Chapter 134: What Can Quirrell Do? Hagrid in the Library
In Defence Against the Dark Arts, Leonardo sat upright in his seat.
On the surface, he listened attentively to Quirrell's lecture. In his head, he was already working out how to kill Quirrell's master.
In Harry's second and third years, Voldemort had never truly returned. His power to stir up trouble had not reached its peak; each time he did something, it was confined to Hogwarts.
But after the year of the Goblet of Fire, Voldemort would finally achieve his goal and resurrect himself. All of wizarding Britain would be thrown into chaos, and Hogwarts would become a very difficult place to remain in.
Leonardo's top priority was learning. He had no desire to be disturbed.
In a few years, his strength would very likely be enough that a handful of spells could dispatch Voldemort's followers, and he could then face Voldemort one‑on‑one.
But why wait until the enemy was at full power?
A grand final duel atop Hogwarts sounded cool, but he had neither the time nor the interest. Far better to protect the peaceful, studious atmosphere of the school and keep learning in peace.
As for how to finish Voldemort for good…
Horcruxes.
That problem had to be solved first.
A Horcrux was made by splitting off a fragment of one's soul and sealing it into a vessel.
Unless the Horcruxes were destroyed first, their creator could not truly die, no matter how grievously injured. With part of the soul untouched, even if the body was destroyed, he would not become a simple ghost. There would still be a chance to rebuild a body.
In other words, unless all the Horcruxes were found and destroyed, beating Voldemort to a pulp would do nothing.
If memory served, Voldemort had seven Horcruxes.
No. At this point in time, there should only be six.
The great snake, Nagini, should not yet have been turned into a Horcrux.
To be safe, he should find a way to locate that snake first.
As for the other Horcruxes…
Leonardo searched his memory and quickly retrieved them. The six were:
Tom Riddle's diary, the Gaunt family ring, Ravenclaw's diadem, Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket, and…
Leonardo's gaze flicked to Harry, a little ahead and to the side.
The Horcrux not even Voldemort knew about—Harry Potter.
If possible, he should start collecting the Horcruxes this summer.
The plan would be to destroy all those respawn points before Voldemort's resurrection. Strike while the enemy is sick.
There were only a few reliable ways to destroy a Horcrux: Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, and Avada Kedavra.
Yes, the Sword of Gryffindor, imbued with Basilisk venom, would work as well.
Fiendfyre and the Killing Curse would demand a certain standard from the caster. Basilisk venom was much more convenient. A touch was enough to ruin a Horcrux.
Smashing the others would not be too hard. Harry, though—what to do about him?
How could he destroy the soul fragment inside Harry without harming the boy himself?
Let Harry die once and then bring him back?
But when it came to resurrection…
Lost in thought, he did not notice how quickly time passed.
When the bell rang, Quirrell bolted from the room, even faster than before.
He looked like a student sprinting to beat the queue in the Great Hall.
Back in his office, Quirrell sagged into his chair.
After a while, he slowly peeled off his left glove, gritting his teeth at the pain.
The skin of his left hand was a strange, translucent shade, the muscles and veins beneath shifting and crawling.
This arm had been remade with Dark Magic Voldemort had taught him. The process had been cruel and excruciating, but Quirrell had endured it.
"A trifling ailment," Voldemort's cold voice whispered in his mind. "Once I have a body again, my power will heal you with ease.
"Quirinus, serve me well. Find out every obstacle guarding the Philosopher's Stone.
"The Devil's Snare, the Wizard's Chess, the Flying Keys—all of that is known.
"Once you learn how to evade that foolish three‑headed dog, we will be one step closer to our prize…"
Listening to the murmur in his head, Quirrell found the voice sharp and maddening.
But what could he do?
He had already drunk unicorn blood and become a cursed sinner, clinging to life in a half‑dead state.
He could not defy Voldemort's orders. A single thought from his master could snuff him out.
After a few seconds of silence, Quirrell answered weakly, "Yes, master."
…
In the library.
It was rare to see Hagrid here. His huge, broad frame moved carefully between the shelves.
He could easily see the books on the top tier; the only trouble was crouching to check the lower ones.
With two huge fingers, he delicately pinched a copy of From Dragon Egg to Hell from the shelf and smiled in delight, then forced the smile down.
Because not far away, Madam Pince stood with a feather duster, watching him without blinking, as if afraid the half‑giant might tear a book or topple a shelf.
Hagrid turned carefully and, clutching several books, made for the desk.
"Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"
At the familiar voice, Hagrid hastily hid the books behind his moleskin coat and looked nervously at Harry and the others.
"Just… having a look around."
"What are you lot doing here?"
Ron said proudly, "We've found out who Nicolas Flamel is, and we know the Philosopher's Sto—"
"Shh!"
Hagrid cut him off at once and glanced around. Madam Pince had already taken her seat at the desk, and no one else seemed to have heard.
After a hurried warning or two, Hagrid checked out his books with Madam Pince and strode from the library.
He did not hear the whispers behind him.
"What was Hagrid hiding?"
"Couldn't see, but I can go and find out…"
Hagrid hurried out of the castle and made for his hut.
Stepping into the warm, stuffy room, he saw the dark‑gold‑haired boy tending the fire.
"Oh, thanks, Leonardo. Appreciate you keeping an eye on it."
"No problem. Happy to help."
Hagrid shrugged out of his coat and spread the books on the little round table, then looked eagerly at the black egg nestled in the blazing hearth.
"Wonder when the little one'll hatch. Can't wait."
He rubbed his hands together, eyes fixed on the sooty dragon egg, and never noticed the thread of red‑gold flame coiling lazily through the orange logs.