...—
Sizzle—!!
A terrifying sound, like acid on flesh, rang out within Quirrell's turban.
Quirrell's entire body jerked violently. His eyes rolled back. His mouth opened to scream—but he held it in with a ragged breath, blood almost spurting from the corners of his lips as he bit down on his tongue.
McGonagall blinked in surprise.
"Professor Quirrell…? Are you alright?"
Quirrell's body trembled like a wet dog trying to hold in a sneeze during a funeral. His face went pale—even paler than usual. He nodded with an expression of sheer horror barely contained behind a stiff smile.
"Y-yes…! Just… felt a little... tingling," he croaked, his voice hoarse. "V-very effective potion indeed…"
The Weasley twins looked at each other, impressed.
"Wow, that reaction must mean it's working really well!" Fred whispered.
George grinned. "See? Told you we could help him!"
Meanwhile, Voldemort was howling in agony inside Quirrell's head, and his curses now expanded beyond Dumbledore to include:
The Weasley twins
The Holy Tree itself
Potion Masters in general
And especially Snape, for daring to brew something so holy it could burn him even when failed.
"You… YOU FOOL, QUIRRELL!
NEXT TIME, YOU CHECK THE INGREDIENTS YOURSELF!"
"I WASN'T PREPARED FOR SACRED BURNS!!"
Quirrell, trembling all over, bowed slightly toward McGonagall and the twins.
"Th-thank you… for this… most… thoughtful gift," he said, voice shaking.
He then collapsed backward into bed, twitching slightly, the holy residue on his scalp burning like embers.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle...
Chard quietly stirred a new cauldron of Holy Tree Potion, brows furrowed, determination in his eyes.
"Even a failed batch had that kind of effect?"
"Then a perfected one…"
"Might just destroy the evil hiding beneath that turban."
He paused, thought of Voldemort's face being melted off in slow, sacred agony—and smirked slightly.
"Time to practice harder."
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