Wyzett said, "Professor Snape must be involved too… I remember a lesson on potion identification—one of the brews there seemed connected to the trials."
Dumbledore nodded. "It's rare for Severus to be so meticulous. He did, in fact, design a challenge of his own."
"I'm not sure about the rest, but I suspect Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall are part of it as well. How many challenges are there in total?"
"There's also Quirrell's challenge, and the final test I set for Voldemort." Dumbledore clapped his hands lightly. "Would you like to know the details?"
"No, that's not necessary…" Wyzett shook his head. "After thinking it through, I've noticed a pattern… None of these challenges are truly difficult, are they?"
"The professors have already woven the solutions into their lessons. I'd wager these are meant as tests—not as real obstacles to Voldemort."
"Exactly." Dumbledore rubbed his temples. "There's one person I truly want to test—Harry Potter. If Harry meets you at the end, please don't be alarmed."
"So… will Harry be in danger?" Wyzett frowned. "If he ends up trapped in a sealed room… I imagine Hermione and Ron will follow him in."
"Only Harry will face the final test. That much I can promise." Dumbledore's voice dropped to a low, serious tone. "The last chamber, where the Philosopher's Stone is hidden, is the best place to trap Voldemort."
"I'll do everything I can to make it safe, to prevent Voldemort from hurting anyone else. So you must remember—always keep the locket with you. Don't forget."
"Understood!" Wyzett replied, glancing thoughtfully at the locket hanging at his chest.
He looked around the office, noticing something missing—a detail that only confirmed his suspicions.
With a blend of anticipation and nerves, Wyzett faced the final exams of the year.
Summer had arrived, and the air was thick and stifling.
But luck was on his side—his desk for the written exams was right by the window. The breeze drifting in made the classroom feel almost pleasant, despite the heat.
The written tests weren't difficult. With his sharp memory, Wyzett finished every paper with ease.
He was always the first to hand in his work, slipping away to a quiet corridor to pore over Dumbledore's note.
It outlined the basics of the "Save Professor Quirrell Plan." When the time came, Dumbledore would give a secret signal—enough to help Quirrell break free from Voldemort's control.
How deep Voldemort's evil ran was still a mystery.
Wyzett practiced the Purification Charm over and over, perfecting the motions, striving for that effortless, instinctive casting the ancient spell demanded.
Compared to other magic, this was different—he'd created it himself, and the power of Ancient Magic made it flow naturally.
But "effortless" didn't just mean holding back—it meant being able to unleash the spell's full force, without reservation, when needed.
He also took time to scout the fourth floor, confirming that the three-headed dog guarding the secrets within was indeed Fluffy, the same beast he'd seen in Diagon Alley.
After the written exams came the practicals.
They were just as straightforward.
The Charms practical focused on the Levitation Charm—students had to make a pineapple leap onto a desk and then perform a tap dance.
Professor McGonagall's test required turning a mouse into a snuffbox, with extra points for elegance and detail.
For Potions, they were tasked with brewing a Forgetfulness Potion. Wyzett finished quickly and left the classroom ahead of everyone else.
Later, he overheard Hannah and the others talking about the Potions exam, and learned of an amusing incident:
Snape had glided around the room as usual, sometimes stopping behind a student and looming silently.
The tension must've gotten to a few students—they started sampling their own Forgetfulness Potion, tasting spoonful after spoonful until their cauldrons were empty. Bewildered, they started over, only to repeat the whole process again…
To Hannah's disappointment, it was Slytherin students who'd done it. Snape didn't even get angry; he only reminded them after they'd all had their fill.
Naturally, Wyzett didn't let such a story go to waste—he tucked it away in his Soul Labyrinth.
Before he knew it, the exams were over and night had fallen.
Voldemort had warned him: the real final exam was yet to come. Wyzett was sure it would be tonight.
Dumbledore had also left a note, saying he'd be away from Hogwarts for a while, and to never take off the locket.
Wyzett waited deep into the night before Voldemort's message finally arrived.
It came in the form of a strip of purple cloth. Even from across the room, he could smell the unmistakable stench of garlic.
"Accio cloth!"
He flicked his wand, casting the Summoning Charm. The cloth unfurled midair, and a slip of paper fell out.
He changed the target of his Summoning Charm, catching the note. The handwriting was jagged and twisted: "Come to the fourth-floor corridor!"
He let out a long breath, double-checking that his bag was packed—parchment, chocolate frogs, and everything else he'd need.
After making sure the locket was secure at his chest, he slipped quietly out of the common room.
"Ribbit!"
A deep croak made his skin prickle.
A dark brown toad with thirteen warts on its back—Neville's pet, Trevor.
Neville's voice rang out: "You can't keep breaking school rules! I have to stop you! I've made up my mind! I'm ready!"
Harry's anxious shout followed: "Do something, quick!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Hermione's voice echoed through the corridor, followed by a dull thud as a body hit the floor.
Wyzett ducked into another hallway, pressing his wand to a portrait and tracing one of its painted lines.
The painting shimmered, spinning until it transformed into a wooden door.
This was one of the secret passages Fred and George had shown him—a long slide that could get you to the fourth floor in record time.
Voldemort's voice drifted through the darkness: "Quicker than I expected, my student…"
Quirrell stood cloaked in shadow, his face hidden beneath heavy robes—Wyzett couldn't read his expression, or guess his condition.
Feigning nonchalance, Wyzett asked, "I nearly fell asleep waiting. Did something go wrong?"
"I know what you're thinking." Voldemort's tone was almost playful. "So far, Quirinus is fine—just unconscious, nothing more."
Wyzett straightened, eyes sharp. "So why am I here?"
"When the servant refuses to serve, the task must fall to the student," Voldemort drawled, his voice echoing in the gloom.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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