Vizet frowned slightly.
"So by wielding my powers, you mean releasing the Obscurus?"
"Vizet, your comprehension is impeccable," Voldemort said in a voice that oozed satisfaction, followed by an exaggerated, theatrical sigh.
"What a pity. You're still so stubborn... Even now, you refuse to say those simple words: 'I've learned a lesson.' How disappointing."
Vizet's tone dripped with sarcasm. "I've learned a lesson. Thank you so much for enlightening me."
Voldemort cackled harshly, the sound jagged and mirthless. "How amusing. Say it again. Twice more, would you?"
Vizet didn't respond. He only quickened his pace.
Eventually, he arrived at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Shrouded in moonless darkness, the outer fringe of the woods resembled a slumbering beast. The tangled crowns of trees, their shadows melding into one another, radiated a silent menace — as though the forest itself was holding its breath.
"Go on. Don't dawdle," Voldemort urged. "I've waited long enough."
Vizet stepped forward.
Almost instantly, the thick scent of rotting leaves and damp moss enveloped him. It was as if the forest were swallowing him whole.
Inside, it was darker than expected. The moonlight struggled to slip between the heavy branches overhead, leaving only deep gloom and suggestion.
After only a few steps, Vizet's foot skidded on wet moss, and he nearly stumbled.
He said to himself, "If I cast Lumos, I'll just draw attention. There has to be another way to see."
"What a cautious boy," Voldemort drawled, clearly entertained. "Why don't you call me 'Professor'? Who knows, I might be inclined to help you."
Vizet put on the mask of a dutiful student, concealing his disgust as he asked, "Professor, how can I see my surroundings more clearly?"
Voldemort sounded delighted. "So this is what it feels like to be called that… No wonder Quirinus is so enthralled."
"Very well. My student — let your professor teach you something useful."
"The incantation is 'Oculis Tenebris' — an old spell, once favored by wizarding spies."
"These days, it's probably used by thieves. I'll only explain it once, so listen well. First, the tone..."
It took Vizet about five minutes to fully understand the casting method. Voldemort was precise — overly so — as if he were enjoying the act of tutoring again.
The spell's concept wasn't difficult to grasp: it heightened physical sensitivity, turning the caster's body into a living sensor to perceive light and movement around them.
Simple, elegant — like most old magic. It reminded Vizet of Aberforth's bread spell: practical wizardry with a flair of intuition.
He closed his eyes, focused, and pressed the tip of his wand gently to his eyelids. With a small upward sweep, he intoned:
"Oculis Tenebris."
As his eyes opened again, the darkness melted away.
The forest around him glowed in muted greens, as though he were seeing through enchanted night-vision lenses. The moss shimmered faintly. Twigs and underbrush were etched with eerie clarity.
"Your talent is undeniable," Voldemort observed, his voice tinged with pleasure.
"Shouldn't you say something now? The way you do when Quirinus teaches you?"
Vizet inhaled deeply. He was already irritated — but forced himself to remain composed.
"Thank you for your guidance, Professor. I learned quickly because of you."
"So, Quirinus is enjoying this…" Voldemort muttered, drawing in a slow, resentful breath. "If I had been made a professor back then, perhaps I could've enjoyed all this every day."
Vizet furrowed his brow. "Back then?"
"Yes," Voldemort said bitterly. "I originally wanted to return to Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. But Dumbledore — Dumbledore rejected me. So you see, all of this — this current situation — is his doing. He's the real culprit."
"Got it..." Vizet replied coolly, unfazed, as he pressed on through the undergrowth, aided by his night vision spell.
Voldemort offered no further explanation, merely urging Quirrell's body forward while muttering low, derisive chuckles.
The Forbidden Forest teemed with magical creatures.
A sleeping Augurey rested beneath a thick bough, its chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
A Diricawl suddenly appeared on Vizet's shoulder, chirping softly as it snatched up squirming earthworms from the soil, as though expecting Vizet to share in the feast.
Farther off, a pair of hippogriffs clashed. They shrieked, flapped their powerful wings, and slashed at one another with talons bared — fierce, brutal, and proud.
As they ventured deeper, Vizet's unease grew. "What exactly are you looking for?"
"Call me 'Professor.' That's basic etiquette."
Vizet gritted his teeth. "Fine. Professor... what are you looking for?"
Voldemort ignored the question. "Just keep walking. You'll find it soon enough."
He added with a hiss of satisfaction, "After all, you're an Obscurus. Few creatures here could harm you... You could kill at will, and no one would ever know."
The deeper they went, the thicker the air became — drenched in a foul, rotting stench. Bones littered the forest floor, buried shallowly beneath dark soil, many of them slick with fresh decay and crawling with maggots. Something nearby had been feeding.
The grotesque sight made Vizet tighten his grip on his wand. His pace slowed; every step was calculated, careful.
"Good instincts," Voldemort murmured, his voice rising ever so slightly. "I must say, I'm beginning to appreciate you more and more... my student."
A sudden rustling came from a distant bush.
Vizet raised his wand, ready to strike — but what emerged was no threat.
It was a unicorn.
Its coat shimmered with a soft, radiant glow, and as it stepped forward, the moonlight pierced the canopy above, casting a silvery veil around it. Its large, luminous eyes seemed to hold a magic deeper than any charm — gentle, ancient, and kind.
Vizet felt its benevolence at once. An irresistible urge pulled at him — to reach out, to run his hand through that silken mane.
"Aha!" Voldemort cackled suddenly. "Vizet, that is our target! I want its blood — give me its blood, now!"
"Absolutely not!" Vizet snapped, his voice firm and unwavering.
The unicorn froze. As if sensing the darkness in Voldemort's voice, it dipped its head toward Vizet — grateful, almost — and then vanished silently into the forest once more.
Voldemort's tone turned sharp, mocking. "So... the bond between you and Quirinus isn't so strong after all. His life means less to you than a unicorn's? Tsk, tsk, tsk... I may have misjudged you."