Chapter 231

The entrance to the school infirmary was packed with young wizards; the heavy door, unable to bear the pressure, creaked open with a loud groan.

Madam Pomfrey’s expression was grim:

“Seven times in three days—do you treat this place like the Great Hall for meals?!”

Madam Pomfrey was, of course, a kind witch, but also truly stern.

The young wizards shuddered, and, forced to stick with their excuse, blurted out:

“We heard Harry… and Professor Quirrell have woken up.”

“Of course, if I were disturbed seven times in three days, I’d wake up quickly too—”

Madam Pomfrey’s words carried a simmering anger.

In the end, Wizard Sean and the others were summoned by Headmaster Dumbledore; the Headmaster was still speaking with Harry. They saw Harry wearing that strange, dazed expression—like the one he’d worn when he learned Professor Snape wasn’t Voldemort’s follower, or when he realized Voldemort was in the Forbidden Forest.

“Harry—”

Ron and Hermione called out, voices trembling; the others moved to Harry’s side. Headmaster Dumbledore stepped aside to make room, gazed thoughtfully at Wizard Sean for a moment, then left the infirmary.

As they were asking Harry after his well-being, Wizard Sean turned to glance at Professor Quirrell’s bed across the room.

His face was pale, lips bloodless; when he noticed Wizard Sean’s gaze, he struggled to sit up.

“Are you all right, Professor?”

Wizard Sean quickly walked over.

“Of course, of course, Mr. Green—I’ve never felt better in a year…”

Professor Quirrell’s voice no longer stuttered.

“Out—!”

Madam Pomfrey came to shoo them out; Wizard Sean and the others were soon driven from the infirmary.

The corridor was noisy and chaotic, starkly different from the quiet, white ward. After learning Harry’s condition, the young wizards all sighed in relief and returned to the Hope Cottage.

Night fell slowly; a black cat slipped quietly into the ward.

“Professor Quirrell.”

In the evening, beside the private bed, veiled by curtains, appeared a young wizard dressed in a long black robe.

Wizard Sean hesitated, unsure how to explain this to the professor, so he idly cast a Whispering Charm. He turned—and saw Professor Quirrell’s expression strangely distant.

The infirmary’s night was blue; light streamed through the arched windows, illuminating every vase placed before each bed.

Harry’s corner was crowded with bottles, gift boxes, and candies; Professor Quirrell’s side held only one book—brought by Wizard Sean.

Silence reigned here; the day’s clamor had ended. The noisy Gryffindor student who’d broken his wrist during a Quidditch practice now slept peacefully.

“I think I’m about to leave Hogwarts. Would you… care to hear a story?”

Professor Quirrell asked softly, in an attitude of profound humility.

“I’d be glad to,” Wizard Sean said.

Professor Quirrell pressed his lips tightly together. He saw the moonlight fall across the young wizard’s face—this was the hundredth time he’d wanted to bury his face and weep.

You know, my student years were a tragedy of unfulfilled longing—shy, hypersensitive, the very moment a person is most likely to fall into darkness. I achieved some things, but they never satisfied me, never filled the hunger. Under the temptation of dark power, it’s hard to control oneself.

Professor Quirrell’s voice carried a deep sense of inner struggle:

“The world under such a man’s rule was utterly dark. I lied to myself—Voldemort would grant me honor. But sir, truth is a cruel thing. Cruel enough that one would rather numb oneself than accept it.”

He pressed his hands hard against his face. Wizard Sean didn’t know if his pain came from soul or life damage—or if his spirit had been torn open.

“Mr. Green, let me describe that world: it was gray and white, devoid of all color. At that crucial moment, I saw a star flickering constantly—the star named Uranus—suddenly shining in the moonlight, as if revealing something to me.

A colorful biscuit showed me the possibility of escaping such a world. I knew it was my only chance. But when I mustered all my courage and reached the Headmaster’s office door… may you never know such despair.

Despair is not the end; light always exists somewhere. The biscuit in the corner gave me courage again—Quirrell, such a small, hateful, pitiful wizard—how could anyone risk death to save someone like him?

So when I saw you, I suddenly realized I’d already made my decision. When I chose death, I felt true release. Living in deception, disguise, lies, fear, panic, helplessness… Mr. Green, such days are better spent dying for you.”

The infirmary remained silent; Wizard Sean sat in silence, almost at a loss.

“This story should have ended with scorn and hatred—a wizard greedy for power, a cowardly, selfish wizard, a foolish wizard… Now he has awakened. He knows perhaps only one thing in this world is right, Mr. Green: to fight darkness to the end, to walk forward for your will.”

Professor Quirrell bowed his head deeply. He placed his left hand over his heart; he knew what he was saying, and his body trembled uncontrollably.

There was no solemn oath inside the infirmary—only a buried resolve.

Wizard Sean stood beneath the moonlight, watching the light pass through Professor Quirrell’s body and fall upon the infirmary, casting a blurred human silhouette.

Heine stood under the moonlight, watching the light pass through Professor Quirrell’s body and fall upon the school infirmary, revealing a faint, blurry silhouette.

Back at the Hope Cottage, Wizard Sean sat in silence for an unknown length of time, until the curfew bell rang. In his hand, a photograph glowed faintly.

It was a unique photo—originally taken by Jia Jia Siting of the Christmas Great Hall gathering, now seemingly infused with some magical enchantment.

When other wizards looked at it, the photo showed nothing unusual. But when Wizard Sean stared at it, some once-vivid figures lost their color.

Headmaster Dumbledore’s gray eyes remained kind; Professor Snape’s gray robes still loomed oppressively.

At intervals, gray figures appeared. No one knew what it meant, nor the purpose behind the magic.

Only Wizard Sean saw Professor Quirrell’s gray body suddenly regain its color—the professor in the photo transformed into a squirrel and leapt out of the frame.

The squirrel scurried wildly through the Hope Cottage—now beside the cold fireplace, now staring blankly at the strange photograph.

Wizard Sean’s gaze remained calm. When he opened the door, the green eyes in the enchanted mirror followed him like a shadow.

No clouds. No torrential rain pounding the windows. Tonight, Jupiter and Uranus shone exceptionally bright.

No dark clouds, no torrential rain pounding against the windows; Jupiter and Uranus shone especially bright this night.