22, Two-faced Man and Hospital Director

No one would have thought that a single trip could change an entire life.

Entering the room, Quirinus Quirrell raised his wand and cast a spell, carefully setting up all the security measures before finally removing his heavy scarf, revealing the bald back of his head.

"I have carried out your orders, Great Master."

Shedding his previous timid demeanor, Quirrell's pale face was full of fawning flattery, while a hint of ruthlessness and venom lurked in his eyes.

He was an excellent actor.

Even the "Greatest Wizard," Dumbledore, had failed to see through his "mask."

"Not bad."

The face with closed eyes on the back of Quirrell's head spoke slowly.

"It is my honor, Great Master."

A look of excitement appeared on his face, as if Quirrell had received the best praise in the world. He grinned but dared not laugh aloud, afraid of disturbing the master residing within his body.

"Ahem, this is a gift, Quirinus—a perfect vessel. I must obtain him."

As he spoke, Voldemort raised a weak smile, the pleased look on his face like someone unexpectedly getting an iced drink under the scorching summer sun.

Klein Grindelwald.

A child who could improve spells at just eleven years old.

No other body could be better than this.

"Of course, my Great Master. You will have everything you desire."

Hearing Voldemort's words, Quirrell felt a pang of bitterness in his heart. Though he could accept it rationally, to put it bluntly, that little brat with some talent was practically jumping out to "compete for favor" with him.

Why?

Wasn't he the most loyal, most humble servant of the Great Master?

"Quirinus, our plan needs to speed up."

Knowing full well the jealousy in Quirrell's heart, Voldemort paid it little mind. After all, aside from himself, all other servants were nothing but chess pieces.

Use them while they're useful, discard them when they're not.

Simple logic.

"Yes, my Great Master."

Quirrell nodded, carefully recalling the results of his explorations over the past week.

He was certain that Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone was hidden in Hogwarts, but he wasn't sure of its exact location. The most likely place was the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor—a place not easy to sneak into, especially while his master was still weak. There was no way he could break through the barriers Dumbledore had set up.

But...

If he could lure the tiger away from the mountain, maybe there would be a chance?

"Quirinus, we must complete the plan within these few months. No one can fool Dumbledore forever."

As Dumbledore's old rival and former student, Voldemort had a natural fear of that always-smiling old man.

Perhaps it had something to do with his experience at the orphanage that day. While witnessing the greatness of magic, a seed of fear toward the old man had also been planted in his heart.

This shadow was hard to dispel. As long as Albus Dumbledore lived, Voldemort could never rest easy.

If his soul weren't so shattered and in urgent need of recovery, he would have liked to wait for that old man to die of old age before emerging from Albania.

Unfortunately, powerful wizards tended to live long lives. He didn't have that much time.

"Of course, my Great Master."

Quirrell rolled his eyes, then spoke again.

"As far as I know, there should be something in the school's Forbidden Forest that could help with your recovery. If we could sneak in, we might shorten the plan's timeline..."

"No. No."

Before he could finish, Voldemort's weak voice cut him off.

"Quirinus, my loyal servant, we cannot expose ourselves now. We must keep as low a profile as possible."

Voldemort knew what was on Quirrell's mind. In fact, he had long known there was something in the Forbidden Forest that could help him, and he craved it just as much.

Unicorn Blood.

This creature, symbolizing purity, was highly magical, and its blood was a great tonic. Though there were some negligible curses, for an existence like him, whose soul wasn't even whole, those minor side effects were practically irrelevant.

As for whether it would harm Quirrell...

Just as people can't remember how many loaves of bread they've eaten in their lifetime, he had long forgotten how many servants he had abandoned.

"Yes, my Great Master. I will be careful."

Quirrell nodded respectfully, but worry showed in his eyes.

He wasn't skilled at brewing potions, and the potions he had bought with all his savings to maintain his master's soul stability were almost used up.

If he still hadn't obtained the Philosopher's Stone by then, he might really have to take a trip into the Forbidden Forest.

"The effect is at least three times what it was before—unbelievable!"

Aberdo Hank squinted, examining the fully healed wound for at least three minutes. After repeatedly confirming that he felt no discomfort, he finally took off his glasses and let out a heartfelt exclamation.

The "Improved Healing Spell"—or rather, the "New Healing Spell"—had brought him an immense surprise.

"Klein Grindelwald, an eleven-year-old spell modifier—truly a genius."

No one understood better than him what impact this spell would have on the Magical World once it was unveiled. As the current head of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Aberdo had developed a keen interest in that child he had never met.

With that thought, he perked up and pressed the copper button on his desk.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!"

Three short chimes rang out, and a woman's face materialized out of thin air.

"Headmaster?"

The hospital's Executive Supervisor, Madam Nochel, wore a stern expression.

"A new patient? Dragon Fire Burn or Golden Dust Sores?"

Before Aberdo could speak, Madam Nochel asked proactively. Usually, only in the most severe cases would their headmaster take the initiative to contact the outside.

"Not this time, Ms. Nocher. I'll be going out next week."

After a pause, Aberdo stroked the beard on his chin.

"By Thursday, assemble a team of ten healers for me. I'll be taking them to Hogwarts for an inspection."

"Hogwarts?"

Hearing her headmaster's words, Madam Nochel was taken aback.

Wasn't Hogwarts a school for training witches and wizards?

Even if the headmaster wanted to lead a team for an exchange visit, he should be heading to other major magical hospitals. How could it possibly be that place?

"Madam Nochel?"

Seeing her lost in thought, Aberdo gave a light cough.

"Apologies, Headmaster. My mistake. I'll put together an experienced team of healers. Please rest assured."

Whatever the headmaster intended to do, it wasn't her concern as the Executive Supervisor. Doing her own job properly was the most important thing. Agreeing at once, Madam Nochel ended the magical communication, rose, and left the office.

Having assigned the task, Aberdo leaned back contentedly in his chair, a glimmer of anticipation flashing in his eyes.

A young man who had shown such extraordinary talent for healing magic from such a young age was worth keeping an eye on. In a few years, recruit him into the hospital—another top-tier healer in the making.