"Professor~~~"
In a dark corner deep within the Forbidden Forest, the flowers, plants, and trees looked as if they had been ravaged by some terrifying beast, a chaotic mess everywhere.
Beside a large, obviously collapsed crater, Anton forcefully pulled on Quirrell's arm, which clearly had several broken bones, and wailed mournfully.
"Professor~~~"
"What a tragic death you've had~~~"
"My professor! Oh~ my dear professor! My poor professor~~" Anton took a deep breath, tugged hard on the grotesquely shaped arm, and cried out in anguish, "What a tragic death you've had~ so tragic~~~"
Perhaps it was because the young wizard's cries were too mournful and high-pitched,
or perhaps it was the bone-chilling, convulsive pain caused by the forceful pulling of his nearly severed arm, but Quirrell finally woke up.
"Haha~" Anton's face lit up with a pleasant surprise, "Professor, you're finally awake!"
"That's great! You're not dead!"
"Quick, quick, get out of the crater!"
Anton grabbed Quirrell's twisted hand with one hand and his twisted leg with the other, once again pulling with all his might.
Quirrell's eyes widened, the whites of his eyes showing as he rolled them back in pain.
Don't pull, it hurts!
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!
Finally, he let out a weak, sharp gasp of cold air, trembled violently a few times, and fainted again.
"!!!"
He can't take a little roughhousing?
Anton swallowed, tremblingly extending a finger and gently placing it in front of Quirrell's nose.
"You... you better not die..."
This time he was genuinely a little scared, if he actually killed Quirrell, Voldemort would have to find another body to possess.
So, where would he find a suitable one?
The answer was obvious.
Anton was too nervous, his finger poked Quirrell's face hard a few times before he finally placed it in front of his nose.
"No..."
"No breath?"
Anton burst into tears with a wail, "My professor~~~~"
Suddenly, Quirrell's eyes snapped open.
Staring at Anton.
Hiss~
This gaze isn't right!
Anton reacted instantly, this was bloody old Voldemort!
He was still seeing through his 'Wizard's Eyes', if it weren't for secretly mapping Voldemort's magical image, he wouldn't have bothered to stay here and mourn with Quirrell.
That moment just now, the change was extremely fast, less than a second.
The tangled mess of black lines on the back of Quirrell's head suddenly unfurled, just like the ball of thread in the Acromantula's throat extending, instantly expanding into a spherical color block. Countless more black lines emerged, extending all over Quirrell's body, twisting into a unique pattern.
In less than a second, Quirrell's entire being changed from a shit-yellow color block to a black one.
A black with a deep, desolate feel.
Very unique.
It was the first time Anton had seen a wizard's magical image that had a 'feeling'.
Voldemort's magical image was clearly very problematic, the large and small dark green crack-like lines on his body were different from the few lines on an ordinary person, these were almost as numerous as the patterns on 'glued-together broken porcelain'.
Thanks to Pedro's unique skill as a 'Collector of Time and Memory', Anton instantly modified all the thoughts and memory representations in his brain.
Thanks to the old wizard's high-pressure two-month training, his reaction speed was extremely fast.
In a flash.
An expression of immense joy bloomed on Anton's face, "Professor!"
"Oh~ my dear professor, that's wonderful, you're not dead!"
Professor Quirrell smiled elegantly.
Alright, it was Voldemort.
Anton quickly waved his fingers, casting a non-verbal Rope-Tethering Charm, and several ropes lifted Quirrell out of the large crater, "That's great, Professor, hang in there, I'll take you to the hospital wing right away."
"We can't go there!" Voldemort said faintly, but with an unquestionable resolve.
"Cast a healing spell on me, at least enough for me to hold my wand, I'll handle the rest myself."
Anton was stunned.
He opened his mouth, "A healing spell? I don't know any?"
Voldemort thought for a moment, "That's right, it's a spell taught only in the seventh-year elective courses, what about healing potions then? You've studied with Snape for so long, don't tell me you don't know how? I know people like you all too well, you'd definitely carry some with you."
Anton spread his hands helplessly.
"I'm sorry, I really don't."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes.
Anton sighed, "Professor Snape really didn't teach me, he's been giving me theory lessons and various ideas for experiments."
This time it was Voldemort's turn to be surprised, his eyes darted, looking Anton up and down.
"It seems Snape values you highly, he's teaching you as a personal apprentice."
The corner of his mouth twitched slightly, drawing out his words, "Anthony Weasley..."
"You really are a lot like I was in my childhood, I was so outstanding back then, so many professors treated me the same way, worried that some part of my foundation wasn't solid."
The corner of Anton's mouth twitched.
Should he express pride at this? He didn't know. What was so good about being like Voldemort.
Voldemort thought for a moment, "I'll teach you, the healing spell isn't difficult for you, in fact, this spell can only heal minor injuries, you might have to cast it a few more times."
"???" Anton looked at him curiously, "Why not teach me a more powerful healing spell, maybe I could treat you better?"
"Heh~"
Voldemort let out a cold, inscrutable laugh, "Healing spells are a discipline, a more complex discipline than Transfiguration, unless one specializes in it, an average adult wizard can at most master the simplest 'Episkey', and even that spell can only heal minor injuries not caused by magic."
"If you're injured by a certain spell, even if your head is cut off, you can be restored by casting the counter-curse."
"But if a knife cuts off your head, unless a master of healing spells is there to act immediately, death is the only outcome."
"Anthony, you think too highly of spells."
"At times like this, the most useful thing isn't a spell, it's a potion."
"Think of Dumbledore's ridiculously broken and completely crooked nose, think of Harry Potter's nearsightedness, think of the rampant obesity and emaciation in the wizarding world that affect lifespan..."
This was the key reason why Anton worked so hard to get close to Snape, Dumbledore, and Voldemort.
Look at the things they say.
A simple spell, described from the broadest perspective to the most profound and subtle control, the lessons from these masters had a depth that ordinary professors' classes lacked.
Anton absolutely loved this kind of class.
A notebook floated up from his satchel, and several ballpoint pens of different colors automatically wrote and drew on it, recording all the content.
"Episkey!"
"Episkey!"
After practicing again and again, a ball of hazy white light suddenly lit up at the tip of his wand.
Unlike the Lumos charm, this light was milky white, looking like many milky white threads of mist surging.
"Remember, many people say that spells require a firm will and full emotions, that is wrong!" Voldemort casually said some very subversive words.
"Extremely intense emotions will only make the spell lose control, and losing control is the most dangerous thing."
"Relax as much as possible, relax your will, relax your emotions, and cast the spell in the most relaxed way."
"At this point, you will find that although the spell's power may not reach the highest limit you can cast, you can freely control every subtle corner of this spell."
"And a spell of this degree will actually be more powerful than one cast with extreme emotions."
"Freely controlling your benevolent intent to heal, freely controlling your malicious intent to kill, this is a universal principle for any spell." Voldemort's eyes were extremely proud, with a look that said 'the whole world is full of idiots'.
"Remember, when a dark wizard casts a spell, if their posture is elegant, rather than frantic or even crazed, they must be an extremely dangerous dark wizard."
"Similarly, certain white wizards who shout loudly and seem very imposing are not worth mentioning."
"Well then, class is over."
"Hurry up and heal my arm."
"Okay!" Anton delightedly recorded every word of the Dark Lord, put away his notebook, and quickly waved his wand.
In fact, the Dark Lord was quite a trickster.
The so-called elegant and free control was not a domain a first-year kid like Anton could touch, his power fluctuated, it would have been better to have an extremely firm will, the effect would have been better.
And the so-called 'Episkey' needing to be cast a few more times...
From eleven o'clock at night.
Anton kept casting until 5:30 in the morning!
He didn't know how many spells he had cast.
He cast until his whole body was numb.
He cast until his whole body felt like it was about to split apart.
It really felt like it was about to split apart.
An incredibly deep tearing sensation came from the depths of his soul, this was the pain brought by magical exhaustion.
In fact, he had been feeling this uncomfortable for a long time.
Anton had asked his dear professor for that recovery potion.
A precious whole bottle, all gone in one night.
It should be noted that this thing was not a mana-replenishing potion, mana-replenishing potions do not exist in the wizarding world, magic comes from the soul, the best way for a wizard to recover is to have a good night's sleep.
Snape's potion was a bit like giving the body a spa, the effect was 'at least this feels much more comfortable'.
He had just barely managed to heal Quirrell's arm.
Voldemort was finally able to draw his wand, and with a gentle wave, in just a short while, he stood up completely unscathed.
He looked at the young wizard lying on the ground with lifeless eyes, smiled faintly, with a strange and indescribable emotion.
Casually twisting the strap of Anton's satchel, he lifted the boy up as if he were a feather.
He slowly walked back to the castle, even munching on an Acromantula as a midnight snack along the way.
He casually tossed Anton into the hospital wing and went back to catch up on sleep himself.
Who knows how dazed Anton was when he woke up in the hospital wing, "Why? Why am I the one lying in the hospital wing?"