Wyzett's vision swam, and suddenly he found himself in a room as battered as the street outside—glass shards from empty bottles littered the floor, mingling with a few half-melted candies.
Towering over a bloodied, trembling child was an impossibly handsome young man, his voice slurred and cruel.
"You're useless! Can't you do anything right? That woman ran off—why didn't you stop her, huh? Damn it! Damn it!"
The child shook uncontrollably, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he never dared resist.
Wyzett rushed forward, but passed straight through the young man, and then through the blood-soaked child as well.
The handsome face turned toward him, a wicked grin twisting his lips. "It's pointless, Wyzett… He can't hear you!"
"This is Quirinus's past! In a single night, both his parents abandoned him. Can you even imagine what that feels like?"
Teeth clenched, Wyzett stared at the chaos, recalling what Dumbledore had once told him:
"When he's lost in the past, unable to pull himself out, you must show Quirrell the beauty of the present… let him see what he's fighting for, what he's holding on to."
Wyzett opened his hands. A golden light blossomed in his palms, his emotions shaping it into a piece of candy—a chocolate frog, sweet and fragrant.
The chocolate frog hopped over to the child, catching his gaze. The room seemed to tremble.
"It's working!" Wyzett's heart leapt. He conjured more chocolate frogs, each one bouncing closer.
Driven by curiosity, the child finally snatched up a chocolate frog, shoving it into his mouth with trembling hands.
Light flared in his eyes. The blood vanished from his skin, replaced by crisp black wizard's robes.
The young man's eyes widened. "What did you do to him?"
Wyzett smiled. "I let Professor Quirrell see the beauty of now. Look! He's not like you. You're obsessed with Headmaster Dumbledore, but Professor Quirrell—he's moved on…"
Before Wyzett could finish, the child in wizard's robes sprang up, ducked his head, and barreled into the young man—a headbutt that sent him crashing into the wall!
Boom—
The room shattered like glass, replaced by the soaring towers of Hogwarts Castle.
On the lawns before the castle, a crowd ringed two students, predatory grins on their faces.
Once again, the impossibly handsome young man loomed above, pinning the bloodied child to the ground with his foot.
"What's wrong? Why are you so weak? You read all those books—where's your magic now? Show me, if you can!"
Wyzett opened his hands again. The golden light shaped itself into a notebook—the notes from Quirrell's private lessons.
The notebook split in two, like a seagull taking flight, and dove into the child's chest.
The child seized the notebook, new brilliance in his eyes. He whipped his wand in a wide arc—a howling wind sent the young man flying sky-high!
…
Hogwarts vanished in a blink. The green lawns grew wild, transforming into a dense, black forest.
Still the bloodied child, now kneeling before a great serpent, whispering words too faint to hear.
Still the handsome young man, nodding eagerly. "Yes! That's it! I'll help you get everything you want! Just open yourself up…"
Once more, Wyzett opened his palm—a wand appeared, Professor Quirrell's own.
He hurled it. The bloodied child caught it, a new fire in his eyes. "Voldemort! I'll never submit to you! Oppugno!"
He slashed the wand, conjuring a flock of firebirds that set the young man and the black forest ablaze.
…
The young man's face began to shift—sometimes Wyzett's own, sometimes the serpentine mask of Voldemort.
Voldemort staggered back, losing all human form, dissolving into a swirling mist of black and gold, retreating into the soul maze.
The flawless white light, streaked with gold, swelled and took on Wyzett's shape. "Voldemort! This ends now!"
He stood as witness, watching Voldemort twist Quirrell's memories, dragging out the deepest pains to hasten his own devouring.
To face this was to feel a fury beyond words. Wyzett had no desire to argue—his heart was set on one thing: destroy Voldemort, once and for all!
As if in response, The Wizard's Practical Combat Guide materialized, its pages fluttering wildly. Ancient magical power spilled out, saturating the maze.
The labyrinth, infused with that power, shook violently, reshaping itself in answer to Wyzett's will.
It began to collapse, then rebuild—becoming a suit of gleaming golden armor.
At the maze's heart, the goddess statue stirred to life, drawing golden light from Wyzett—the same golden light as that Christmas gift.
With a flick of her hand, the moon she held soared upward, merging with the armor as a shining heart-shield.
Wyzett felt the armor's call and dove into the heart-shield.
The armor blazed with silver-blue light, swelling into a colossal armored giant. Its voice thundered—Wyzett's own:
"Voldemort! Let's finish this!"
Before Voldemort could react, the armored giant charged, each punch booming like thunder, each blow battering Voldemort's form.
He was like molten iron on an anvil, gold and black sparks flying as he shrank with every strike.
For a moment, Voldemort tried to scream, but as the black mist dwindled, his voice faded to nothing…
The last to arrive was the silver light of Dumbledore's will. He watched, stunned, as the armored giant's fists blazed with silver-blue brilliance, grinding Voldemort away, inch by inch.
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed, and he murmured, "Ancient magic… So Wyzett is this era's Guardian! No wonder he possesses the Oculus Magicae… No wonder his gifts are so extraordinary…"
…
A phoenix's song, sweet enough to soothe the soul, echoed as Wyzett slowly opened his eyes.
He felt genuinely elated—there was something intoxicating about erasing Voldemort with his own fists.
In the process, he'd absorbed fleeting fragments of knowledge—crucial insights into Voldemort's understanding of soul and flesh.
He couldn't yet master this knowledge, but he could store it away, to unravel with time.
With Voldemort finally vanquished, time stretched before him—he could live and learn at his own pace.
With this realization, the heady rush faded. Wyzett quickly helped the struggling Quirrell to his feet, concern in his voice:
"Professor Quirrell, are you alright?"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
The story isn't over...
🤔 Want to know what happens next to the characters?
🤫 Eager to explore the untold secrets of this world?
✍ Ready to read more of my wildest stories?
✨patreon.com/GoldenLong