Chapter 242
"Killing? You mean Ron?"
Devereux interrupted Harry with a frown, a hint of uneasiness in his eyes.
Various possibilities flashed through his mind: Could it be the sequelae of soul fusion, or has this guy already suffered from schizophrenia?
Harry slowly raised his head and looked at Devereaux with confused eyes, as if he was trying to remember something.
His brows furrowed deeply, and after a moment of silence, he shook his head slightly.
"Probably not Ron,"
His voice was hoarse and low, as if there was some kind of remorse, but it was more of confusion.
"I just wanted to test... whether the force could kill someone. So... I was actually doing an experiment on Ron..."
"experiment?"
When Devereaux heard this, his eyes suddenly turned cold, and his emotions were ignited again.
He stood up from his chair abruptly, laughing angrily, with unconcealable anger in his voice.
"Huh? Experiment?"
He repeated with a sneer, his tone full of sarcasm.
"Okay, Harry Potter, you can experiment with Ron now, then it will be Hermione's turn tomorrow? In a few days, will the entire Hogwarts become your testing ground?" ?”
With that said, he strode to Harry's bedside, raised his hand and slapped Harry's messy hair unceremoniously.
"You boy!"
Devereaux growled through gritted teeth.
"Did you feed your brain to a cat or something? Use your friends for experiments? Are you still a human?"
Harry groaned in pain and lowered his head, not daring to look into Devereux's eyes.
His face was pale and his lips were trembling, but he could not utter a word.
At this moment, a light cough came from outside the door, low but majestic.
It was Dumbledore's voice, with a hint of reminder, as if suggesting that Devereaux should calm down.
Devereaux was startled for a moment, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
He silently speeded up the operation of the [Meditation Method], trying to calm his restless emotions.
I have to admit that since he was hit by the [Curse of Anubis], his temper has become much louder than before.
"Damn curse."
Devereux cursed inwardly.
He knew this was because the power of the meditation method had been partially weakened by the curse, making it difficult for him to fully control his emotions as before.
After running for a moment, Devereaux slowly exhaled a breath and opened his eyes.
His eyes were still sharp, but less angry than before.
He sat back on the chair, leaned forward slightly, crossed his hands on his knees, stared at Harry, his tone was cold but with a hint of restraint.
"continue."
Harry raised his head and his eyes stayed on Devereux's face for a moment, as if to confirm whether he had really calmed down.
He was silent for a while, lowered his head, and seemed to be trying to collect his thoughts.
"After I killed that man..."
His voice was low and hoarse, as if it came from deep in his throat.
"Suddenly there were some memories in my mind. I'm pretty sure those are not my memories."
At this point, Harry stopped, his brows furrowed, and his fingers unconsciously clenched the sheets.
His eyes were wandering, as if he was avoiding something.
"That memory..."
He spoke again, but there was obvious hesitation in his voice, as if there were some unspeakable secrets hidden in those memories, making him extremely resistant to recalling them.
Devereaux narrowed his eyes, watching Harry's every little expression.
His intuition told him that those memories might be the key to unlocking the truth, but Harry obviously did not intend to reveal it easily.
"Harry."
Devereaux's voice was deep, with an undeniable power.
"If you want me to help you, tell me everything. Don't hide it."
Harry looked up at him, a trace of struggle flashed in his eyes, his lips moved but no sound came out.
He seemed to be fighting fiercely with himself. Finally, he closed his eyes and let out a long breath.
"Those memories...they belong to Voldemort."
He finally spoke, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.
Devereux stared at Harry with complicated eyes.
He took a deep breath and tried to soften his tone, but finally spoke with a hint of helplessness.
"Harry, if you don't want to talk about this part..."
Before he finished speaking, Harry spoke suddenly, his voice hoarse and rapid, as if it had been torn out from deep in his chest.
"All I could see at first was...in a house...I killed a man. He, wearing glasses, I didn't recognize him, but I felt...I was happy. The happiness was like...just I do this kind of thing all the time!”
Harry's voice was trembling, and there was unspeakable fear and pain in his eyes.
His fingers gripped the sheets tightly, his knuckles turning white from the exertion.
"Then I heard a woman screaming..."
His voice became lower, but each word cut through the air like a knife.
Devereaux frowned, realizing the seriousness of the matter, and tried to interrupt him.
"Harry, wait a minute, you can..."
But Harry didn't stop at all. He seemed to be caught in some terrible memory, completely immersed in it, and continued.
"I... I was very arrogant and felt that everything was under my control. But that woman... She stood in front of me and stopped me. I don't know why, but I seem to have made an agreement with someone... I can't kill her."
He panted, his eyes were blurred, as if he was desperately grasping some broken fragments of memory.
"But... She kept stopping me, making me angry and annoyed. In the end... I still killed her."
Harry's voice suddenly rose, almost roaring, his eyes were red, and the whole person seemed to be on the verge of collapse.
"When she died... She was always protecting a baby, protecting it tightly! She kept shouting... 'Harry, I love you'..."
At this point, Harry's body began to tremble violently, and his breathing became rapid and disordered.
"I don't know... What happened to me, that was... My mother, I killed them with my own hands!"
Deveraux's face became ugly, and his chest seemed to be blocked by something.
He knew very well what Harry was recalling at this moment-the night when Voldemort killed Harry's parents ten years ago.
"Damn it..."
Deveraux cursed in a low voice, looking at the boy in front of him who was almost swallowed by memories with complicated eyes.
But he had to keep his sanity and not be fooled by the other party's temporary performance. What if he was acting?
Voldemort is undoubtedly a master of brain occlusion!
But suddenly, Harry regained his composure, and he used a very small voice.
"After that, I seemed to have mastered new power."
"The power that killed my parents at that time."
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