Almost absentmindedly, Dumbledore raised his wand again, twirled it once in midair, and then caught the crystal goblet that he had conjured out of nowhere.
“I can only conclude that this potion is supposed to be drunk.”
“What?” said Harry. “No!”
“Yes, I think so: Only by drinking it can I empty the basin and see what lies in its depths.”
“But what if—what if it kills you?”
“Oh, I doubt that it would work like that,” said Dumbledore easily. “Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island.”
Harry couldn’t believe it. Was this more of Dumbledore’s insane determination to see good in everyone?
“Sir,” said Harry, trying to keep his voice reasonable, “sir, this is Voldemort we’re—”
“I’m sorry, Harry; I should have said, he would not want to immediately kill the person who reached this island,” Dumbledore corrected himself. “He would want to keep them alive long enough to find out how they managed to penetrate so far through his defenses and, most importantly of all, why they were so intent upon emptying the basin. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes.”
Harry made to speak again, but this time Dumbledore raised his hand for silence, frowning slightly at the emerald liquid, evidently thinking hard.
“Undoubtedly,” he said, finally, “this potion must act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. It might paralyze me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way. This being the case, Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand?”
Their eyes met over the basin, each pale face lit with that strange, green light. Harry did not speak. Was this why he had been invited along—so that he could force-feed Dumbledore a potion that might cause him unendurable pain?
“You remember,” said Dumbledore, “the condition on which I brought you with me?”
Harry hesitated, looking into the blue eyes that had turned green in the reflected light of the basin.
“But what if—?”
“You swore, did you not, to follow any command I gave you?”
“Yes, but—”
“I warned you, did I not, that there might be danger?”
“Yes,” said Harry, “but—”
“Well, then,” said Dumbledore, shaking back his sleeves once more and raising the empty goblet, “you have my orders.”
“Why can’t I drink the potion instead?” asked Harry desperately.
“Because I am much older, much cleverer, and much less valuable,” said Dumbledore. “Once and for all, Harry, do I have your word that you will do all in your power to make me keep drinking?”
“Couldn’t—?”
“Do I have it?”
“But—”
“Your word, Harry.”
“I—all right, but—”
Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. For a split second, Harry hoped that he would not be able to touch the potion with the goblet, but the crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had; when the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth.
“Your good health, Harry.”
And he drained the goblet. Harry watched, terrified, his hands gripping the rim of the basin so hard that his fingertips were numb.
“Professor?” he said anxiously, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass. “How do you feel?”
Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. Harry wondered whether he was in pain. Dumbledore plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once more.
In silence, Dumbledore drank three gobletsful of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward against the basin. His eyes were still closed, his breathing heavy.
“Professor Dumbledore?” said Harry, his voice strained. “Can you hear me?”
Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as though he was deeply asleep, but dreaming a horrible dream. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill from it. Harry reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady.
“Professor, can you hear me?” he repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern.
Dumbledore panted and then spoke in a voice Harry did not recognize, for he had never heard Dumbledore frightened like this.
“I don’t want… Don’t make me…”
Harry stared into the whitened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles, and did not know what to do.
“…don’t like… want to stop…” moaned Dumbledore.
“You… you can’t stop, Professor,” said Harry. “You’ve got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here…”
Hating himself, repulsed by what he was doing, Harry forced the goblet back toward Dumbledore’s mouth and tipped it, so that Dumbledore drank the remainder of the potion inside.
“No…” he groaned, as Harry lowered the goblet back into the basin and refilled it for him. “I don’t want to… I don’t want to… Let me go…”
“Its all right, Professor,” said Harry, his hand shaking. “Its all right, I’m here—”
“Make it stop, make it stop,” moaned Dumbledore.
“Yes… yes, this’ll make it stop,” lied Harry. He tipped the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore’s open mouth. Dumbledore screamed; the noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water.
“No, no, no, no, I can’t, I can’t, don’t make me, I don’t want to…”
“It’s all right, Professor, it’s all right!” said Harry loudly, his hands shaking so badly he could hardly scoop up the sixth goblet ful of potion; the basin was now half-empty. “Nothing’s happening to you, you’re safe, it isn’t real, I swear it isn’t real—take this, now, take this…”
And obediently, Dumbledore drank, as though it was an antidote Harry offered him, but upon draining the goblet, he sank to his knees, shaking uncontrollably.
“Its all my fault, all my fault,” he sobbed. “Please make it stop, I know I did wrong, oh please make it stop and I’ll never, never again…”
“This will make it stop, Professor,” Harry said, his voice cracking as he tipped the seventh glass of potion into Dumbledore’s mouth.
Dumbledore began to cower as though invisible torturers surrounded him; his flailing hand almost knocked the refilled goblet from Harry’s trembling hands as he moaned, “Don’t hurt them, don’t hurt them, please, please, its my fault, hurt me instead…”
“Here, drink this, drink this, you’ll be all right,” said Harry desperately, and once again Dumbledore obeyed him, opening his mouth even as he kept his eyes tight shut and shook from head to foot.
And now he fell forward, screaming again, hammering his fists upon the ground, while Harry filled the ninth goblet.
“Please, please, please, no… not that, not that, I’ll do anything…”
“Just drink, Professor, just drink…”
Dumbledore drank like a child dying of thirst, but when he had finished, he yelled again as though his insides were on fire.
“No more, please, no more…”
Harry scooped up a tenth gobletful of potion and felt the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin.
“We’re nearly there, Professor. Drink this, drink it…”
He supported Dumbledore’s shoulders and again, Dumbledore drained the glass; then Harry was on his feet once more, refilling the goblet as Dumbledore began to scream in more anguish than ever, “I want to die! I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, I want to die!”