Same Treatment

As the Dark Lord deterring the British Isles, Voldemort's recent days have been quite difficult.

Escaping from Batman, escaping from Snape, and unable to even go to the Forbidden Forest.

He had to endure the nausea and wash his wounds with iodine, Quirrell applying it directly without even looking at the instructions.

But the most miserable thing was that he could only vent in his mind.

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

"Quirinus, of course I have enough patience.

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

When not losing his temper, Voldemort was quite easy to talk to.

But Quirrell in the office remained constantly on edge.

He used diluted iodine to carefully clean the back of his head, facing away from the mirror.

"Master, I am very clear about the condition of my body."

Dark magic was gradually corroding this scarred body.

In about a month, if he couldn't use unicorn blood to fight poison with poison, he would probably be completely finished.

Voldemort in the mirror grinned, showing half of his mouth. "In about half a month, your body will not be able to hold on."

Quirrell's hand trembled, and the tweezers holding the cotton almost poked a pustule.

"I will not disappoint you again, Master."

In half a month, the gunshot wound on his leg would probably just heal.

Timing it so precisely only proved that the so-called patience was just an excuse for deterrence.

The Potions Class that traumatized the little lions was here again.

Snape, sitting in the classroom early, tapped impatiently on the desk with his fingertips.

The rhythmic frequency of his tapping made the five who arrived early feel uneasy.

"Very good, our famous Mr. Potter is late again."

Harry was about to say that it wasn't time yet when Snape got up and walked over quickly.

"Your hands are not clean. Do you think potions are something you can treat carelessly?"

Ron, not the main target, was about to explain something, but Harry quietly tugged on his robes.

Filch's methods of torment weren't clever, but he excelled at having a variety of them.

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

"Potter and Weasley, 10 points each."

Seamus and Dean had just entered when they were chilled to the bone by his glare.

"Finnegan, Thomas, you are late."

"Professor, we didn't..."

"Do you want to argue?"

Seamus shut his mouth tightly.

In Snape's class, it was best to keep your tail between your legs.

Arguing with the professor was commonplace.

But such formidable combat power had never shaken one person.

Vincent, who brewed a perfect potion, received a cold remark from Snape: "Only knows how to make it according to the textbook."

He had considered changing the recipe ratio.

But he had been very busy lately, so busy that he didn't even have time for night trips.

Even though the twins had threatened to break off their friendship, he was still sorting out his old Transfiguration papers, squeezing out time from his packed schedule to practice the Disillusionment Charm.

Half a body's worth wasn't enough to go to the Forbidden Forest alone.

Snape, not wanting to see it and be bothered by it, simply pretended the person didn't exist.

Oh, and Hermione.

Since being deducted 5 points in the first class, she never got up or spoke before he nodded.

And Potions Class was also the only place where Draco didn't dare to be presumptuous.

"Malfoy, you will brew a new one before the end of class."

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

"Yes, Professor."

Draco was very obedient.

He couldn't understand his own Head of House, why he always let him enjoy the same treatment as Harry.

So as soon as class was over, he wrote a letter to Old Malfoy for help.

The reply was quick, arriving that very evening.

However, after Draco read it, he became even more confused.

Snape wasn't exactly fair and just, but he certainly made his love and hate clear.

Targeting Harry, who drove Voldemort away, wasn't strange, but targeting the son of his good friend could only be explained as some kind of disguised encouragement.

He buried his face in the quilt, and fell asleep thinking about it.

The kitchen.

Vincent, enjoying a rare midnight snack, stopped in his tracks under the twins' reluctant gaze.

"Don't try to persuade me, I'll wait until I've fully mastered the Disillusionment Charm."

George slumped down in front of him as if abandoned, "Vincent, you promised to be with us until the end of time!"

"I didn't say that."

"You did!" Fred wiped the corner of his eye. "Do you know how I've been getting by these past five days?"

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

"Uh—chatting with the door knocker is quite interesting too."

"No!" George stood up. "Do you know she can already cover an entire arm with the Disillusionment Charm?"

"I didn't know."

"Do you know her fighting skills have already caught up with us?"

"I didn't know."

Vincent, with his consistently indifferent face, knew exactly what they were thinking.

Spending too much time with such a hardworking genius would put pressure on even the most carefree person.

"She didn't ask you to join her?"

"That's what makes it so frustrating."

He pulled out a small black notebook that recorded his schedule. "Tomorrow's Saturday, so let's sleep in a bit."

The twins cheered, and Hermione finished the last mouthful of her soup.

"Where are we exploring tonight?"

"The fifth floor!"

Fred grinned and approached Vincent. "Mate, you'll never guess what we found there."

"It's definitely not the Sorcerer's Stone."

"You're going to be scared," George said, pushing open the kitchen door. "Hermione was so scared she even dropped her book."

"I didn't!" She ran forward with large strides.

"Just admit it~"

She chased after him.

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

Fred gave a mysterious smile. "You'll find out when you get there~"

If the twins were putting so much effort into keeping it a secret, the thing on the fifth floor must be very special.

Or, in the current Hogwarts castle, it was the most precious item after the Sorcerer's Stone.

"Ah, how boring~" Fred stopped in front of an abandoned classroom.

The door was open, and Hermione and George must have already gone inside.

At his prompting, Vincent walked into the classroom.

With the help of the moonlight shining through the window, he could see the two of them standing in front of a plain-looking mirror.

The arched frame at the top was engraved with a line of inscription:

[erised stra ehruo ytubecafruo yton wohsi]

Read backwards, it meant:

[I show not your face but your heart's desire]

Vincent understood why this Mirror of Erised hadn't been placed in the fourth-floor room yet.

Dumbledore, the mind counselor, hadn't had a heart-to-heart with Harry yet.

"It allows us to see the most urgent and intense desires in our hearts." Hermione turned her gaze away from the mirror.

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