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Hey everyone, LuxRadium here. I've been sick and bedridden for the past two days, which is why there haven't been any new chapters. I'm still not fully recovered, so I'll be posting just one chapter today and then taking a week off to rest.
Get ready for a big chapter drop when I return!
As always, thank you for your support, and happy reading!
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Voldemort paced slowly, his voice cold and deliberate."What have your endless observations achieved, Dumbledore? Those who followed your guidance — dead, one by one, by my hand."
He stopped and turned slightly, voice gaining venom."Even the one you tried so hard to protect... James Potter. Didn't he fall to me in the end? And his wife, Lily — her sacrifice was meaningless!"
With a flick of his wand, ropes materialized from thin air and coiled around Harry, binding him like a cocooned mummy.
"I know your secret, Dumbledore! And still you hide." Voldemort sneered, levitating Harry forward until the boy hovered just in front of the mirror.
On the side, Vizet sat motionless, eyes focused, mind slipping into the clarity of the Guardian Meditation Technique. He pushed all distractions away, sharpening his attention like a blade.
Harry twisted and writhed, groaning through the cords, but he could do nothing more than hum in pain and frustration.
"You think if you die, Dumbledore will shed a single tear for you?" Voldemort hissed. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the ropes covering Harry's eyes vanished.
Blinded by sudden light, Harry blinked hard — then froze.
He recognized the mirror.
The Mirror of Erised.
He'd stumbled upon it during a midnight wander at Christmas. But now, what it showed was something different. Something urgent.
In the mirror's surface shimmered an image of a room — an office filled with strange, whirring silver instruments that hissed smoke. And standing there, unmistakable in his sweeping robes, was Headmaster Dumbledore.
His face was stern, intense. Then, suddenly, his reflection turned — his hands reaching forward, gripping Harry's shoulders through the glass.
"Now!"
The voice cracked like thunder, erupting from the mirror and shaking the room.
Voldemort spun around in alarm.
Vizet was already in motion.
With a single, fluid motion, he drew his wand and swept it in a perfect curve — a yin-yang sigil traced with practiced mastery and blazing intent.
"Expurgare!" he cried.
Instantly, spectral chains shot out and wrapped around Voldemort, binding him with an ethereal clatter. A bolt of silver-blue magic burst from Vizet's wand, striking Voldemort squarely in the chest.
The spell opened a conduit of light — a brilliant column that connected Vizet to Voldemort's host.
As the beam surged, Vizet's consciousness was pulled inward.
Quirrell's memories flickered like candle flames, flashing before him — images of infancy, lonely childhood, a youth filled with fear and longing…
Then, darkness.
A dense forest, damp and silent. At its deepest point, Vizet saw Quirrell — his true self — writhing, broken, wrapped in the grip of countless serpents. The snakes tore into him, their venom seeping into his flesh, draining all color from his body. Only his face retained the faintest hue of life.
Then Dumbledore's voice came — calm, warm, and resolute:
"Vizet. Bonds are important."
Without hesitation, Vizet reached into his backpack and withdrew a frog-shaped chocolate.
He couldn't conjure sweets with magic, but he had learned how to infuse chocolate with emotion — just as Aberforth had taught him.
He tossed the enchanted chocolate at the snakes.
The little frog twitched — then sprang to life.
In the dark forest of memory, it hopped forward, one leap at a time, toward the wounded Quirrell.
Wherever it passed, the snakes hissed and crumbled to dust. The venom evaporated. The forest lightened.
And then the snakes coiled together, writhing in fury, forming a black mist that twisted and surged.
From it, Voldemort's voice emerged.
"Brilliant! Wonderful! Vizet, my student — you offer yourself to me freely!"
"I've been pondering how best to cast off this pathetic shell without cost. But now — now you bring me the answer."
But Vizet stood firm. Unshaken. Unmoved.
He raised his wand once more, voice calm and unwavering.
"Expurgare."
The silver-blue magic flared again, piercing the heart of the black mist.
And then — everything turned white.
Boom!
The corridor of light shattered like glass.
Above, the black fog — once drawn into the spell — coalesced again, swirling violently as it began to form a figure.
A tall, thin humanoid shape took shape in midair, ghastly and indistinct.
Simultaneously, Quirrell collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. His limbs hung limp, his skin gray and shriveled like a corpse long drained of life.
Vizet darted forward and caught him just before he hit the ground.
From behind, Harry let out a sharp cry. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped unconscious to the floor.
Dumbledore acted instantly.
With one arm, he caught Harry and cradled him gently. With the other, he reached into his robe and drew forth a small, radiant stone — red as molten fire.
The Philosopher's Stone.
Without hesitation, he pressed it to Quirrell's chest.
The stone pulsed.
Vein-like threads of red light spread out from it, weaving into Quirrell's body. Where they reached, emerald energy burst forth, radiating through his translucent skin like lightning across a stormy sky.
Quirrell's emaciated form filled out, muscle and color returning like air inflating a collapsed balloon.
A faint smile tugged at Dumbledore's lips."I told you, Vizet... If he hadn't drunk unicorn blood, there was still hope."
Vizet wiped the sweat from his brow, his body trembling with released tension. He nodded and exhaled deeply.
But above them, the fog had finished its transformation.
A pale body hovered in the air, snake-like face twisted and grotesque. Yet it was incomplete — patches of it were still mist, indistinct and flickering.
Voldemort.
"Dumbledore… Professor." His voice echoed hollowly. "So you've come out at last… I always knew you were hiding here."
He tilted his head, serpentine features bending unnaturally.
"You do love to help the weak, don't you? Giving the Philosopher's Stone to Quirrell. Making a half-blood savage the gamekeeper. Letting an Obscurial walk these halls as a student…"
His voice grew low, dangerous.
"But me? I was weak too, once. And you did nothing. I'll never forget that day in the orphanage."
"You showed me fire. Real fire. You didn't just tell me about magic… you frightened me with it. Made it clear what it could do."
A bitter grin pulled across his ghostly face."I remember, Professor. I remember every second."
Dumbledore stepped forward. "If that's truly all you recall… then I owe you an apology. At the time, I —"
Voldemort burst into wild laughter.
"An apology? No, Professor Dumbledore. I thank you!"
"Yes! Because you showed me what magic really is. Power! Terrifying, unstoppable power. You weren't wrong at all."
He turned toward Vizet, eyes gleaming with fevered intensity.
"Do you understand now, Vizet? Why he let you enroll? Why he tolerates creatures and half-breeds and broken things?"
"He's trying to repent — to correct the past! I am what he failed to shape!"
"I — Voldemort — am his greatest mistake!"
Dumbledore didn't respond. He held Harry gently in one arm and raised his wand with the other, his knuckles pale.
This Voldemort was different. Less detached. Almost… more human?
The realization stirred unease in him.
And as if reading Dumbledore's thoughts, Voldemort laughed again.
"Yes… you see it, don't you? I am more than I was. Did I guess it right?"
He leaned forward, his vaporous form twitching.
"Hogwarts doesn't tolerate thieves, does it?" he snarled, voice growing ragged. "Well then — I'm going to steal something again. Come on. Stop me!"
His body dissolved, collapsing into black mist once more.
A flash —
He streaked across the room like a bolt of black lightning, appearing before Dumbledore.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The incantation cut through the air — sharp, lethal.
A sickening green light burst from the mist, cold and absolute.
As the haze closed in, Quirrell's vitality began to wither, slowly siphoned away by the black mist.