Wyzett longed to pull out his notebook and jot down every scrap of knowledge Voldemort had just shared, to take it back to the castle and study it in peace.
Even if much of it was laced with deception, he could always consult the professors at school—dissecting the traps, discarding the lies, and keeping only the true gems.
"Wyzett… my student!" Voldemort's tone was smug. "Such a true Ravenclaw—are you frustrated that you can't take notes on what I'm saying?"
"Have you ever considered leaving Hogwarts with me? I could teach you so much more. You're an Obscurial, gifted beyond measure—what a shame it would be to waste that potential!"
"Leave Hogwarts?" Wyzett let out a slow breath, his eyes clear as glass. "No, I'd rather stay right here."
He ladled the potion from the cauldron into a vial. "The Soul-Soothing Draught is finished."
"What a pity!" Voldemort sighed, waving a hand to dissolve the magical barrier.
"I almost wavered, you know… Your talent and potential are worth cultivating. It's a real loss. Such a shame!"
Before Voldemort could finish, a faint rustling echoed from the darkness. The towering trees around them began to tremble in a way that sent a chill down Wyzett's spine.
"I never underestimated your talent—the timing for brewing the potion was just right!" Voldemort pocketed the vial with another sigh. "Such a pity!"
The trembling intensified, and with a shrill, piercing screech, a shadow darted through the trees.
It crashed to the ground with a thunderous thud. Dead leaves, twigs, and bone fragments exploded outward, sending up a cloud of dust.
With a guttural shriek, the shadow burst from the haze—eight eyes blinking in unison, each one burning with a fierce, molten hatred.
Under the night vision spell, Wyzett finally saw it clearly—
It was an Acromantula, nearly a meter tall. Its chitinous pincers clicked menacingly—clack, clack—while its bristling, glossy black hairs gleamed in the eerie green light. The creature was truly monstrous.
Wyzett immediately invoked Custodis Meditatio, sharpening his senses as he leapt backward. He thrust his wand forward. "Vineaforma!"
The swirling dust gathered, twisting into thick vines that wove themselves into a net, catching the charging Acromantula mid-leap.
As Wyzett fought the spider, Voldemort's voice rang out, laced with amusement. "Only a small one? Seems the others don't know what a delicacy you'd make…"
He tried to lift Quirrell's wand arm, but it dropped limply to his side.
"Ah, well… Since I can't liven up the show, Wyzett, consider this a little test from your professor."
"If you pass this test, I'll tell you the real final exam question next week. Something to look forward to, isn't it?"
With that, Voldemort strolled away, vanishing into the darkness and leaving Wyzett alone with the Acromantula.
Wyzett couldn't be sure if Voldemort was lurking nearby or had truly gone, but either way, he had no reason to act recklessly.
He still didn't know how others might react if they witnessed the power of Ancient Magic. To be safe—and to avoid crossing the line from "exceptional" to "dangerous"—he decided to keep it hidden for now.
So, instead of drawing on Ancient Magic, he relied on transfiguration, swinging his wand to conjure more vines and restrict the spider's movements.
He remembered from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that adult Acromantulas could grow as large as a carriage—two or three meters tall.
This one, under a meter, was still a juvenile.
But even so, it more than deserved its XXXXX rating.
It snapped its pincers, injecting venom and tearing at the vines. In the blink of an eye, it shredded them and landed right in front of Wyzett.
With dry grass everywhere, fire magic was out of the question—it would set the forest ablaze and draw unwanted attention.
Wyzett attacked with a Severing Charm, using a Knockback Jinx to keep his distance.
He dodged as the Acromantula spat webs, his mind racing for a solution.
Acromantulas were highly resistant to magic. The Severing Charm, which could slice through most materials with ease, left only faint scratches on its shell.
Clearly, defeating it with standard spells would be a struggle.
That left one obvious option—Dark Magic.
Even if ordinary Dark Magic failed, he could amplify its power through his Obscurus. However tough the spider's resistance, enough force would bring it down.
But there was a price: the taste of malevolent thoughts flooding his mind was something he dreaded.
The last time he'd unleashed the Wasting Curse at full strength was inside the castle, with Fred and George nearby—nothing truly bad had happened.
But this was different.
The Forbidden Forest was vast, its dangers unknown.
If he let evil thoughts overtake him just to defeat a juvenile Acromantula, he'd be playing right into Voldemort's hands.
Wait.
Voldemort.
A spark of inspiration flashed through Wyzett's mind. He remembered what Voldemort had said—
To cast magic with "ease," you needed to coordinate many aspects—above all, to understand the true principles of the spell, so you could adjust its power at will.
He hadn't taken notes, but he pieced together the fragments in his memory, forming his own understanding based on everything he knew about magic.
He decided to combine ideas from his previous life to grasp the meaning.
"To adjust magical power… That's what it means to have true mastery, isn't it? Vineaforma!" he murmured, conjuring more vines to restrain the spider.
"If I hit it with the Wasting Curse at full force, I could end this easily—but I'd risk being consumed by evil thoughts. That's not what I want."
"But if I bind the Acromantula first, then carefully scale the curse's power… That should work! First, I need to find its weak spot."
Thanks to Quirrell's teaching, Wyzett had a deep understanding of the Wasting Curse—perfect for testing Voldemort's theory of "ease" in magic.
He conjured more vines, studying the Acromantula for any sign of a vulnerability.
For most creatures, the eyes were a weak point—especially when there were eight of them.
Even if he couldn't hit the eyes, striking the head would do.
Wyzett replayed the spider's movements in his mind, rehearsing what would happen next.
The Acromantula broke free of the vines once more, all eight legs pounding the ground as it leapt—suddenly, it was looming right before him…
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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