With a flick of his mind, Erwin's Ever-Changing Suit shifted seamlessly from pajamas to formal wizard robes. He smoothed his collar and snapped his fingers. In an instant, he stood before Professor Quirrell's office door.
Erwin knocked lightly.
A voice laced with feigned panic echoed from within. "Who's there?"
Erwin rolled his eyes. He had to hand it to Quirrell—the man was a born thespian. The stuttering had vanished lately, but that cringing, servile demeanor was etched into his soul.
"It's me, Professor," Erwin called. "Erwin!"
Footsteps hurried across the floor, and the door creaked open. Quirrell peered out, eyes wide with feigned concern. He scanned Erwin from head to toe, relief washing over his face only after confirming no harm had come to him. With a subtle gesture, he tapped the top of his turbaned head.
Erwin gave a slight nod, understanding the signal.
"You're here at last," Quirrell whispered urgently. "The Master awaits."
Erwin widened his eyes in mock surprise. "He's awake?"
Quirrell suppressed a smirk—Erwin was a natural performer. He nodded. "Yes. Come in."
He stepped aside, ushering Erwin inside before sealing the door with a soft click. "Tea?" Quirrell offered, ever the polite host.
Erwin shook his head. "No time for that. Let the Master out—I've missed him terribly. I've been terrified something awful happened to him."
Quirrell obliged, unwinding the scarf from his head. As he turned, Voldemort's gaunt face emerged, pale and serpentine.
"Erwin," the aged voice rasped.
Erwin's eyes brimmed with tears. "Teacher! You're finally awake. I was so worried—convinced the worst had happened. It's all my fault. If I'd judged that Killing Curse properly, none of this would have befallen you. I'm sorry, truly sorry. These past days, guilt's eaten me alive. Nightmares wake me, replaying my failure that night."
Voldemort said nothing, letting the words tumble out until Erwin fell silent, his cheeks glistening.
The Dark Lord, for all his ruthlessness, was visibly touched.
"It's fine, Erwin," he murmured. "I hold no grudge. Even I struggled with the Killing Curse in my early days. And I dragged you into the Forbidden Forest straight after you learned it—my expectations were too high. The fault's mine."
Tears now streamed down Erwin's face. "Your forgiveness only deepens my shame. My talent's so lacking. If I'd trained harder, this never would have occurred. While you slept, I've drilled the Killing Curse relentlessly. I wield it flawlessly now. Let me venture into the Forbidden Forest and hunt a unicorn for you. That beast dared harm you—it must pay. I'll wipe out its kind!"
His expression hardened with feigned ferocity.
Voldemort beamed inwardly. What a disciple—loyal and vicious to the core. Recruiting Erwin felt like a stroke of genius.
"Your devotion touches me," Voldemort replied, voice thick. "But enough. We faced the unicorn herd's leader that day—a formidable creature. Even at my peak, it would have tested me. Your willingness suffices. Heed this: never slay a unicorn unless survival demands it. The curse it brings is dire, marking your life with shadow."
Erwin froze. For a Dark Lord, Voldemort sounded almost paternal.
Quirrell blinked in shock—he'd overheard every word. So Voldemort knew the peril, yet he'd thrown his servant's body into the fray? Lives like Quirrell's were expendable, then? Resentment simmered; the Dark Lord was as monstrous as ever.
"I understand," Erwin said, voice trembling. "But your body... No, I must hunt one anyway. Curse or not, I'll secure a unicorn for you."
He turned toward the door, shoulders slumped in grim resolve.
"Wait!" Voldemort urged, halting him. "Don't rush into folly. I have another path."
Erwin paused. "Truly, Master? Whatever the risk, I'm yours to command."
Emotion flickered in Voldemort's crimson eyes. If he had a proper form, he'd have ruffled Erwin's hair. In his darkest hour, this boy had appeared—a true ally. Age, or perhaps the fractures of his Horcruxes, had softened him. Whatever the cause, acceptance bloomed. Erwin was no mere tool; he was family.
"Yes," Voldemort assured him. "Hogwarts hides the Philosopher's Stone—the key to eternal life. It will sustain me."
Erwin's face lit up. "Where? I'll fetch it at once!"
"Quirrell knows the spot, but I must prepare first. Dumbledore's safeguards will be formidable. I'll retrieve it myself—stay back. Too dangerous for you."
"No," Erwin protested. "I'll accompany you."
Voldemort shook his head. "I have other missions for you, my disciple. The Stone is but a contingency. My plans run deeper; I'll return regardless. If the worst befalls me this time—and I say if—flee to the Forbidden Forest. Seek what I've hidden there. It will empower you. Guard it well, bide your time for my resurgence. Then, as my sole heir, you'll claim the glory I promise."
Erwin bowed his head, eyes shining with fabricated zeal, as Voldemort's words hung heavy in the air.
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