Professor McGonagall watched the retreating backs of Fred and George, letting out a soft sigh. "Those two boys…"
"Headmaster Dumbledore, should I take Wyzett back as well?" Penelope asked hesitantly.
After everything that had happened, escaping without any points lost was already the best outcome.
"I'm afraid not, Miss Clearwater." Dumbledore waved his hand gently. "There are still a few things I'd like to discuss with Mr. Lovegood—in private."
"Professor Flitwick, would you mind taking him to my office? The password is 'Jelly Slugs.'"
As the others filtered out, Dumbledore turned to Quirrell, his tone soft. "Professor Quirrell, I couldn't find you earlier. Where were you?"
"Ah… I—I'd just woken up!" Quirrell stammered, sweat beading on his brow. "Then I l-left… and when I heard the commotion, I came b-back to see what was happening!"
"Is that so?" Dumbledore murmured, his gaze shifting to Snape. "Professor Snape, I believe I saw you arrive together with him."
Quirrell drew a shaky breath, worry flickering in his eyes as he stole a glance at Snape.
Snape curled his lip, replying curtly, "Just happened to run into him."
"Y-yes, yes… just a coincidence," Quirrell echoed, exhaling in relief. "I was a bit d-disoriented when I woke up, but I'm much b-better now!"
"Well, I'm glad to hear you're all right, Professor Quirrell." Dumbledore nodded. "In that case, let's all call it a night and get some rest."
. . .
The professors drifted away, leaving Dumbledore alone in the Great Hall.
He wandered down a distant corridor, where the floor was littered with rubble—stones and bricks shattered by the troll's rampage.
"Prior Incantato!"
He whispered the incantation, and golden smoke unfurled from his wand, swirling into a vortex high above.
The vortex crackled softly, scattering a shower of golden dust. The dust coalesced, forming shifting silhouettes—moving figures that replayed the night's events, flickering like scenes from a silent film.
Settling back, Dumbledore produced a bag of Lemon Drops, popping one into his mouth as he watched, as if he were an audience member at the cinema.
"Magical fireworks… Fred and George have certainly improved. Perhaps Wyzett lent them a hand?"
"So this is the special summoning charm Minerva mentioned? Fascinating…"
"Pinpoint knowledge of the troll's weaknesses, a masterful Levitation Charm… and there's something more—an extra layer of magical force."
"Is this the Obscurus's unique trait? The power of the Wasting Curse… Rivaling that of some Death Eaters."
At that realization, Dumbledore quietly set aside his Lemon Drops, his expression growing grave. "So that's Voldemort's aim!"
"And what aim would that be?" came Snape's voice, suddenly nearby as he limped toward Dumbledore.
Seeing Snape's condition, a flicker of guilt crossed Dumbledore's eyes. "You're not looking well. Shall I have Fawkes—?"
"No need." Snape cut him off, voice cold as ever. "Since you claim Quirrell serves the Dark Lord, we'd best keep our distance."
"Phoenix tears do heal wounds, but if I recover too quickly, it'll only make me a bigger target in the future."
"I'm sorry," Dumbledore sighed. "Your leg—was that from fighting Quirrell? His skills are stronger than I thought…"
"I was bitten by the three-headed dog," Snape interrupted, his tone icy. "You never told me there was a Cerberus hidden in that room. Why not keep such a thing in the Forbidden Forest?"
"I did mention it… at the start-of-term feast," Dumbledore explained. "I enchanted that room, marking the door as a warning."
"Fluffy only roams inside. Unless the door is opened, he won't harm anyone. I never expected you'd go in."
Snape opened his mouth, struggling to keep his tone even. "Quirrell hid his true colors well. He's adept at nonverbal magic—used fire to destroy the door. Complete dumb luck, but I didn't see it coming."
Dumbledore sighed. "He was a gifted wizard in his own right. What a waste…"
"He's certainly talented at risking his life for the Dark Lord," Snape said, merciless as ever. "So, what exactly did you mean about the Dark Lord's purpose?"
"To provoke Wyzett into casting dark magic, stirring the Obscurus… Voldemort's target is the Obscurus," Dumbledore explained.
A shadow crossed his face, as if recalling something painful. "He wants that power for himself."
"Is that the Dark Lord's goal, or Quirrell's?" Snape pressed.
Dumbledore frowned. "What else happened between you and Quirrell tonight?"
"When Quirrell heard Wyzett's voice, he tensed up immediately—practically begged me, turned his back to me, and bolted down the stairs like a madman."
"So that's why you were together?" Dumbledore's brow relaxed as he stroked his long, silver beard. "That's actually a good sign."
"Wanting to steal Wyzett's power while also caring about him? I'd say he ought to check into St. Mungo's," Snape said dryly, folding his arms. "Maybe his soul's already split—half obsessed with Wyzett, half just following orders. I wouldn't mind brewing a potion to put him out of his misery."
Dumbledore waved a hand. "Contradiction is opportunity. Under Wyzett's influence, Quirrell might yet turn back."
"You still need to keep… contact with him. Try to find out what state Voldemort is in. That's vital for us."
"Heh… what choice do I have?" Snape sneered. "That's why I won't use phoenix tears. I'll seek him out again tonight."
Dumbledore fixed him with a deep, sincere look. "Severus, thank you…"
"Don't." Snape's tone was as hard as steel. "If it means killing the Dark Lord, I'll do whatever it takes."
"Ah, I haven't sighed this much in years!" Dumbledore said with a rueful smile, changing the subject. "Shall we keep watching? Do you need my arm?"
Snape said nothing, only furrowed his brow and took two steps forward, making his answer clear.
The two returned to the Great Hall, where the golden dust silhouette of Wyzett shimmered, dark energy twisting around him.
Dumbledore spoke in a low voice, "The Obscurus is agitated. That's not a good sign."
He fell into thought. "By the time I finished with Harry and returned, Wyzett was already back to normal. How did he manage it?"
Moments later, the tracking spell revealed the answer: the golden figure of Wyzett raised his wand and cast a spell on himself.
Seeing the familiar gesture, Snape's expression turned wry. "Composite magic—innovating right under my nose. I remember the incantation… Mundus Totalus!"
The wand carved a graceful "S" in the air, and a silver-blue whirlwind rose at their feet, sweeping away every last trace of dust…
[No new terminology for this chapter. All spells and magical items referenced are canonical or previously established in the glossary.]
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