Chapter 71. Professor Quirrell, Professor Quirrell
After receiving the information about the Golden Apples from the Tree of Wisdom, Adrian Wesson let out a long breath.
The original effect of this ritual was described as enhancing the power of a magical item, but Adrian had never tried it and did not know the exact outcome.
What Adrian performed was a modified version.
With the Tree of Wisdom's help, the alterations to the ritual went very smoothly.
Even better, Adrian succeeded on his very first attempt at transforming an ordinary apple into a Golden Apple, greatly increasing its purifying effect.
Lupin looked at the apple on the table that had turned brilliantly golden, a trace of surprise flickering in his eyes.
He could not help asking, "Did it work?"
Adrian nodded. "I had some luck."
Lupin stepped forward, observing the Golden Apple closely as he said, "What's the use of this? Turning an apple into gold? If you ask me, the gold dust you used costs far more than an apple made of gold."
Adrian shook his head. "It's not that simple."
As he spoke, Adrian picked up one of the Golden Apples and handed it to Lupin.
Lupin accepted it with a puzzled look, weighed it a few times, and said, "Seems it's not gold."
"Of course not—but you'll have use for it," Adrian said with a mysterious wink. "Perhaps quite soon."
As the apples were now, they might truly be able to have some effect on Lupin's lycanthropy.
After that, Adrian made the rest of the apples into Golden Apples as well.
Unfortunately, at the very end—he did not know why—his crucible suddenly exploded.
As a result, he ended up with only three Golden Apples; adding the one he had given Lupin, there were four in total.
After finishing the Golden Apples, Adrian returned to Hogwarts.
While walking along the corridor, he suddenly realised that something was off about Hogwarts today—everyone seemed a bit too excited.
So Adrian casually stopped a student in the corridor, a girl with a head of thick, fluffy brown hair.
"What is it, Professor Wesson?"
Hermione, hugging a book, stopped and looked at Adrian in puzzlement; she had not expected him to speak to her first.
She knew his name, but she was not familiar with him.
After all, she had not yet reached the year for Care of Magical Creatures, so naturally she rarely had a chance to see Adrian—only at the Start-of-Term Feast, and from what other students had said.
"Ah, nothing," Adrian waved a hand and asked, "I just wanted to know—did something happen today? Everyone seems… a bit excited."
Hermione tidied her hair, quickly adjusted her expression, and answered properly, "It's probably because of the Quidditch match, Professor. Today is the first Quidditch match of the term."
Adrian raised his eyebrows, suddenly understanding.
Quidditch—no wonder.
When he had been at school, everyone had been excited for the inter-house Quidditch every year.
Adrian did not dislike the sport; Quidditch demands a great deal of stamina, energy, and reflexes from a witch or wizard.
Those who excel at Quidditch are seldom weak in other areas.
Once, Adrian had even joined Hufflepuff's Quidditch team—but only for one term.
Because training took so much time, he ultimately chose to quit.
"Thank you for the reminder, Miss Granger," Adrian said, nodding.
"You know my name?" Hermione's mouth fell open in surprise.
Adrian smiled, his tone gentle. "Of course. Professor Flitwick often mentions you—says you're one of the best students he's ever taught. He even says you're ahead of many upper-years."
"Just call me Hermione, Professor."
Hermione's face flushed slightly; she was clearly a bit embarrassed.
"All right, off you go then, Hermione."
Halfway down the corridor, Adrian turned back and asked, "By the way—what time is the Quidditch match?"
"Eleven o'clock."
That afternoon, Adrian arrived at the Quidditch match right on time.
He had even brought a camera.
In fact, almost all the staff and students had come; in the staff stand Adrian saw many familiar faces.
Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, Snape…
All four Heads of House were present.
It looked like everyone cared a great deal about this Quidditch match.
After all, it was a contest between the four Houses.
When Adrian reached the stands, his eyes lit up; without letting it show, he sat down beside Professor Quirrell.
At this moment, Quirrell did not react much to someone sitting next to him.
Because he was troubled by something else.
Just now, the person on the back of his head had given him an order.
During the Quidditch match, he was to jinx the broom of that student named Harry Potter and make him fall off.
He had thought this task would be very simple—the possession by Lord Voldemort had made his Dark Magic considerably stronger; placing a spell on a broom would naturally be no problem.
The trouble was…
Quirrell swept his gaze around: the stands were packed; even the professors were seated near him.
Casting a jinx under so many people's noses—honestly, he could not be sure he would go unnoticed.
But Voldemort would not listen to excuses.
Any order from Voldemort—Quirrell did not dare disobey even a punctuation mark.
After all—he had already tasted the consequences, and he did not want to endure that pain again, pain on a par with the Cruciatus Curse.
Voldemort had ten thousand ways to torment him.
Even at the risk of being found out, he could only grit his teeth and do it.
Just as Quirrell made up his mind, a wave of cheers surged like a tide, and the entire Quidditch pitch boiled over.
With Madam Hooch's whistle, the match began.
Adrian immediately fixed his eyes on Harry in the middle of the pitch.
It had to be said—Harry was indeed very gifted at flying.
Riding his broom, Harry flashed across the pitch like lightning.
As soon as the match started, the Gryffindor and Slytherin players launched into a fierce struggle.
When the match was about halfway through, Adrian noticed Quirrell's eyes flick toward Harry from time to time, his expression uneasy.
Clearly, he was waiting for a chance to jinx Harry's broom.
"Angelina's got the Quaffle! Oh—she passes—what a graceful move. She's a superb Chaser, and she's gorgeous…"
Lee Jordan sat at the commentator's table, keeping up a nonstop patter.
However, Adrian thought the number of times "Angelina" came out of his mouth was a bit too many; it was hard not to suspect something.
As Quirrell began his little manoeuvre—
At the most intense moment of the match, Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand suddenly started to shake violently, as if it had lost control.
Clutching the broom handle tight, he tried to steady himself, but the broom writhed like an unbridled wild horse, as though it were trying to throw him off.
A chorus of gasps went up from the stands.
Adrian's gaze swept sharply to Quirrell and saw the man's lips moving ever so slightly—clearly muttering an incantation.
In that case—
"Professor Quirrell!" Adrian suddenly called out.
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