Left alone in the office, Quirrell suddenly sprang to his feet, his face twisted in agony as he clutched the back of his head.
Gnashing his teeth, Quirrell cast a warding spell on the door before yanking away the cloth wrapped around his scalp.
"That's more like it," Voldemort hissed, his laughter rough and chilling. "Just do exactly as I tell you…"
"Show him the Strangling Shriek Curse, then guide him, step by step, until he masters it… Quirinus, I expect you to stay obedient."
Quirrell glanced at Voldemort's warped visage in the mirror, dread crawling down his spine.
"Of course… my master." His eyes landed on the Chocolate Frog still sitting on the desk, and pain flickered across his features. "I will follow your every command, until you regain your strength."
"Excellent!" Voldemort's voice dripped with smug satisfaction. "Now, about the obstacles behind that chamber, and the three-headed dog—have you found a way to get past them?"
"I have some leads! I believe Professor Sprout set up Devil's Snare…" Quirrell shivered, his voice trembling.
"As for the three-headed dog… I asked Professor Kettleburn, but he doesn't know how to handle one…"
"Is that so?" Voldemort murmured, displeased. "If even the Care of Magical Creatures professor is clueless, then find someone else!"
"Master… do you have someone in mind?" Quirrell asked, desperate for guidance.
"The gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid!" Voldemort's expression twisted with disdain. "His head is stuffed with nothing but magical creature lore!"
"Get close to him! He's loose-lipped—a few well-placed questions and he'll spill everything, including the three-headed dog's weakness. Yes, that's your next move!"
Quirrell hesitated. "Master, you seem to know him well… Any suggestions for getting on his good side?"
"His tastes are revolting…" Voldemort sneered. "He's obsessed with gigantic, hideous magical beasts. Bring him a Class XXXXX creature cub, pour him a drink or two, and he'll tell you anything you want to know!"
"Will that really work?" Doubt crept into Quirrell's voice. "And a Class XXXXX cub isn't exactly cheap…"
"Quirinus, are you questioning me again?" Voldemort's smile turned cruel. "I've spoon-fed you the plan—surely you can manage the details?"
"Y-yes, Master! I'll do everything in my power!" Quirrell pleaded, bowing his head in submission.
Sunday afternoon meant private lessons with Snape.
Today, the office felt unusually empty—no baskets of bloody ingredients, no bundles of unprocessed herbs. In the center stood a table, topped with a cauldron, weighing scales, and dozens of neatly arranged potion ingredients.
Wyzett scanned the lineup and felt a wave of familiarity.
Snape sat nearby, chin lifted in his trademark manner. He gestured toward the table. "Begin."
Wyzett nodded and approached the cauldron, carefully examining each ingredient.
Of course, Snape wanted him to identify the materials—his late-night note-taking was about to pay off.
He mentally reviewed the potion recipe from that night, setting aside the required ingredients.
"Glacius!" he murmured, conjuring a magical field to store the unused materials with meticulous care.
Once finished, he returned to the cauldron and surveyed the ingredients once more.
"Explain their properties," Snape commanded, arms folded. "And the precise preparation methods."
"Yes, Professor." Wyzett replied, composed.
He picked up a bundle of lavender. "Lavender should be made into a tincture. Chop the flowers and leaves, then steep them in alcohol. The soaking time depends on the desired concentration—usually four to six weeks in a cool, dark place, with regular shaking to ensure full extraction."
"Use a Summoning Charm to retrieve the flowers and leaves, then filter the tincture three times to remove impurities before storing it away from light."
"Three filtrations? That's your method," Snape interrupted coldly. "One Summoning Charm is enough to remove all impurities."
"Of course, Professor. I still have much to learn—my magical skills need improvement." Wyzett replied smoothly, then picked up a jar shrouded in black cloth.
"Moondew honey—must be gathered at night, preferably under a clear full moon, and should never be exposed to direct sunlight…"
"Moonstone—best ground on a clear full moon night to maximize its potency…"
"Wormwood—the infusion is similar to a tincture, but requires morning dew as the liquid base…"
He worked methodically through the lineup, explaining each ingredient's use and preparation. Snape remained silent, save for the occasional twitch of his right knee.
From experience, Wyzett knew that when Snape didn't interrupt, it meant he approved.
"Rote memorization—very Ravenclaw of you," Snape finally said, lowering his arms and speaking in a low, measured tone. "At least the ingredients weren't wasted."
"But this is only the basics. Even a troll could guard a vault with enough training. If a potioneer only copies recipes without understanding, I'd recommend a career change."
The troll comparison was classic Snape. Wyzett took it in stride—he'd learned how to extract the important points from the professor's barbs.
"Professor Snape, does that mean I can skip ingredient processing now?"
"Hardly. You've merely proven you're not a troll. The ingredients still need to be processed," Snape replied, face unreadable.
"The Draught of Peace—that's the potion you drank in the Hospital Wing. It's an advanced elixir, designed to deeply soothe the spirit and mend damage to the soul…"
Wyzett perked up. This wasn't just textbook knowledge—now Snape was delving into the deeper theory behind potion-making.
He'd heard hints of this theory before, but rarely so systematically explained.
He listened intently, forming a clearer concept: when a wizard truly understands potions, they can compensate for missing or substituted ingredients through technique and insight, ensuring the final brew's quality remains intact.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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