Chapter 104. The Philosopher's Stone Probably...
The Tree of Wisdom was different from Wesson's other plants.
To a certain extent, it was bound to Wesson.
The "Energy Amplification" trait gained by the Tree of Wisdom also affected Wesson.
Wesson felt the magic in his body surge like a tide.
Even the wand in his hand seemed much lighter.
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell cut through the air, shooting straight at Lord Voldemort; the jet of magic was as thick as an adult's arm.
Voldemort hastily swept his wand to block, and a green curse shot out as well.
The two spells collided in mid-air with a thunderous bang.
Harry and the other two had to raise their hands to shield their eyes as the shockwave swept over them, making their robes whip and snap.
"Interesting..."
An unexpected look crossed Voldemort's crack-riven face.
Wesson's spellwork had grown more than twice as powerful.
This was absolutely not normal.
However, Wesson had no intention of answering Voldemort's unspoken questions.
For a time, spells flew between them, the duel surging back and forth.
Although Voldemort was more seasoned than Wesson in combat, he was, after all, using someone else's body.
Very soon, Quirrell's ravaged frame could no longer hold up.
The last spell Voldemort cast twisted and warped in the air, disintegrating before it had flown halfway.
The skin on his body peeled away in flakes like desiccated bark.
"I... will remember... you..."
Voldemort's voice fragmented.
At last, his body collapsed like a sandcastle, crumbling to dust and leaving only a heap of white ash.
Before Wesson could exhale in relief, a jet of black mist burst from within.
It was Voldemort's main soul.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A small silvery-white hedgehog appeared in the air.
Wesson wanted to deal with Voldemort's main soul the way he had with the soul fragments; however, that black mist simply dissipated into the air.
"It still managed to get away..." Wesson sighed softly.
If he could have refined Voldemort's main soul, the soul power contained in the leaves condensed by the Tree of Wisdom would surely have been beyond imagination.
With Voldemort dealt with, Wesson turned his gaze to Harry and the others behind him.
During the fight just now, they had stayed by the doorway so as not to be caught up in the duel.
Now, they were hurrying towards Wesson.
Harry reached him first, his voice trembling a little. "Professor! Are you all right? I thought..."
He might be Harry Potter, but right now he was only an eleven-year-old child.
Fear was normal.
Wesson gave him a hug, ruffled his hair, and said with a smile, "I'm perfectly fine. It's over now, Harry."
Ron and Hermione crowded in as well.
Hermione's eyes were red, her wand clutched tight in her hand as she asked nervously, "What about Professor Quirrell and You-Know-Who?"
Ron stared at the heap of white ash, opening and closing his mouth as if he wanted to speak.
"As you can see," Wesson said, "for the moment, they're no longer a threat."
At this, Wesson noticed the complicated expressions on the three children's faces—death was still too heavy a thing for eleven-year-olds, even when it concerned an enemy.
Just then, footsteps sounded from the far end of the corridor.
It was Dumbledore.
He was wearing deep-blue pyjamas spangled with stars and moons, his usually neat silver hair sticking up in messy tufts, as if he hadn't had time to tidy it.
With a grave expression, Dumbledore strode up to Wesson, took in the wreckage all around, and asked, "Can you tell me what happened here, everyone?"
"You-Know-Who possessed Quirrell and tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone. Harry and the others helped as well," Wesson explained calmly. "I learned of this from the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest."
"It seems I must thank them properly."
Dumbledore nodded and thought for a moment, soon sorting out the situation.
Then he turned to Harry and the others.
They tensed at once.
At this hour, they certainly weren't supposed to be here.
However, Dumbledore merely gave them a gentle smile. "It's over now, my dears. Come along, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Professor Wesson and I will see you back to your dormitory."
"What about tonight, then..." Harry said.
"Hush." Dumbledore pressed a finger to his lips. "You did very well tonight, but I don't advise you to spread word of what happened. For your courage, fifty points to Gryffindor."
Harry and the others let out a breath of relief at once, Hermione especially.
She had thought they would lose a great handful of points tonight.
After the three little ones were taken back to their dormitory, Wesson was invited to Dumbledore's office.
Wesson sat, and Dumbledore made him a cup of tea.
For himself, Dumbledore brewed a cup of coffee.
Watching Dumbledore add a seventh sugar cube to his coffee, Wesson couldn't help frowning.
Could that still be called coffee? It had to be cloyingly sweet.
"I'm sorry to intrude on your rest," Dumbledore said, stirring his coffee, "but a great deal did happen tonight. Could you tell me the specific course of events?"
Wesson nodded and recounted in detail how he had received the centaurs' message, gone to the room on the fourth floor, and rescued Harry and the others.
Dumbledore listened, silent in thought for a while, then finally said slowly, "Well done, Professor Wesson."
Wesson smiled faintly. "Thank you."
Then Wesson asked, "Professor Dumbledore, did you already know that You-Know-Who would come to steal the Philosopher's Stone?"
Dumbledore hesitated, then nodded. "In fact, this was a trap laid for him. However, he acted much earlier than I had expected."
"You didn't anticipate that You-Know-Who would move tonight?"
"Quite so," Dumbledore inclined his head and said frankly, "The ancient magic of Hogwarts warns me of the traces of Dark Magic. In truth, I was on my way to the Forbidden Forest—Hagrid reported that a Unicorn had been slain."
He paused a moment, then continued, "If you hadn't intervened in time, Professor Wesson, the loss tonight might have been incalculable."
Even so, Wesson felt Dumbledore knew everything—he might even have been secretly watching from the sidelines while Wesson fought Voldemort.
"And Hagrid? Where is he?" Wesson asked. He hadn't seen Hagrid.
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then said, "He's gone to deal with the three-headed dog."
Wesson couldn't help feeling sorry for Hagrid.
When he went in on the fourth floor just now, he had seen that Fluffy was already dead—most likely by the Killing Curse.
And by the time they came back out, Fluffy's body had vanished; Hagrid had probably removed it.
"Oh, by the way," Dumbledore suddenly remembered something and said to Wesson, "the Philosopher's Stone, Professor Wesson. It should be with you, I think."
Wesson froze on the spot, a sheepish smile creeping across his face.
That thing had already gone up in smoke.
How was he supposed to explain this to Dumbledore?
Through his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore fixed Wesson with a quiet gaze.
The office suddenly felt unnervingly quiet, save only for the sound of Fawkes preening his feathers.
"Er..." Wesson cleared his throat, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the rim of his teacup. "The Philosopher's Stone probably... is already gone..."
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