Veneficus Dementia
I won it, Harry. I won.
Can you see it? It's beautiful, isn't it? Never even thought…
Thank you, Harry. If you hadn't, hadn't… look at me Harry, I'm crying. Like a little girl. If only you could see me now.
You can, of course. In some strange and distorted manner, you know I've won. We are still connected, aren't we? All of us. I'm still a bit mad. Perhaps, in there, I've won some Ministry honor?
Which one is real, Harry… sometimes I want to wonder. Both are tangible, in their own ways. Are you happy that I've won, Harry? Are we celebrating?
Or am I dead already?
I must be dying there. I'm so much more awake in here, so much saner. I must be dying from that world. Leaving it slowly. Getting disjointed. I know it, Harry. My results have pointed towards that. That's why I won. Veneficus Dementia, Harry, Magical Madness.
Don't look at me like that Harry. Don't roll your eyes. You were going to do that, I know. I know, I know, I know, Harry. I know you. This is not S.P.E.W, Harry, This is not spew. Not spew at all.
I'm going to explain it to you Harry. You'll listen, at least. Yes, listen. You never really did that, you know. Never really listened to me. Sometimes it…
No, let's leave that. No need…for the past. Just listen Harry; even in your world you will understand a bit. It might, help. Maybe…
Magical Dementia is cause by an abnormally sized Veneficus Lobe.
Veneficus Lobe is a small section of the brain that deteriorates unto a year from birth. Then, you're stuck with it.
What it does - no, Harry, it does not give you magic, far, far from it - is connect, people. It connects people. An invisible, intangible, sub-conscious connection that's mostly very weak. But sometimes,…
That prickling feeling you get when something bad is going to happen. That rapport you share with a friend. Being able to complete each others sentences, or actions. Talking with a glance. That mob psyche. That mob fear, or mob madness. It happens because of Veneficus. Because your brains are connected thinly, on a sub-conscious level.
Do you follow me? I know you do, Harry. You were always smarter than you acted.
But that's a normal Veneficus Harry. There are people in which it's not, normal. It's oversized. Larger. Stronger. More powerful. Like you. Like me. Like I was. Our connections become stronger. Much, much stronger. But it stunts the rest of the growth; it stops the rest of the brain from developing. Because we become attuned to so much more, we start filling up with it. We stay childlike Harry; in a cynical, perverse manner, we stay childlike. You know why? Because the abnormal Veneficus stunts the growth of logic.
Remember First Year, Snape's poisons? I was already breaking away then, I knew something was wrong.
We stay childlike; we accept easily, we accept magic. We accept it, and are lost in it. All the thousands and thousands of people. It has been growing from years and years, since when we couldn't understand the world around us and attributed it to magic. It started then, and grew, as more people fell to the Veneficus. It started a whole new race, a race of make believe, of imaginary, magical people. And giants and unicorns. That is why magic has such a large basis in popular mythology. It started as its result. Because mad people believed it, and they communicated it to the rest through their lobe. One man or even ten could have never persisted with this delusion. But thousands and thousands… nothing can delude themselves like a mob, Harry. Nothing.
So it started. And it grew. It acquired its childlike traditions. It sortings, its blatant prejudice. Its childlike cruelty and absurdity. Its ghosts and its Voldemorts'. Heroes. Devils. Rituals. Talking portraits. Magical castles. It refused to look at the real world. Thought it inferior, weaker. It was childlike, Harry. It was limited in its perception, its ambition. It stayed on the ground while men reached the moon. It grew content with what it possessed and never cared to grow.
All because of a Lobe.
It became a whole new world Harry. A race amongst a race. And those added to it, could never resist it. Because they were mad.
Veneficus Dementia, Harry. Magical madness. Do you understand now? It's the closest thing to a Racial Memory. It's Racial Delusion.
Do you understand Harry? This is what I've proved Harry, my Nobel. For the conception and proof of Veneficus Lobe and Veneficus Dementia.
Look at it. Isn't it beautiful, Harry?
Isn't it so beautiful.