Chapter 156. Snape's Condition?
As her bond with the magical creatures grew closer, Kiana gradually walked out of the shadow of pain.
Riding a Thunderbird and soaring across the sky, she spread her arms and stroked the white clouds.
She bounced on a web woven by Acromantulas and specially treated by Olivia.
She went exploring at the bottom of the lake with a Kelpie, weaving through the water grass and chasing the fish that flickered away.
...
Everything was so much fun that her life was filled with joy, and she almost forgot the suffering she had once endured.
Each day she fell asleep the moment she hit the bed, and even when she dreamed of those things at night, the corners of her mouth rose.
Going to play in Duncan's case became the thing she looked forward to most every day.
Meanwhile, elsewhere.
Albus Dumbledore received a letter delivered by owl and hurried off with Newt and the others to investigate elsewhere.
From Duncan he had learned that those wizards might be researching primordial magic.
But they had failed to prise open the prisoners' mouths to obtain more concrete information.
Because those wizards bore a truly horrifying curse.
Whenever an outsider touched upon the secrets in their hearts that could not be spoken, the curse would be triggered.
Those wizards would suffer torment that was appalling to behold.
At first their skin would crack like a spider's web, and viscous brown liquid would seep from the seams.
That liquid seemed corrosive; wherever it flowed, it hissed and steamed, spreading a foul odour.
Only when the wizard's life was taken by the curse—flesh melting away until only stark white bones remained—would everything cease.
Dumbledore fretted over this as well, and although he tried many methods, he could not lift the curse.
So he could only lock those wizards in Newt's case for the time being, to be dealt with later.
After Dumbledore and the others left, the house that had felt a little crowded became empty.
Only Duncan, Tina, Olivia, Kiana, and the Potions Master Severus Snape—who had plunged into a frenzy of research—remained.
To become the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, he had all but given everything.
From the first day of brewing, Snape stepped into the office and did not come out again.
Apart from the moments when he delivered ingredients and collected potions, Duncan had not seen Snape again.
He even feared Snape would drop dead in the room, and he did not know whether Snape's potion would be able to save him then.
A gust of cold wind blew over, and Duncan shivered, at once putting away his stray thoughts and pulling his collar tight.
He quickened his pace and trotted to catch up with Olivia ahead.
Thanks to the efforts of the surviving residents, the streets piled with rubble had been levelled and covered with thick white snow.
Many wizards' little courtyards were swept clean and tidy; trees were wrapped with colourful streamers and jingling bells.
The Christmas atmosphere descended upon this ordinary little town as it always did.
The residents stepped out of their grief for the time being, mustered their courage, and turned their eyes once more towards the far horizon of life.
"Good morning, Duncan!"
A burly man who was clearing snow in his yard looked up and greeted Duncan with a smile.
His name was Leiden Smith, his face was covered with a full beard, his arms were as thick as Duncan's thigh, and his voice was gruff.
He was Olivia's neighbour and a warm-hearted man willing to help others.
And, as an American, his cooking was unexpectedly good; he often brought Duncan and the others some delicious dishes.
Putting cooking aside, Leiden's temperament was quite similar to Hagrid's.
If the two knew each other, they might become good friends.
"Good morning, Mr Smith!" Duncan said with a smile.
"Have you developed any new delicacies lately?"
"Haha!"
"The day before yesterday, inspired by you, I studied for quite a while after I got back and finally roasted a leg of lamb that turned out pretty well."
"I'll bring it over for you to try in a bit—give me your thoughts and see how I can improve it!"
"No problem, I'll save room and wait for you!" Duncan replied.
Though he couldn't cook, he had rich experience eating, and the ideas he burst out with often collided with Leiden's into marvellous sparks.
They walked along the bluestone path buried in white snow, passed through a small courtyard ringed by low shrubs, pushed the door, and entered the house.
The biting cold and ice were blocked outside by the closing door, and the heat from the blaze in the fireplace rolled over them.
Duncan set the basket of groceries on the floor, took off his heavy wizard's robe, shook off the snow left on the surface, hung it on the rack at the side, then huffed a few misty white breaths to warm his stiff hands, and called out, "Grandma, we're back!"
"All right, bring the things into the kitchen and I'll fix you something nice," Tina's voice floated over from not far away.
"Coming right away!" Duncan answered, ready to carry the baskets over with Olivia.
"Duncan Scamander!"
A low, hoarse voice like a demon's roar came from the corridor to the side.
Gooseflesh rose on Duncan's skin in fright, and he instinctively wanted to draw his wand and lob a Lava Bomb in that direction.
Fortunately, he caught himself in time, lowered the hand at his waist, and turned to look.
Snape was striding over in a hurry; the floorboards could barely withstand his rough steps, creaking and groaning.
When Snape drew a little closer, Duncan narrowed his eyes to observe Snape's condition.
His face was sallow, and dark rings hung under his eyes, as though someone had just punched him twice.
His greasy hair hung in a messy drape to his shoulders; after being raked by his hands, it had taken on a peculiar shape.
A tuft stuck up here, a whorl stood there—what it accentuated was a kind of carefree wildness, untamed and unrestrained.
And his body was wreathed in a strong, acrid stench brewed from a mixture of various ingredients.
Duncan held his breath on instinct and asked tentatively, "Professor, are you all right?"
Snape's state was indeed worrying to behold; Duncan could almost see Death hefting a scythe and brandishing it behind him.
"N—no problem..." Snape forced out a few words from his rasping throat; it sounded like someone was sawing wood inside his mouth.
Duncan wanted to ask more, but Snape's hand clamped onto his arm like an iron vice and yanked hard the other way.
"Ow—ow, Professor, easy!" Duncan sucked in a breath.
"Where are you taking me?"
"The case, now!" Snape said with difficulty, his eyes flashing with excitement and agitation.
Only then did Duncan notice the glass bottle in the side pocket of Snape's robes, inside which a pale green liquid sloshed.
A thought flashed through his mind and he asked quickly, "Professor, did you succeed?"
Snape dipped his head slightly; his expression did not change much, but the corners of his mouth could not help but lift, and his eyes shone with pride.
"Ha, you're brilliant?!" Duncan said happily.
"I'll take you into the case right now!"
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