Dumbledore returned to the Headmaster's office and stood before the Mirror of Erised. He did not cover it, as he usually did. Instead, he paced around it once with quiet thoughtfulness before settling into his high-backed chair.
With a soft tap of his wand against the desk, a tea service appeared. He brewed himself a pot of black tea, unwrapped a small paper bag of Cockroach Clusters, and began chewing them cheerfully.
A few minutes passed before the door creaked open, revealing a haggard-looking figure in flowing black robes.
Snape stepped inside.
He, too, instinctively veered around the Mirror of Erised, as though even his shadow might betray something to it, and took the seat opposite Dumbledore.
His voice, as always, was cool and clipped. "Must the mirror remain here?"
"It may be useful tomorrow," Dumbledore said simply, nudging the Cockroach Clusters across the table. "Fancy one? You look absolutely spent."
Snape curled his lip in distaste and leaned back as far as the chair allowed. "No, thank you. I delivered the potion supplies. I did nothing beyond that."
"That was exactly the right decision," Dumbledore said, nodding with approval. "This is a delicate time. Had you done anything overt, Voldemort would surely have sensed something."
Snape said nothing, though his expression darkened.
"A great deal happened tonight," Dumbledore continued, his voice growing more reflective. "Several of my theories have been confirmed. And... there were some unexpected revelations as well."
He stirred his tea slowly. "Voldemort has no body of his own, which means he cannot truly be considered alive. And if he is not alive, he cannot truly die, either. Still, there was no loss of life tonight. That, at least, is a gift."
"Harry Potter…" Snape's face twitched. He drew a slow, steadying breath. "Her magic... did it respond?"
"It did," Dumbledore replied. "And quite remarkably so. It even managed to deflect another Killing Curse... Voldemort has returned... but it's impossible to say what form he's taken after tonight."
Snape frowned sharply. "You mean... you didn't destroy him?"
Dumbledore added another sugar cube to his tea. "It's... not that simple. His understanding of the soul runs very deep — deeper than I anticipated. He's crafted a unique theory of soul magic. A dreadful one."
"He was able to manipulate life force directly... using it to cast the Killing Curse."
"Life force?" Snape repeated, brow furrowing. "You mean — he drained Quirrell?"
"Precisely," said Dumbledore. "He stripped Quirinus' vitality in order to supplement the energy he used to cast the curse."
Snape's voice dropped. "You used the Philosopher's Stone on him, didn't you?"
"You're very sharp, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, nodding. "Yes. The moment was desperate — he was on the verge of death. There was no other option."
Snape crossed his fingers and leaned forward, his tone low. "That artifact is not something to be trifled with. What will you tell Nicolas Flamel?"
Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. "That's easy. Nicolas granted me full ownership of the Stone. Its use is entirely at my discretion."
"In fact, I had previously discussed destroying it with him," Dumbledore admitted, "but... I've since changed my mind. It's become something more than a curiosity. It now has a place — perhaps even a purpose — in sustaining life."
Snape hummed softly, eyeing him with faint suspicion. "You seem... changed."
"Oh?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
Snape folded his hands and tried to explain. "Like a traditional Gryffindor. Less restrained. As though a lion has finally noticed the door of its cage is ajar."
Dumbledore chuckled, swirling the tea in his cup. "Perhaps. I did say tonight held more than a few surprises. It's possible those discoveries are... shifting something in me."
Snape's tone flattened. "As long as your revelations end with the Dark Lord dead, that's all I care about."
Dumbledore held his gaze for a long moment, then gently steered the conversation in a new direction. "About Vizet's soul-soothing draught... is there any risk of long-term effects on the soul?"
"I haven't studied that field in depth," Snape admitted, shaking his head slightly. "But from what I understand, if a potion alters someone's essence, it's usually due to one of two causes: either the potion was brewed incorrectly... or the drinker had a preexisting vulnerability."
"Oh?" Dumbledore leaned in slightly. "You've encountered this before?"
"Only in books," Snape replied. "If someone's soul is particularly fragile, certain potions — rare ones — might induce... changes. Subtle ones, but noticeable."
"How fascinating," Dumbledore murmured. His eyes drifted back to the mirror, but he wasn't looking at his reflection anymore.
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With final exams behind them, students and professors alike found themselves free at last, and the halls of Hogwarts grew livelier by the hour.
Yet it wasn't just the return of free time that stirred excitement — somehow, within a day and a half, rumors about what had happened in the underground chambers involving Vizet and the others had spread like wildfire.
Idle students, driven by curiosity, rushed toward the hospital wing, eager for a glimpse or a story.
The sheer volume of visitors left Madam Pomfrey completely overwhelmed.
In the end, she had no choice but to request aid from Professor McGonagall, who promptly deployed a troop of enchanted suits of armor to stand guard at the ward's entrance. Only then did the chatter and chaos die down, and the students begrudgingly return to their dormitories.
It was the sound of chirping outside the open window that finally woke Vizet. The warm glow of sunset filtered in through the curtains, casting bright orange streaks across the floor of the hospital wing.
He sat up and glanced around.
A mountain of gifts and treats sat on the small table beside his bed — mostly an assortment of sweets. The table beside Harry's bed looked much the same. But the one near Professor Quirrell's was nearly empty.
Vizet stood and, without hesitation, began picking through the pile. He carefully selected a few of each candy and arranged them neatly on Quirrell's bare table.
The rest, he decided, he would bring back to Ravenclaw Tower and share with the others.
"Awake already? Then don't wander off — sit!" Madam Pomfrey's voice rang out as she strode over briskly, wand in hand. She gave it a quick wave over Vizet's head, watching the glow at the tip carefully.
"Madam Pomfrey," Vizet asked, "am I allowed to leave?"
"You're free to go," she said with a curt nod. "You've recovered quite well. Much better than the other two."
"Professor Quirrell and Harry — are they badly hurt?"
"Not exactly," she replied thoughtfully. "There's no lasting magical damage. As long as they get enough rest, they should be on their feet in a day or two."
She glanced over her shoulder toward the ward entrance. "If you want to leave, now's the time — there aren't many people lurking outside at the moment."
Vizet nodded and reached into his backpack, pulling out a quill and parchment. He quickly scribbled a short note and left it neatly on Quirrell's bedside table.
Professor Quirrell — everything is well. Wishing you a speedy recovery.
With that done, he turned to his scattered belongings and repacked them with care, fitting the pile of candy snugly inside.
Beneath the top layer of sweets, he discovered a folded note tucked discreetly among the wrappers.
It was from Dumbledore:
"Enjoy your final time. If you have any questions, wait until after the Quidditch match and come see me in the Headmaster's office. The password is still 'Jelly Slugs.'"
"Quidditch match?" Vizet's eyes widened as he froze mid-zip. He hurried over to Madam Pomfrey, lowering his voice.
"Madam Pomfrey — how long have I been asleep?"
"Only one day," she said, a little bemused by his urgency. But then her expression shifted into stern matron mode. "Still, you must remember —!"
"Don't use Baruffio's Brain Elixir recklessly," Vizet finished for her with a sheepish grin. "Yes, I'll be careful. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."
Back in the Ravenclaw common room, he was immediately swarmed by classmates.
A dozen eager faces leaned in, rapid-fire questions already flying.
"What happened down there?"
"Did you really fight a dark wizard?"
"Is it true Professor Quirrell fought the intruder also?"
Vizet raised his hands to calm the crowd and did as Dumbledore had instructed — he spun a version of the tale that would satisfy curiosity while gently obscuring the truth.
He spoke of a dark wizard infiltrating the school, how he'd stumbled into the middle of it, how the teachers had swiftly handled the situation.
It was a simple story. Clean. Safe. Believable.
And the excited gasps and murmurs that followed were enough to let him know they'd accepted it — at least for now.
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