Though the voice echoed only inside Quirrell's mind, he could still picture Voldemort gnashing his teeth in fury.
"Who dares to do such a thing?" Voldemort's roar struck Quirrell so hard he felt dizzy.
"Master, please calm yourself. Perhaps it's just some petty thieves borrowing your name—nothing worth worrying about," Quirrell said, trying to protect what remained of his sanity. "It might even be a joke…"
Quirrell had absolutely no talent for comforting anyone. Those words nearly made Voldemort explode on the spot.
"My name is not to be defiled. It seems I have been gone too long. Some fools have forgotten my terror and dare make a mockery of my name…"
Halfway through his rage, Voldemort abruptly fell silent. The sudden calm unsettled Quirrell, who found the shift unnerving.
"Master? Are you still there?" he asked cautiously.
"Shut up," Voldemort said coldly.
In the midst of his fury, the Dark Lord had realized something—something that instantly cooled his head and sent his thoughts spiraling.
Why were people suddenly spreading rumors that he had returned?
Voldemort refused to believe that, after eleven years of supposed death, someone would drag his name back into the light just to beat a dead horse—especially at such a sensitive time.
How many people even knew he was still alive?
Quirrell, naturally—their lives were tied together. He would never do such a thing.
Dumbledore was another. Voldemort had never underestimated the old wizard who brought him into the magical world. His wisdom and strength were things Voldemort truly feared.
Back then, Voldemort had suspected that the old man's refusal to intervene wasn't due to the rumor that "Dumbledore feared Voldemort," but because he had caught onto the existence of Horcruxes.
Just the slightest hint of a clue nearly exposed everything. That kind of intuition even Voldemort found hard to endure.
But he was certain Dumbledore wasn't behind the rumor. Not even a doubt crossed his mind.
As a leader among the righteous, Dumbledore's priorities were Hogwarts' safety and the stability of the wizarding world. He would never intentionally stir up such rumors. He would only do one of two things: either find every Horcrux and strike a fatal blow—or pretend he had noticed nothing, maintaining stability as long as possible.
So if it wasn't Dumbledore, then who?
Besides Dumbledore and Quirrell, the only remaining person who knew he lived was…
"Lucius Malfoy," Voldemort hissed between clenched teeth.
Only him. His "most capable" subordinate. Lucius Malfoy, scion of a prestigious pure-blood family.
Only he still knew of Voldemort's survival… and because of Voldemort's plan, the troll had accidentally killed his only son.
"Lucius Malfoy? What about him, Master?" Quirrell froze at the name.
"That ungrateful wretch," Voldemort spat venomously.
It was just a useless brat, yet Lucius dared betray him over this?
Lucius had lost only a son—but Voldemort stood to lose his entire chance at resurrection.
At the thought, Voldemort's fury surged so violently he felt he could tear Malfoy apart with his teeth. "Unforgivable. Lucius, your idiocy has surpassed all expectations. I will not let you go."
"Master, are you saying Malfoy spread this rumor? But… why would he?" Quirrell asked, thoroughly puzzled.
After all, the rumor meant nothing to Voldemort. No one knew whether it was true, and even if they did, they had no idea where he was hiding.
Yes… what was Lucius Malfoy trying to achieve?
Voldemort pondered, but his perspective was clouded by bitterness. He instinctively assumed Lucius wanted revenge.
And what was the best revenge?
Killing the target.
Could Lucius be trying to use Dumbledore's hand to get rid of him?
Foolish. If Dumbledore had a way to kill him, he would have done it long ago.
"Forget him for now," Voldemort said, regaining composure. "Your priority is finding a unicorn. Your body won't last much longer. Without unicorn blood to sustain you, I doubt you'll make it to the Philosopher's Stone."
Quirrell's face twisted with misery. "But Master… I've searched the entire outer ring of the Forbidden Forest. Aside from the unicorn I saw at the start, I haven't found any others."
...Please support with flowers...
"Then go deeper. There must be unicorns in the Forbidden Forest—an entire herd, even. You can't possibly fail to find them," Voldemort said.
"But…"
"No buts. Fail, and you die. I'll simply find another host," Voldemort said, disappointed and annoyed.
"…Yes, Master," Quirrell muttered helplessly.
He wrapped a clean turban around his head and stepped outside, weighed down by worry.
"Unicorns… Where am I supposed to find unicorns?" he sighed as he walked.
Suddenly, he heard a girl crying, with another girl trying to comfort her.
The voices came from the end of the corridor.
...
Quirrell had no interest in anyone crying. He wasn't about to waste time on someone else's misery. Who could be more miserable than him? He hadn't even cried yet.
His mind full of unicorns, he slipped quietly past. But just as he turned the corner, a girl's furious voice rang out.
"I don't want his gift!"
Before her words even faded, something white flew through the air and landed at Quirrell's feet.
Instinctively, Quirrell looked down—and froze.
A Y-shaped ornament lay there, wrapped in long strands of silvery-white fur.
To be honest, the craftsmanship was mediocre, and it seemed freshly made. But just one glance was enough—Quirrell instantly recognized it.
Unicorn hair.
A newly crafted item, using a substantial amount of unicorn hair.
But where had it come from?
Rather than pick it up, Quirrell quietly pressed himself against the corner wall and peeked around.
Two girls stood nearby. One, a Ravenclaw, was sitting against the wall, wiping her tears. The other, wearing Gryffindor colors, was trying to comfort her.
These two…
Quirrell recalled their faces and recognized them as the Patil sisters of Indian descent.
Judging by the outburst, the unicorn-hair ornament belonged to the crying girl—the Ravenclaw Patil.
Which meant she surely knew where it came from—and where the unicorn hair had been obtained.
...
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