The Same Treatment

As the Dark Lord who had intimidated the British Isles, Voldemort had been having a hard time lately.

He had fled from Batman, fled to Snape, and couldn't even go to the Forbidden Forest.

Suppressing his disgust, Quirrell washed his wounds with iodine tincture, once again using it without reading the instructions.

But the most miserable part was that he could only vent inside his own mind.

"My master, please endure for a few more days."

"Quirinus, of course I have enough patience.

It's just that your current body cannot afford to drag this out for too long."

When he wasn't angry, Voldemort was actually quite easy to communicate with.

Yet Quirrell, sitting in the office, remained terrified the entire time.

Using diluted iodine tincture, he carefully cleaned the back of his head while facing away from the mirror.

"Master, I know my body's condition better than anyone."

Dark Magic was gradually corroding this battered body.

In about another month, if he failed to fight poison with poison using Unicorn Blood, he would likely be finished for good.

Voldemort bared half his mouth in the mirror. "In about half a month, your body will no longer be able to hold on."

Quirrell's hand trembled, and the tweezers holding the cotton nearly jabbed into a pus-filled sore.

"I will not disappoint you again, Master."

In half a month, the gunshot wound in his leg would probably only just have healed.

Being so precise about the timing only proved that this so-called patience was nothing more than an excuse for intimidation.

The Potions Class that traumatized the Little Lions had arrived again.

Snape, who had been sitting in the classroom early, tapped his fingertips against the desk with extreme impatience.

The rhythmic tapping made the five students who had arrived early feel deeply uneasy.

"Wonderful. Our famous Mr. Potter is late again."

Harry was about to say that class hadn't started yet when Snape rose and strode over.

"Your hands aren't clean. Do you think potions can be treated so casually?"

Ron, who wasn't the primary target, wanted to explain something, but Harry quietly tugged at his school robe.

Filch's methods of torment weren't particularly sophisticated, but he had an endless variety of tricks.

Even if the two of them cleaned the Trophy Room as quickly as possible, Snape could still find countless reasons to deduct points.

"Potter and Weasley, ten points from each of you."

The moment Seamus and Dean entered, Snape's stare sent chills through their bodies.

"Finnegan, Thomas, you're late."

"Professor, we didn't—"

"You wish to argue?"

Seamus tightly shut his mouth.

In Snape's classroom, it was better to keep their tails tucked between their legs.

Students challenging the professor was practically an everyday occurrence.

Yet such formidable combat power had never managed to shake one person.

Vincent, having brewed a perfect potion, only received Snape's cold jab: "Only capable of following the textbook."

It wasn't that he had never considered altering the proportions in the recipe.

But he had been busy lately—so busy that he didn't even have time for nighttime excursions.

The twins had already declared they would cut ties with him, yet amid organizing his old Transfiguration essays, he still painfully squeezed out time from his packed schedule to practice the Disillusionment Charm.

Being able to cover only half his body wasn't enough for him to enter the Forbidden Forest alone.

Out of sight, out of mind, Snape simply acted as if Vincent didn't exist.

Oh, and Hermione too.

Ever since five points had been deducted in the first class, she never stood up or spoke before he nodded.

And Potions Class was also the only place where Draco didn't dare act recklessly.

"Malfoy, before class ends, brew another batch."

Snape moved away from the unsightly "failure" in front of him with obvious disgust.

"Yes, Professor."

Draco was very obedient.

He couldn't understand why his Head of House always made him receive the same treatment as Harry.

So as soon as class ended, he wrote to Old Malfoy for help.

The reply came quickly, arriving that very evening.

However, Draco became even more confused after reading it.

Snape wasn't exactly fair and impartial, but he was someone whose loves and hates were very clear.

It wasn't strange for him to target Harry, who had driven Voldemort away, but targeting the son of his good friend could only be explained as a roundabout form of encouragement.

He buried his face beneath the blankets and fell asleep while thinking about it.

Kitchen.

Vincent, who had finally gotten to enjoy a late-night snack after a long time, stopped beneath the twins' reluctant gazes.

"Stop trying to persuade me. We'll talk once I've fully mastered the Disillusionment Charm."

George slumped down before him as if he had been abandoned. "Vincent, didn't you say you'd stay with us until the end of time?"

"I never said that."

"You did!" Fred wiped at the corner of his eye. "Do you know how I got through these five days?"

Vincent glanced at Hermione, who was quietly eating tomato-and-egg noodles.

"Uh—talking to the door knocker was pretty interesting too."

"No!" George stood up. "Do you know she can already use the Disillusionment Charm to cover one arm?"

"No."

"Do you know her fighting ability has already caught up with ours?"

"No."

With his expression remaining cold throughout, how could Vincent not know what they were thinking?

Spend enough time around such a hardworking genius, and anyone would feel the pressure no matter how big their heart was.

"She didn't invite you two along?"

"That's exactly why it hurts!"

He pulled out the little black notebook where he recorded his schedule. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Let's sleep in a little."

Cheers erupted from the twins, and Hermione finished the last mouthful of soup.

"Where are we exploring tonight?"

"The fifth floor!"

Fred grinned as he leaned close to Vincent. "Mate, you'll never guess what we found there."

"Anyway, it can't be the Sorcerer's Stone."

"You'll definitely be scared." George pushed open the kitchen door. "Hermione was so frightened that she even dropped her book."

"I was not!" She ran ahead in big strides.

"Just admit it~"

She chased after him all the way.

Vincent was a little baffled. "What exactly is it?"

Fred gave a mysterious smile. "You'll know when we get there~"

For the twins to put so much effort into keeping it secret, the thing on the fifth floor had to be very special.

Or rather, in the current Hogwarts castle, it was a precious item second only to the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Ah, no fun~" Fred stopped in front of an abandoned classroom.

The door was open. Hermione and George had probably already gone inside.

At Fred's gesture, Vincent entered the classroom.

With the moonlight streaming through the windows, he could see the two of them standing before an utterly ordinary-looking mirror.

An inscription was engraved upon the curved frame at its top:

[erisedstraehruoytubecafruoytonwohsi]

Read backward, it meant:

[I show not your face but your desire]

Vincent understood why the Mirror of Erised had not yet been placed in the room on the fourth floor.

Dumbledore, the spiritual mentor, had yet to have a heart-to-heart with Harry.

"It lets us see the deepest, most urgent, and strongest desires in our hearts." Hermione looked away from the mirror.

George turned around with a smile. "Want to guess what we saw?"