Discussion with Dumbledore

"I suspect that wasn't his true goal," Vizet said, taking a sip of black tea. "It felt like the whole setup was meant to corner me into brewing the Soul-Soothing Draught for him. But I don't understand why..."

"Because your draught is unlike any other," Dumbledore replied with a gentle smile. "Perhaps it's the chaotic quality imparted by your Obscurial nature that drew his interest."

Vizet exhaled, feeling somewhat reassured, though concern still lingered in his eyes. "What if Voldemort tries again? Goes after another unicorn?"

"The curse that comes with harming a unicorn is not easily shed," Dumbledore explained, his tone calm and deliberate. "It taints both the body and the soul. As long as he has other options, Voldemort will avoid that path. If he's considered it at all, it's a sign he's in a dire state."

He cleared his throat softly and laced his fingers together. "Tell me, did you happen to keep any of the draught? I'd like to see what your latest attempt produced."

Vizet nodded. "I brought the cauldron back. And... I did feel something different about the potion this time."

Voldemort had taken only the bottled potion, leaving behind the shrunken cauldron. Vizet, not one to waste useful resources, had brought it — along with the remaining contents — back to the castle.

"Aberforth was remarkably frugal when he was young..." Dumbledore murmured with a distant, fond smile, enlarging the cauldron with a flick of his wand.

He conjured a frog from the air, then dipped a fingertip into the draught and gently smeared it along the creature's back. The frog, which had been fidgeting anxiously, quickly relaxed. Its eyes drooped shut, and it slumped into a serene, deep sleep.

For a reason he couldn't quite explain, Vizet had the odd feeling that the frog was now dreaming — pleasant dreams.

"Excellent..." Dumbledore murmured, visibly pleased. "The potion is functioning perfectly again. The Soul-Soothing Draught is stable. This confirms it — your Soul Labyrinth has succeeded."

Vizet looked puzzled. "But what does that have to do with the draught, Professor?"

Dumbledore collected the remaining potion, setting it carefully aside before answering.

"Severus likely told you your soul is... unusual. Its properties can directly impact the efficacy of certain potions."

Vizet nodded, listening intently.

"Aberforth and I differ in many ways," Dumbledore continued. "His magic stems from love — pure and unyielding. It's similar in the way someone would cast a Patronus Charm. In that way, he's far more innocent than I ever was. At times, I've even envied him."

Here, Dumbledore paused, his breath catching slightly. For a fleeting moment, a shadow of guilt flickered across his features. "In any case, the Soul Labyrinth was his creation, and it's ideally suited for someone like you."

"In my understanding, the Obscurial forces inside you try to claw their way toward your core. But the maze diverts them — spreads their power thin, disperses them among your memories and emotions, where they're gradually dissolved by the light that lives in you."

He looked once more at the frog, now curled peacefully beside the cauldron.

"Seeing the effect of this potion confirms it. My theory was right. But don't let your guard down. The Soul Labyrinth is not a cure — it only buys us time."

"I understand," Vizet said seriously. "There's still so much I need to learn. Only through understanding the soul — truly mastering it — can I fix what's broken."

"Exactly!" Dumbledore beamed, as delighted as if he'd just unwrapped a bag of Fizzing Whizbees. "You see now why I have such faith in you, Vizet."

"So… what about Professor Quirrell?" Vizet asked. Of all the questions swirling in his mind, this one had taken root most deeply.

Dumbledore, as if to fortify himself, actually popped a Fizzing Whizbee into his mouth. "Then tell me everything that happened tonight," he said. "I'll need more details before I can give a proper answer."

Vizet nodded and exhaled slowly. He began recounting the evening from the moment he returned to Hogwarts — the strange pressure of Voldemort's influence, the flickers of Quirrell's resistance, and the intense emotions that had passed between them. He held nothing back.

By the end, his throat felt scorched, as if he'd been breathing smoke. He reached for his cup and took a long sip of black tea before asking, "Can we succeed?"

"Absolutely," Dumbledore said at once. "Everything is turning for the better. Quirinus has been affected, yes — but not broken. His will has grown stronger, more defined. That is the seed of resistance."

He leaned forward, eyes glinting with something between pride and purpose. "What a wizard can do lies not in how he appears, but in who he is. You've tapped into Quirinus's heart, Vizet. All he needs now is a little help to keep going."

"Quirinus is no longer the same man. He's taken a different path, and everything changes with that choice — even the scars of the past can be rewritten when the present becomes meaningful."

"When he starts to sink, when the past threatens to drown him again, you must be the one to help him see the beauty of the present — remind him of what he's fighting for."

Vizet asked quietly, "What should we do, exactly?"

Dumbledore tilted his head and posed a question of his own: "Severus mentioned something to me. A magic of yours that eliminates evil thoughts?"

"Yes," Vizet answered.

"You didn't… attempt to use it on Voldemort, did you?"

"I considered it," Vizet admitted. "But I didn't go through with it. I don't know enough about him yet. I couldn't risk it — I didn't want to act on impulse and gamble with something that dangerous."

"You made the right call," Dumbledore said, voice laced with approval. "Voldemort's ability to possess others speaks volumes about his mastery of the soul. If your attempt had failed — or worse, if he had discovered the nature of your magic — it could've gone terribly wrong. For both of you."

He paused for a beat, then added, "To ensure your magic becomes what it needs to be, I'll help you complete it."

Vizet blinked in surprise. "Help me complete it?"

"You must wear the pendant at all times," Dumbledore said, and now his voice was grave. "No exceptions. That's your lifeline. The time will come when you must act in concert with Voldemort, in that 'final exam' of his."

"The process will be extremely dangerous," he emphasized. "So you must wear the pendant. No matter what."

"If Quirrell is still resisting?" Dumbledore continued. "Voldemort will order you to help him find the Philosopher's Stone."

Vizet spoke, "Harry and the others have been talking about it for a while. Only... they've guessed the wrong target."

"Wrong target?"

"They think it's Professor Snape who's after it."

Dumbledore sighed, a sound both wistful and burdened. "That misunderstanding runs deep. A history too tangled for easy explanations. In the end… that's my failing. Maybe I truly can't —"

His voice caught. His gaze dropped, and for a fleeting moment, his face fell into shadow: dejection, loneliness, sorrow... confusion.

But only for a moment.

Then he straightened, his expression composed once more, as if nothing had happened.

"Vizet," he said evenly, "do you know where the Philosopher's Stone is hidden?"

"The third-floor corridor?"

"Correct. I've asked several professors to set up protective measures within. Care to hazard a guess as to what those measures are?"

Vizet furrowed his brow, rubbing his temples in thought. "Fluffy is one of the tests, right?"

"I saw Professor Snape's leg — he said it was bitten by a cerberus..."

"Quite right," Dumbledore chuckled, sliding a lemon sorbet toward Vizet. "Please, go on."

"The Devil's Snare should be another," Vizet continued. "I remember Professor Sprout once saying you'd told her every student at Hogwarts should be capable of dealing with Devil's Snare."

"Very good," Dumbledore said, eyes gleaming. "Continue..."