Harry's voice was low and hoarse, every word seeming squeezed from the depths of his throat.
"I dream of murder every single night... And every time someone dies, I suddenly master new abilities. Some are spells, some are potion-making methods..."
Hearing this, Devereux raised an eyebrow slightly, a flicker of interest flashing in his gaze. Leaning back in his chair, he spoke in a probing tone.
Chapter 242