Chapter 93 The Rose and the Snake 33

Voldemort's body stiffened suddenly as if struck by an invisible lightning bolt.

The cold touch of the brand, mixed with the sweet scent of roses and honey from Abraxas' fingertips, as well as the naked sarcasm in his words that pointed directly at the essence of symbiosis and... a hint of indescribable, morbid temptation, were like the strongest catalyst, instantly igniting the pleasure and possessiveness caused by the mutated truth serum (love poison?) in his mind to the extreme.

"Ugh..." A broken moan containing suppressed extreme pleasure and pain leaked out uncontrollably from Voldemort's clenched teeth.

His scarlet pupils instantly dilated and blurred, as if covered by a layer of pink mist.

His body leaned forward slightly uncontrollably, his hot breath spraying on Abraxas's burning forehead. His left hand, which was pinching the other's neck, completely loosened, and instead, like a drowning man grabbing a piece of driftwood, he suddenly grabbed Abraxas's cold wrist that was covering his brand.

The force was so great that it almost crushed his wrist bones.

Abraxas felt a sharp pain in his wrist, but a cold, almost triumphant glimmer flashed in the depths of his gray-blue eyes.

He allowed his consciousness to completely sink into the deeper hallucination and weakness brought about by the mutated drug, as if the moment of clarity and the provocative words just now had never happened.

The skin beneath his fingertips was metallically cool, a sharp contrast to the burning heat of his palm.

Voldemort's knuckles turned white from the force, as if he wanted to embed the biting coldness along with the other's wrist into his own bones and blood.

The cold touch seeped in through his fingers, and the collision with the burning temperature of his palm caused a slight shudder.

Voldemort could clearly feel the convex curve of the other's wrist bone, like a twig frozen hard by the cold, trembling slightly under his grip.

Voldemort could clearly feel the convex curve of the other's wrist bone, like a twig soaked in cold air, slightly warming under his grip - that was the mark left by the warmth of his palm.

He could even hear his own heavy breathing, mixed with the other person's almost inaudible breath, interweaving into a sticky web in this cramped space.

Abraxas' arms trembled slightly, but there was no sign of struggle. The trembling was as fine as the flame of a candle in the wind. It was more like some kind of secret response than resistance.

This strange sense of synchronization was like a fine needle that pierced the taut string in his chaotic consciousness, causing the chill at the brand and the heat in his body to suddenly surge even more violently.

The coldness at the brand seemed to have taken root, spreading along the blood vessels to every part of his body, but was pushed back again and again by the surging heat in his body. The two extreme sensations repeatedly tore under his flesh, causing him to unconsciously increase the strength of his fingertips.

Abraxas' body gradually softened, his tense muscles completely relaxing, leaving only his wrists, which were held by him, in a passive position.

Abraxas' wrist bones were pinched until they made a slight sound. His originally gray-blue eyes were now completely covered with mist. His eyelashes trembled, but eventually drooped weakly. His whole body seemed to have been drained of all its strength, and he leaned completely on his palm.

The pulse under his fingertips was so weak that it was almost imperceptible, but it beat like a drum on Voldemort's tense nerves.

He could clearly feel the weight of the body in his palm gradually increasing, from the initial stiff resistance to the complete relaxation and dependence at this moment.

Abraxas's hair was wet with cold sweat, sticking to his pale skin, rising and falling gently with his weak breathing. A few strands of hair brushed against the back of Voldemort's hand, bringing a strange itch, which made him unconsciously loosen his grip on the other's wrist.

He looked at Abraxas's face, which had fallen into coma again, his breathing weak but steady, and at the thorn brand on his wrist, which was pulsating slightly due to the other's touch and seemed less painful... an unprecedented, chaotic and dangerous emotion surged in the depths of his scarlet pupils.

At this moment, Abraxas' pale lips, stained with rose petals, moved slightly unconsciously in his coma, and he uttered an extremely weak, dreamlike murmur:

"Crown...Crown...Ravenclaw...Tower...House of Requirement..."

"Golden... cup... He... Chippachi... shrine... goblin... guard..."

"The diary... Marvolo... Gaunt... the old house... under the floorboards..."

"Hanging... Locket... Cave... Lake... Inferi... Poison..."

Every word was like thunder, exploding in Voldemort's mind.

The location of the Horcrux! So clear! So accurate!

Voldemort's pupils constricted in extreme shock! The truth serum took effect?!

After mutating into a love poison, it actually took effect during the other person's dream mumbling while they were unconscious?!

Ecstasy instantly seized him!

He immediately held his breath, his scarlet eyes like the most sophisticated recorder, fixed on Abraxas's moving lips, greedily capturing every broken syllable!

However, Voldemort did not notice that in the corner of the room, under the shadow of the heavy curtains, an extremely tiny magic quill pen, as thin as a brass key, was silently floating, and the tip of the pen was dancing wildly in the void.

Every key word of Abraxas's dreamlike Horcrux, along with Voldemort's ecstatic and focused profile at the moment, were recorded without missing a single detail in a suspended memory crystal!

At the end of the quill was a nearly invisible magical thread that extended out the window—it was the spying tool remotely controlled by Minister Millicent!

What made him ignore was that, from the fingertips of the unconscious Abraxas's wrist, which he was holding tightly, a very weak, yet pure and cold silver-grey magic thread, like a living poisonous snake, was silently sliding along the place where their skin touched, penetrating deep into the thorn mark on Voldemort's wrist, like a deeply buried... detonator!

Abraxas's mumbling grew fainter and fainter, and finally fell silent.

Voldemort still held his wrist tightly, his scarlet pupils flashing with ecstasy and cold calculation as he obtained key Horcrux information.

He was completely unaware of the quill in the shadows that recorded everything, nor of the magical thread that seeped into the brand.

Outside the window, in the distant office of the Minister of Magic, Millicent looked at the images recorded in the memory crystal and the key words of the Horcrux uttered by Abraxas, and a twisted and fanatical smile appeared on her wrinkled face.

His cloudy old eyes sparkled with brilliance, and his skinny fingers stroked the ecstatic profile of Voldemort in the crystal, as if stroking the most precious prey.

"Horcruxes... Gaunt's house... the cave... the Inferi..." He whispered softly, like a venomous snake spitting out its tongue, "Riddle... your secret... has finally fallen into my hands..."

He picked up another communication crystal, inputted magic power, and spoke to the other end of the crystal in a cold yet excited voice:

"Headmaster Dumbledore... I think we have found the Dark Lord's Achilles' heel..."