Two-Faced Man and the Hospital Director

No one could have imagined that a single trip would change a person's life.

As soon as he entered the room, Quirrell waved his wand and cast a spell. After carefully setting up every precaution, he finally removed his thick scarf, revealing the bald back of his head.

"I've carried out your instructions, Master."

Gone was his earlier timidity. Quirrell's pale face was now utterly obsequious, though his eyes still held a trace of cruelty and malice.

He was an excellent actor.

Even Dumbledore, the "greatest wizard," had failed to see through his "mask."

"Nicely done."

The face on the back of Quirrell's head slowly spoke, its eyes still closed.

"It's my honor, Great Master."

Quirrell looked so thrilled that he seemed to have received the finest praise in the world. He grinned, but didn't dare laugh aloud, afraid of disturbing the master residing in his body.

"Cough, cough. This is a gift, Quirinus—a perfect vessel. I must have him."

As Voldemort spoke, a weak smile lifted his lips. He looked as delighted as someone who had unexpectedly received an ice-cold drink on a scorching summer day.

Klein Grindelwald.

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

No body could be better than his.

"Of course, my Master. You'll have everything you desire."

After hearing Voldemort's words, Quirrell couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy. He could accept it rationally, but to put it bluntly, that talented little brat had practically popped up to "compete for his favor."

Why him?

He was the Great Master's most loyal and humble servant!

"Quirinus, we need to speed up our plan."

Voldemort knew all too well that Quirrell was jealous, but he didn't think much of it. After all, aside from himself, all his other servants were just pawns.

Use them while they were useful, then discard them when they weren't.

It was that simple.

"Yes, my Master."

Quirrell nodded and carefully recalled what he had discovered over the past week.

He was certain that Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone was hidden somewhere in Hogwarts, but he didn't know exactly where. The most likely place was the Headmaster's office on the Seventh Floor. It wouldn't be easy to get in there, especially while his master was still so weak. He would never be able to break through the protections Dumbledore had put in place.

But...

If they could lure Dumbledore away, they might have a chance.

"Quirinus, we need to complete the plan within the next few months. No one can keep Dumbledore in the dark forever."

As Dumbledore's former adversary and student, Voldemort felt an instinctive fear of the ever-smiling old man.

Perhaps it had something to do with his time at the orphanage. That day, he had witnessed the greatness of magic, but it had also planted the seed of fear in him.

The shadow was hard to shake. As long as Albus Dumbledore lived, Voldemort could never feel at ease.

If his soul weren't so damaged and in desperate need of restoration, he would have preferred to wait until the old man died before leaving Albania.

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

"Of course, my Master."

Quirrell rolled his eyes, then continued.

"As far as I know, there should be something in the Forbidden Forest that could help restore you. If we can sneak in, perhaps we could shorten the time our plan will take—"

"No. That won't do."

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

"Quirinus, my loyal servant, we can't draw attention to ourselves right now. We must keep as low a profile as possible."

Voldemort knew what Quirrell was thinking. In truth, he had known for a long time that the Forbidden Forest held something that could help him. He longed for it just as much.

Unicorn Blood.

These pure creatures possessed tremendous magic, and their blood was a powerful tonic. It did come with a minor curse, but for a being whose soul was incomplete, that small side effect was hardly worth considering.

As for whether it would harm Quirrell...

Just as people couldn't remember how many loaves of bread they had eaten in their lives, Voldemort had long forgotten how many servants he had abandoned.

"Yes, my Master. I'll be careful."

Quirrell nodded respectfully, but his eyes betrayed his worry.

He wasn't very good at brewing Potions, and the potion he had bought with his entire fortune to stabilize his master's soul was nearly gone.

If he still hadn't managed to get 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 stronger than before. It's incredible!"

Aberdo Hank narrowed his eyes and spent at least three minutes examining the wound that had already healed. Only after repeatedly confirming that he felt no discomfort did he take off his glasses and offer a heartfelt exclamation.

The Improved Healing Spell—or perhaps the New Healing Spell—had brought him an enormous surprise.

"Klein Grindelwald, an eleven-year-old spell innovator. What a genius."

No one understood better than he did what the spell's arrival would mean for the Magical World. As the current director of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Aberdo was extremely interested in the boy he had never met.

The thought energized him, and he pressed the brass button on his desk.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!"

After three short chimes, a woman's face appeared out of thin air.

"Director?"

Madam Nochel, the hospital's Executive Supervisor, looked serious.

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

Before Aberdo could speak, Madam Nochel took the initiative to ask. Usually, their director only contacted the outside world when dealing with an exceptionally serious matter.

"This is different from usual, Ms. Nocher. I'll be going out of town next week."

After a brief pause, Aberdo stroked his beard.

"Put together a team of ten healers for me by Thursday. I'm taking them to Hogwarts for an inspection."

"Hogwarts?"

Madam Nochel was bewildered by her director's words.

Wasn't Hogwarts a school for training wizards?

Even if the director wanted to lead an exchange visit, he should have gone to one of the other well-known magical hospitals. Hogwarts would never have been his first choice.

"Ms. Nocher?"

Seeing that she seemed distracted, Aberdo gave a light cough.

"Sorry, Director. It was my mistake. I'll assemble a team of experienced healers. You can count on me."

Whatever the director intended to do wasn't something she, as the Executive Supervisor, needed to worry about. The most important thing was to take care of her own duties. Madam Nochel agreed at once, ended the magical call, and stood up to leave the office.

After giving his instructions, Aberdo leaned back in his chair, satisfied, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

A young person who had shown such a gift for healing magic from an early age deserved to be noticed in advance. In a few years, they could recruit him to the hospital—and he'd be a promising candidate for a top healer.