Chapter 45: On the Brink
On a tranquil Saturday morning in the Hogwarts castle, George was hobbling out of the potion department. He was walking with a limp and was using a stick he'd found near the forbidden forest to support his weight. His robes were tightly wrapped around his body, and his hood shrouded his head in darkness. Just like the Broker from Knockturn Alley, no part of his body could be seen.
George slowly hobbled up the moving staircases, taking one step at a time. The sound of his walking stick hitting the stone steps echoed through the vast open space. His shady appearance would have most likely drawn unwanted attention, but this was not a concern today. The majority of the school was on their way to the quidditch pitch in anticipation of the first match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. This momentous event had partially left the castle abandoned and ripe for George's exploitation.
After a couple of minutes and several rest breaks, an exhausted George made it to the second floor. He never saw nor heard any other student as he made his way into the girl's bathroom. Of course, not everyone was at the quidditch match. He was soon greeted with perhaps the closest thing George had to a genuine friend. Myrtle flew out of her cubical and glided before him. His aloof appearance appeared to only bring her joy as she flew around him.
"Are you trying to look suspicious, or was this dark wizard getup on purpose?"
George slowly lifted his head, "I'm just lookin' the part. I am in Slytherin after all."
Then he lifted his hood, revealing his bald head and pale flaking skin. Some of his teeth had fallen out and his ear lobes had begun to rot away. If it wasn't for the pointy nose, George might have been mistaken for a soon-to-be dark lord.
Myrtle grimaced upon seeing his complexion, "you're looking more dead than most of the ghosts in this castle."
George's cracked lips bleed as he weakly smiled, "that's what I like about you, Miss Warren. You're not one for mincing words."
He continued to drop his walking stick, take off his robes, and remove the leather gloves hiding his shrivelled hands and sharp fingernails. Then he struggled to undo the buttons on his shirt and allowed it to fall to the ground. George ran his nails across his bare torso. Dozens of small chunks of dead skin came away and glided to the floor. The thin layer of skin that remained was a translucent purple colour which easily exposed the black veins underneath.
Myrtle gasped in surprise, "my lord. You didn't tell me it was going to be that bad."
"Yeah… that's kind of why I didn't tell you", said George while pulling another piece of skin off his lower back.
Myrtle frowned, "what are you talking about?"
George pulled the enchanted sack out of his pants and gently dropped it on the ground.
Then he looked back at Myrtle, "I didn't want to worry you."
"What makes you think I'd worry about you?", she said haughtily.
George took off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and proceeded to pull down his pants. His legs looked in even worse condition than his chest. The muscles in his thighs were squirming under his weight and blood was trickling out of his cracked skin. All the walking up and down the castle's many floors was responsible for the damage.
"It doesn't matter. We're here now, and soon I'll be back to normal", George answered while folding his trousers.
Myrtle looked George up and down, "I just want you to know, I think this is a very bad idea. It clearly didn't work last time so why would this be any different."
George kneeled and began pulling various items out of his enchanted sack, "I'll have you know the first try was just a test with a tiny amount of Tentacula juice and the results were quite promising. Today will be the real deal, you'll see. I'll be back to normal in no time."
"Even if it works, it almost definitely will turn you purple", Myrtle added.
George gestured at his decrepit body, "purple skin is still better than no skin."
"Fair enough."
George finished pulling out the fruits of the past weeks' labours. There was; one jar of the as for mentioned crystal clear Tentacula juice, a thin glass vial of poison antidote made from a stolen bezoar, and a bubbling red liquid spitting out of a wooden bowl. To initiate his recovery, George picked up the bowl and held the rim against his lips. After taking a deep breath, he began pouring the volcanic red liquid down his neck.
Counter to the appearance of the boiling liquid, George experienced an explosion of painful icy cold filling the core of his chest. It felt like he was drinking a pint of liquid nitrogen. The outer lining of his throat was quite literally freezing, and his heart rate slowed down to a crawl. Regardless of how uncomfortable he was feeling, George drank every last drop before casting the empty bowl aside.
"Well, that wasn't a very clever idea. Weren't you only meant to drink a teaspoon of that?"
George breathed out a plume of ice-cold fog before responding, "I can't afford to take any chances. I only plan on doing this once."
What George had just drank was a special version of a potion specially used by professional quidditch Beaters. It was first brewed two hundred years ago to help temporarily heal wounds while strengthening the body for the duration of the game. Whilst under the effects of this potion, a Beater could be hit by a Bludger, fall four stories off their broom, and still walk away with just a few cuts and bruises.
George had just drank ten times a normal dose, and he could already feel the itchy healing sensation intensifying all over his body. Whether it be his fractured bones, torn ligaments, pulled muscles or cracking skin, the healing potion was working its magic at an unbelievable pace.
He bent over and picked up the jar of Tentacula juice, "now for the really uncomfortable part."
Although the juice appeared no different than water, the consistency was more like honey. This was due to the days of distilling George had conducted to make the poison as pure as possible. Whereas the normal juice is non-lethal, a drop of George's refined version would stop his heart in under a minute. All the while, it will eat through his muscles like acid and dissolve his bones into mush.
Of course, Myrtle wasn't aware of this fact. He doubted she would have agreed to help him if she'd known the legitimate danger of this hazardous treatment. As far as she was concerned, this was just a little silly experiment George was conducting before he sought real medical attention from Pomfrey.
George pulled his alarm clock out of his discarded robes and set the timer to activate in two minutes. Then he put the clock on the ground and stuck one of his shrivelled-up fingers into the jar of poison. George scooped a blob of refined Tentacula juice onto his pointy fingernail. He could probably kill ten men with the amount on the tip of his finger. After one last check to see if he'd forgotten anything, George plunged his fingernail into his chest.
His nail easily pierced his tender flesh and successfully inserted a good portion of juice. In quick succession, George repeated this stabbing process over and over again across most of his body. He made sure not to miss any of his muscle groups, every part of his body needed to be exposed to the poison. By the time he made it down to his feet, George was starting to feel dizzy. He turned back to Myrtle while barely managing to keep his eyes open.
"Did… Did I miss anywhere?", he stuttered with a numb tongue.
Myrtle shook her head, "you didn't."
George faintly smiled, "oh good. I think I better sit down before…"
He suddenly lost the feeling in his legs and slumped to the ground. He dropped the jar on the way down, and it rolled under one of the cubicles. George looked down at his body and saw all of his veins bulging on the surface of his skin. The veins were slowly beginning to turn an even darker purple. Then came the heat so hot that it almost tricked him into thinking he was about to transform.
Knowing this reaction meant his time was short, George dragged himself over to the vial with the antidote. He picked it up off the ground and placed it into his mouth with shaking hands. George made sure to lodge the vial between his molars before lying on his back. While staring up at the bathroom ceiling, all he could do now was wait and hope for the best. At around the point where George could no longer feel anything below his neck, Myrtle flew over the top of him.
She stared down at him with a sinister grin, "you know, ghosts wear what they died in. So if you die, you'll come back in nothing more than your underwear. Wouldn't that be fun?"
George's only response was to weakly twitch his lip since he could hardly move. The poison had made its way to his head, he couldn't even move his eyeballs to look away from Myrtle. Now George could neither feel warmth nor cold, he was completely numb. It was fair of him to assume that the poison had overpowered the quidditch healing potion and was moments away from stopping his heart. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Myrtle waving goodbye and gliding out of view.
After around a minute of waiting in the void, an all-to-familiar bolt of electricity flowed through George's limbs. His whole body convulsed on the floor, and his jaw clenched shut. The vial inside his mouth shattered, and the antidote naturally flowed down his throat. A few seconds later, another shock flowed through George's body and kick-started his incredibly slow heart rate into a normal rhythm.
George's eyes shot open as he took a massive gulp of air. The majority of the glass shards had fallen to the back of his throat, instantly causing him to start coughing violently. A mixture of blood, glass and antidote was vomited up as George lay limply on his side. Once his airways were clear, he desperately reached into his enchanted sack and pulled out yet another vial. This one was labelled 'In Case of Emergencies' and was full of an orange liquid. He quickly uncorked the bottle and downed it in one.
After a brief but acidic aftertaste filled his mouth, George suddenly felt a massive burst of energy. His heart started to beat like a hummingbird as he shot to his feet and began panting franticly. George finally felt like his brain had rebooted as he analysed his environment and remembered what he was doing. That whole experiment had brought him far closer to the brink of death than he'd anticipated. Without that Invigoration potion, the shock to his weak body might have made him lose consciousness again.
"Did it work?"
George turned around and saw Myrtle watching him from atop the pillar of sinks. Since she asked, he looked down to see all his veins bulging unnaturally. The dark purple had spread to all of his muscles, making him look like an alien. As unusual as he may appear, this was the outcome George had been hoping for. He could already feel his body recovering at an unprecedented rate. His former strength was returning to him with every passing second.
Instead of answering Myrtle, George fell forward and performed a handstand. Then he proceeded to perform several pushups at an accelerated rate. For the first time since Halloween, he didn't feel any pain or discomfort. And more importantly, his muscles weren't tearing themselves apart anymore. After completing a dozen in quick succession, George walked on his arms toward Myrtle and threw himself back onto his feet once he was in front of her.
"I'm back to normal, Miss Warren."
Myrtle smirked, "I wouldn't be so sure. You should look in a mirror."
A little confused, George walked passed the smug-looking ghost and stared at himself in one of the pillar's mirrors. His skin's vitality as well as his hair and eyebrows had returned, but with one caveat. Like his throbbing veins, his hair had turned dark purple. None of the documentation he'd read referenced anything other than the poison victim's skin changing colour. Therefore, George had only prepared potions to alter the colour of one's skin.
George wasn't too fussed, "it's fine. I can just brew up a potion to fix it. I should have the ingredients on hand."
Myrtle flew over the window and looked outside, "well, about that. Didn't you say you wanted to watch the quidditch game today? The one between Gryffindor and Slytherin."
"Yes, that's right. What about it?"
She turned to George with a wicked grin, "I think it's already started."
George ran to the window, "no… that can't be right."
Myrtle wasn't lying, George could just about see the red and green players flying around the pitch. He checked his watch only to have his doubts confirmed. The game wasn't meant to start for another fifteen minutes. He'd been very careful to ensure his timing was impeccable, and he'd checked the match's schedule repeatedly. George turned back to Myrtle, his expression was screaming for an explanation.
Myrtle shrugged her translucent shoulders, "sometimes they start the games early. I don't know why."
Regardless of the reason, George couldn't afford to waste any more time here. It looked like the first proper test his repaired body was going to get was in the field. George quickly dashed over to his clothes and began putting them back onto his body. His recovered strength was back in full force as he accidentally ripped his trousers and broke a button off his shirt in the mad rush.
Myrtle flew over to him, "you're still going, are you? You'll never make it in time."
"Just you watch, Miss Warren", George said while throwing his robes over his back.
Then he picked up his enchanted sack before looking at the disorder he'd made. It was an absolute mess of smashed vials, spilt potions and coughed-up blood. There was no way he could afford to clean up and still make it to the game.
George bowed at Myrtle, "I swear I'll be back to clean this mess", before running out of the bathroom.
He could faintly hear the sound of Myrtle moaning as he downed another potion bottle and ran towards the moving staircases.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone