late, the McCliverts realized that in their transformed form, the MacBoons were much more dangerous (their usual magical abilities remained, but new ones were added. The animal body turned out to be much more combat-ready, tenacious, and adapted to magic). Moreover, the MacBoons resisted with all their might any attempts to return them to human form. The monsters killed all the McCliverts, and in the end, not a single person remained on the island.
It sounds like a children's fairy tale. But five-legged creatures really exist and have a danger class of XXXXX, like dragons. They are dangerous predators that readily attack people. They are most similar to acromantulas, only with a different head structure, five legs, and the ability to cast spells. I have never seen them myself (and have not looked for them), but, in addition to numerous references in literature, you can find fragments of their bodies on the black market. This is also why Drear Island had to be treated with an Unbearable spell.
Rookwood told how the Ministry tried to catch several specimens. But they did not make contact. Edward Lestrange asked to give Rodolphus more work. And Rodolphus got it—among other things, I ordered him to find Five-legged. Frankly, it was a task from the opera "kill Albus Dumbledore". Imagine my surprise when the next day Rodolphus brought Five-legged. True, only a skeleton.
Everything turned out to be incredibly simple. As a fairly trusted Death Eater, Rodolphus was checking the secret passage to Hogwarts and decided to do an audit of the Room of Requirement. From our point of view, the Room of Requirement was filled with junk: books, brooms, small change. Perhaps for a student of about seventeen this was of value, but for us—not so much. We decided to leave all this as it lay.
The main treasure was not the contents, but the Room of Requirement itself. It was closest to a Muggle smart home system that reads minds, with the addition of an unthinkable level of transfiguration and spatial magic. Unfortunately, it has not yet been possible to copy anything from the structure of the Room of Requirement, other than the most obvious. It was in the Room of Requirement that Rodolphus found Pyatnog's skeleton. The skeleton was just lying there!
Now I sat down to study Pyatnog's skeleton. Soon another original ritual was ready. Naturally, Dark Magic. The idea was simple: you kill a metamorph on an altar made from Pyatnog's skeleton, throw it all into a boiling cauldron, and then climb in yourself. It is impossible to steal someone's magical power, otherwise there would have been one supermage on Earth long ago. Usually, a sacrifice involves either investing energy from a person in one spell or changing the nature of something. Usually yourself.
Copying the features of a body structure, even if you destroy the original, for example, metamorphism, is difficult, dangerous, but quite possible. I couldn't find any ways to steal metamorphism in literature, but I could try... Of course, I doubt I'll get a gift at the level of a donor mage, but I have to start somewhere.
There was, of course, the second option—taking over a metamorph's body, or, in common parlance, possession. But the Dark Lord, who is actually an underage sorceress, is too much. Although the prospect of shouting: "I can't be punished because I haven't reached the age of criminal responsibility" is very tempting. But the psychological effect is not worth the difficulties of implementation and problems with my own magic—I'm unlikely to be able to cast spells at full strength in another body. And training for years... Not the time.
I thought. I really didn't want to try it on myself, but it seems to be relatively safe. This is confirmed by calculations and individual safe elements on prisoners who died from something else. If the changes don't go as planned, the Lestranges will interrupt the ritual. Or Nagini will pull me out of the cauldron. As a last resort, I can interrupt the ritual from the inside.
After discussing the roles with all the participants, we got down to business. The ritual was fairly standard, as standard as High Dark Magic can be. The skeleton of Fiveleg, doused with special potions, put the second metamorph we had (bought abroad). I didn't want to kill Nymphadora Tonks yet—she's a relative of Bellatrix, theoretically this makes her the best metamorph donor for Bellatrix, and I don't care who to use for myself—I don't have any metamorph relatives...
The Lestranges read spells and waved their wands, Bellatrix stabbed the girl with a knife, and then the skeleton of Penteleg and the still living metamorph went into the cauldron. A large cauldron. Swimming with an unconscious half-corpse and the skeleton of a magical creature in a boiling potion is not the most pleasant pleasure. And you have to dive without magical protection and clothes...
Naturally, if I hadn't drunk the Heat Resistance potions and the like, hadn't eaten the gillyweed before climbing into the cauldron, I would have died right there.
I was lying in a cauldron in a potion that periodically changed its color. It was a funny feeling to breathe in liquid. And the potion reacted with my skin too. I felt the mixture penetrating deeper and deeper into my body. Now I was like a statue, washed in green silence. All around me was serenity, peace, and quiet. It was as if I was being carried somewhere by a leisurely current, although I remained in place.
Diffusion was in progress. The mixture had already completely soaked my skin and began to work further, processing the meat and bones. And then I saw that the color of my body was constantly changing along with the potion—green, red, yellow. Slow, latent, silent changes. But completely different changes were happening with the metamorph's body. It was dissolving. The potion was washing away the former flesh, dissolving the bones... Well, I'm glad we didn't confuse the object and the subject of the ritual. Otherwise, it would have been embarrassing...
I wonder what's happening outside the cauldron? I let the softly glowing potion carry me to the surface. Through the surface of the potion, like a fish from under water, I looked at the Lestranges conducting the ritual—they were standing in geometric figures drawn in their own blood, whose outlines melted and changed like drawings on a balloon. As always, my thoughts were racing somewhere else. Maybe James Cook was actually a magician, but he miscalculated something?
I floated in the cauldron, feeling the warmth from below, and thought. The sensations began as from taking Polyjuice. Bones and skin changed like plasticine. Painful, but bearable. But you have to endure and wait until the appearance stabilizes. Half an hour later, I received a signal from those conducting the ritual and climbed out of the cauldron.
Outwardly, I did not change at all. But as soon as I directed the desire to transform to the finger of my left hand, reinforcing it with a crumb of magical energy, the finger began to change. Unfortunately, not at all what I wanted. I just wanted to change the color to black, but it began to turn into something like a branch. "This is bad," I thought, trying to return it to its previous appearance. To my surprise, the finger returned to its previous appearance almost instantly.
"Master, get dressed, and then we will examine how well everything worked out," Edward Lestrange told me. After two hours of diagnostic charms and attempts to use my new power, a preliminary conclusion was ready.
"Master, I'll start with the good news. You really are now a metamorph. It is somewhat reminiscent of self-transfiguration, but the level is much higher, like in animagus, but without being tied to any image. We compared the cells, the number of telomeres in your tissues before and after using metamorphism—you do not age from using the Gift, as it should be with a natural metamorph. But your control over the Gift is... One-sided... If translated into human language—the instincts on how to control the ability were not brought. The only good news is that you can change into your own form at any time you wish."
"But if you want to turn into someone or change the number of joints in your hand, then you have to think about it and concentrate hard, imagining the whole process in detail. And not only the final version has to be viable, but all the intermediate transformations as well. With such an ability, dying in the process is a piece of cake! It's like gutting an animal with telekinesis—decide what to do, and then do it. Repeat separately for the brisket and tenderloin, skin and bones. Want to gut instantly? Then learn the spells. Separately for the duck, separately for the cow... I have the ability to change myself, but I don't have a set of programs for any case. I will have to study each new appearance separately. Make a three-dimensional drawing and memorize it, like an anatomist or a doctor. And if the body is not human, you have to think about the composition of the cells, muscle structures, and so on. It would be easier with a shapeshifting one..."
"Does this mean that I now have to memorize the parameters for each body separately? That's months of work for each incarnation!" I voiced the obvious.
"That is, if the body is human. If you need to change the structure of tissues... For example, red blood cells like a horse... Or if it is a combat body developed by us... Then I'm afraid it will take much more time," Edward answered.
The Lestranges pressed themselves against the walls, trying to become as inconspicuous as possible. As Tom's memory told me, now was the time for a flash of anger. After all, there is a reason: he went for a cow, but bought a cat. Yes, the world is magical. But to make magic work, you need a lot of work. Okay, not so bad.
"Of course, I would like more. But it will do," I answered. "It is not your fault. Thank you all for your service. I will try to learn my first appearance, and you submit new advertisements for purchases."
I thought, why should we chase after things that interest us? Advertisements have already been placed through front men: "I will buy information about the location of the Obscurus." Now there will be new advertisements: "I will buy Pentecostals. Alive or Dead" and "I will buy a metamorph. Alive." If there are so many problems with metamorphosis, it's scary how much effort I'll spend on Horcruxes… In the meantime, I'll begin my first lesson with metamorphosis. Which form should I choose? Albus Dumbledore? Alastor Moody?
I sat down in front of the mirror in the Lestrange house and began laying out photographs of famous members of the Order of the Phoenix. I needed to use the Time-Turner to control combat operations and do other research. The door to the room opened. Bellatrix entered. If you put aside the mad gleam in her eyes, she looked beautiful. I looked into her eyes, using Legilimency. She instantly rolled up her mind protection. What can I say – vulgarity, incredible vulgarity.
"I'm still very far from the initial level of control over metamorphosis. And to this level of control of metamorphosis—the creation of several bodies connected by thin control cords—it's an incredibly long way for me… But the idea is very tempting," I answered, hugging her.
"Perhaps you could spare me a little of your time my Lord?" she suggested.
I never thought I'd say this, but I'm completely satisfied and sick of the taste of these potions. So, I don't want any more. "Maybe we'll go see Nessie and I'll tell you about the stars?" I suggested.
"My Lord, I'd like... some other attention," Bellatrix hinted. My sex life was very specific. Bellatrix clearly had something wrong not only with her head. Apparently, her marital bonds are frantically trying to repay me the marital debt for all these years. With interest. At first, I thought that thanks to the Time-Turner, Bellatrix's day was equal to three to five days for me, and if anyone didn't have enough sex, it was me. How wrong I was!
Then I counted on the potions. In addition to the disgusting taste, some of them can't be drunk all the time, and they are incompatible with some combat compounds. For example, three weeks ago before the fight, I did not drink the Speed Potion because then I would have gotten intoxicated with three ingredients due to a couple of potency drugs. Then I switched to spells. But they seriously reduced the pleasure of the process—as if you were wielding a prosthesis.
As a true Dark Mage, I found a solution: Blood Magic. After all, what is an erection? Filling the cavernous bodies with blood. And with my control... I can proudly say that I quickly learned to use non-verbal, wandless control of my own blood for non-combat purposes. It was the most ridiculous use for a Blood Master that I knew. Although, maybe when you become a Blood Master, you no longer care about sex?
But the problem came from where I did not know. Conditioned reflexes. The mind quickly linked arousal and the use of Blood Magic. That's why when I tore some Auror apart by changing the temperature and volume of his blood, I was horrified to discover a reflex erection. Luckily, no one noticed anything. Despite the promise, I decided not to use Blood Magic during intimacy with Bellatrix anymore.
There was only one hope left—Muggle chemistry. But now everything will be different. I'm a metamorph! What's the best way to approach the problem? I had an idea to make myself a baculum—a bone in the penis, like animals. But I'm not a supporter of large-scale body changes. Besides, then there will be no time left for work. And the fact that Dumbledore will put me in the same cell with Bellatrix is a small consolation. Moreover, a cold floor, bad food, and Dementors do not go well with intimacy.
Although, of course, something can be done. You can change the sensitivity of the nerve endings on your genitals and tweak the stimulus-response connection so that intercourse takes longer for me. I'll just get to Bellatrix's level—she'll be happy, and I won't drink those nasty potions.
"Darling, lie down and undress. I'll do some research now," I said. Once upon a time, I had doubts about whether I was a normal person. But now... War. Magic. Immortality. All this is nonsense; the main thing is to ensure myself a strong erection! Without it, I have no reason to live! It seems I took Albus Dumbledore's words about the power of love too seriously...
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