Voldemort paced slowly, his voice dripping with contempt. "What have you really learned from all your watching, Dumbledore? Those who followed you—one by one, I killed them. All for your so-called vigilance."
"Even the ones you tried to save—James Potter… Didn't he die by my hand? And that Lily, too..."
With a flick of his wand, ropes materialized out of thin air, binding Harry tightly, wrapping him up like a mummy just as he tried to speak.
"I know your secret, Dumbledore! Still you refuse to show yourself?" Voldemort sneered, levitating Harry until he hovered before the mirror.
Witnessing this, Wyzett slipped into Custodis Meditatio—the Guardian's Meditation—honing his focus to a razor's edge.
Harry writhed helplessly, cocooned in ropes, a caterpillar struggling in its chrysalis. He fought to resist, but could only let out muffled, broken cries through the gaps.
"Do you think… if you died, would Dumbledore even mourn you?" Voldemort taunted suddenly. The ropes binding Harry's face vanished in an instant.
Blinded by the sudden light, Harry blinked and stared. The mirror before him was achingly familiar—the Mirror of Erised, the very one he'd discovered on that fateful Christmas night.
In its depths, he saw a room that looked like an office, a desk cluttered with mysterious silver instruments billowing smoke.
And there—Dumbledore himself!
Dumbledore's face was grave. Suddenly, he reached forward, his hands stretching from within the mirror, grasping for Harry's shoulders.
"Now!"
Dumbledore's voice boomed like thunder.
Voldemort spun toward the sound. In that instant, Wyzett swept his wand in a flawless, fluid S-shape, every ounce of magical understanding fueling his motion. "Mundus Totalus!"
At once, fiery chains shot forth, snaring Voldemort.
A burst of silver-blue light erupted, becoming a towering pillar—hungry as a giant beast, it swallowed Voldemort whole.
Within that radiant column, Wyzett felt a strange connection—memories flickered past like a carousel: Quirrell's life, from infancy to childhood, childhood to youth…
He saw a silent, shadowed forest. In its heart, the familiar Quirrell—but bound and gnawed by countless venomous snakes, his body nearly ruined. Only a faint glimmer remained at his brow, the last citadel, holding back the darkness.
"Wyzett! The bond is everything..." Dumbledore's calm, gentle voice resonated in his mind.
Without hesitation, Wyzett tore open his pack, pulling out a chocolate frog.
He couldn't yet conjure chocolate by magic, but he could weave emotion into it, constructing a labyrinth of the soul. He tossed the chocolate frog into the pillar of light.
The chocolate seemed to come alive, leaping into the heart of the black forest, bounding steadily toward Quirrell.
Now, the chocolate frog was the snakes' natural enemy. As it drew near, the snakes crumbled and dissolved, recoiling and reforming as a mass of black mist.
From the darkness, Voldemort's voice echoed, "Excellent! Wonderful! Wyzett, my student! You've delivered yourself to me!"
"I've been wondering how to break free of this feeble vessel—and now you've come to help me! Go on, finish it!"
But Wyzett's hand was steady, his resolve unshaken. He raised his wand again, whispering, "Mundus Totalus!"
The last of the venomous snakes were ripped away from Quirrell, and above the forest, the black mist thickened to its densest.
Boom!
The channel shattered. The gathered black mist surged up, swirling with streaks of blood, condensing rapidly—
A tall, thin, spectral figure materialized, suspended in midair.
At the same moment, Quirrell collapsed, his body shriveling, drained and desiccated like a mummy.
Wyzett lunged forward, catching him before he hit the ground.
"Ah!" Harry cried out, eyes rolling back as he fainted dead away.
Dumbledore's face was set and solemn. One arm supported Harry, the other reached into his pocket and withdrew a blood-red stone. He pressed it to Quirrell's chest.
The stone sprouted a web of crimson vessels, burrowing into Quirrell's chest, flooding him with a brilliant emerald glow.
The corpse-like Quirrell seemed to inflate, his body filling out, life returning as if he were a balloon being filled with air.
A faint smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "I told you—so long as he hasn't drunk unicorn blood, there's hope."
Wyzett nodded, wiping sweat from his brow, letting out a long, shaky breath.
Voldemort now stood tall, pale as death, but with a face like a serpent—grotesque, monstrous.
"So you finally show yourself, Professor Dumbledore… I always knew you were here!"
His voice was warped, indistinct. "You do love helping the weak, don't you? You'll stuff the Philosopher's Stone into Quirrell, let a half-blood mongrel tend the grounds..."
"Even let an Obscurial into Hogwarts… But me? The weak, unwanted me—you never helped me! I'll never forget that day you came to the orphanage!"
"What did you do? You conjured fire, showed me how terrifying magic could be. Isn't that right, Professor? You were so grand that day! I'll remember it forever!"
Dumbledore stepped forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Is that all you remember? If so, then I must apologize. Back then, I—"
Voldemort erupted in wild laughter. "Apologize? Professor Dumbledore! I ought to thank you! You taught me: magic is power! You weren't wrong, not at all!"
"I loved that day! You made me return my spoils—brilliant! Forced me to apologize to a bunch of idiots—brilliant! Told me Hogwarts wouldn't tolerate thieves!"
"Marvelous! Professor Dumbledore, everything I am today is thanks to your precious lessons! Wyzett, do you understand now? Why he let you in?"
"Because he's trying to make amends—for his own stupidity, for his old mistakes! I—Voldemort—am your creation, Professor Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore pressed his lips together, one hand steadying Harry, the other clutching his wand.
This Voldemort felt strange—more human, perhaps, than ever before.
A possibility flickered in his mind. He shot a sidelong glance at Wyzett.
Then Voldemort let out two chilling, inhuman cackles. "Well? Did I guess right?"
"Hogwarts won't tolerate thieves… Well, here I go—time for a little theft and robbery! Come, try and stop me!"
He suddenly seemed to dissolve, melting into black mist—then, like a bolt of midnight lightning, he struck, appearing before Dumbledore.
"Avada Kedavra!" The curse rang out, the room ablaze with a flash of sickly green from the swirling darkness.
The life force stolen from Quirrell now fueled a deadly curse, aimed straight at Dumbledore!
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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