Chapter 167: Quirrell
Time: 3:00 a.m., Defense Against the Dark Arts Office, Fourth Floor
"Then… Master, should I go gather ingredients from the Forbidden Forest?" stammered Professor Quirrell, his voice quaking. "My… my own magic is too weak to bear your presence any longer…"
A cold, cruel voice hissed from within him.
> "Potion? Do you think you're Severus?"
There was a pause. Then the voice grew darker.
> "Quirrell… have you considered unicorn blood?"
"Uni– unicorn blood?" Quirrell choked. "But… Master… it's cursed…"
> "Cursed?" The voice twisted with anger. "What does a curse matter… once I have the Philosopher's Stone? Once I have returned to life?"
The tone dropped an octave, colder now, sharper.
> "Quirinus Quirrell! Were all your oaths—to help your Master obtain the Philosopher's Stone—just empty lies? Or… do you think I'll fail again? As I did ten years ago, when I was repelled by that Mudblood witch? Or do you still believe it was Harry Potter, that squalling infant?"
Quirrell's body seized up. Silent pain twisted his face. His mouth opened in agony, but he made no sound. A small trickle of yellow fluid leaked from the hem of his robe.
> "Listen well," the voice sneered. "Give Rubeus Hagrid the dragon egg… quickly. He's a simple creature. He visits the Hogshead Inn daily. He's not hard to manipulate."
> "Fail me, and you know what will happen."
The pain stopped. Quirrell gasped for air, trembling.
"I… I understand, Master," he rasped. "I will not fail."
With robotic familiarity, Quirrell cast a Scourgify to clean himself, as if this humiliation was a regular occurrence.
---
Elsewhere: Alexander Watches
The next day, Alexander Smith, comfortably nestled in Ravenclaw Tower, was reviewing magical surveillance footage.
"Good grief," he muttered. "Quirrell wets himself now?"
Alexander had covertly placed a magical tracer and recording charm on Quirrell weeks ago. It allowed him to review footage later, but only passively observe Dumbledore in real time—any attempt to record the Headmaster was immediately detected and countered.
Now, as he reviewed Quirrell's suffering and Voldemort's commands, a theory clicked into place.
So that's why the Ministry sealed his potion shop.
It wasn't just Snape's vendetta. It was part of Dumbledore's grand scheme.
He likely wanted to orchestrate a meeting between Harry Potter and Voldemort, to test whether Voldemort had any inkling of the Horcrux connection.
Dumbledore had even made a show of leaving the school to give Voldemort the perfect window of opportunity.
Alexander rubbed his temples. Poor Snape—caught in the crossfire without even knowing it.
---
In the Headmaster's Office
Dumbledore, meanwhile, was reflecting on his own maneuvering. He was... slightly impressed.
Initially, he'd grown suspicious about the sudden appearance of cheap, high-quality potions in Hogwarts. That suggested an unknown potioneer with considerable skill—possibly dangerous.
So he asked Minister Fudge to quietly investigate.
Fudge, foolish and greedy, went too far. He forcibly shut down Alexander's shop, likely hoping to skim profits or negotiate a deal.
The result?
Snape was humiliated, Fudge vanished for days and returned battered, and the Ministry's efficiency skyrocketed without him.
Whoever was behind the potion operation clearly had deep ties within both the Ministry and Hogwarts. But curiously… their intentions didn't feel malicious.
If anything, they seemed to just want to make money.
Dumbledore sighed and returned to his desk. He'd warned Fudge to tread lightly—he hadn't listened. Perhaps the Ministry had grown complacent under his leadership.
The war for the Wizarding World wouldn't be won with fools.
---
The Quidditch Clash Approaches
As winter turned into the New Year, the most anticipated match of the season loomed: Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin.
Tension hung thick in the air.
Everyone who had witnessed Slytherin vs. Gryffindor weeks earlier wore somber expressions. That match had left an impression—especially Slytherin's Seeker, Terence Higgs, a seventh-year with razor-sharp instincts and unmatched calm.
Though outwardly courteous, Higgs had never needed to cheat. But that didn't mean he wouldn't, if the opportunity arose.
Worse were Slytherin's Chasers—Marcus Flint, Derrick Pusey, and Montague. All three were built like trolls and played like them too. Their style was aggressive, borderline violent, and their strategy relied more on collisions than clean passes.
Even the Keeper, Miles Bletchley, had a reputation for sneak attacks.
And the Beaters—Derrick and Bole—used their bats more as clubs than tools. It was no wonder Professor McGonagall, herself a former Gryffindor player, loathed the Slytherin team.
During her seventh year, a foul committed by Slytherin had left her with broken ribs and a concussion, costing Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup.
Since then, she never missed a Slytherin match—just to see them lose.
---
A Ravenclaw Dilemma
This year, however, Ravenclaw's odds weren't ideal.
Their captain, Jonny, was facing a lineup problem: both Beaters and the Keeper were seventh-years and wouldn't return next year. Their only star addition was Harry Potter, but he was still new, and Ravenclaw lacked reliable backups.
Second-year Cho Chang was promising, but too delicate for the Chaser position in a rough game. As a Seeker, she had grace, but Harry outclassed her.
Between Christmas and now, Jonny had painstakingly compiled dossiers on each Slytherin player—their styles, strengths, and weaknesses—and handed it all to Harry.
But let's face it: every Slytherin player was a walking weapon.
Harry, small and lean, would have to rely on evasive tactics: Sloth Grip Roll, Zigzag Dive, and staying high above the bludgers.
Jonny had advised him to hide in the clouds at first, search for the Snitch, and only dive when certain.
In the locker room, Jonny wrapped up the strategy session. Harry, outwardly calm, gave a small nod.
Inwardly, though?
His stomach churned.
He wasn't confident—not yet.
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