"My Merlin, he's still eating! He's already devoured three roasted chickens, an entire roasted lamb, five plates of steak, at least five pounds of potatoes… and countless loaves of bread. I can't even count them all."
Quirrell reported, his voice betraying awe. Everything about Harry seemed extraordinary. From their first handshake, he knew the boy opposite him might kill with a single strike.
Lord Voldemort was now using genuine Legilimency to read Quirrell's mind. Anyone with low-level Occlumency couldn't hide a thought from him. Now that Voldemort's magical ability had matured, wisdom alone wasn't necessary—no one could deceive him.
Unfortunately, Voldemort was at a disadvantage at this moment. He still had to rely on cunning to accomplish certain schemes, such as stealing the Philosopher's Stone from right under Dumbledore's nose. Force alone wouldn't work. Yet even in his youth, Voldemort had been clever, and he wasn't worried about being outsmarted by Harry.
"Are you kidding?" he said to himself. "I've cast Avada Kedavra more times than he's ever cast magic."
Perhaps only a humiliating defeat at Harry's hands would make him realize that his intellect had dulled with age. "He's eighty years old—I can't outplay him now."
At present, Voldemort was a muddle-headed fool, while Harry's intelligence was sharp—he could see it clearly.
"Is that so?" he mused. "As expected of the prophesied savior… extraordinary indeed. Continue observing him. If the opportunity arises, cast a dark curse and note his reaction."
"Ah… me?" Quirrell's confidence faltered. Before arriving, his only concern had been avoiding Dumbledore's notice. Now, it was Harry himself who unnerved him.
If anything went wrong, Dumbledore might intervene and punish Quirrell, but Harry, though young, could be far more ruthless. From their first encounter, Quirrell no longer saw Harry as a child. He felt certain that the boy could kill if necessary.
If he were an ally, it might be fine. But hostile approaches toward Harry usually ended with pre-battle apprehension—a palpable aura of fear settled over the aggressor before any fight began.
"Yes… it's you. Don't be afraid. He hasn't even started school yet. All past incidents were coincidences—you're just scaring yourself."
"Alright, alright."
Quirrell, hidden beneath his turban, had no choice but to bow his head. Lord Voldemort hovered just behind him, so close that even Dumbledore couldn't intervene. Voldemort didn't care about Quirrell's fears. His servant simply needed to act: deceive Dumbledore, gather intelligence, cause trouble for Harry, and survive. Voldemort himself had grander concerns: should he eliminate Harry while he was young, or prioritize retrieving the Philosopher's Stone?
Voldemort still believed that the events ten years ago, when Harry was one, were accidents. The real Harry wasn't necessarily so strong—but he was extraordinary, truly worthy of the prophecy. Voldemort couldn't wait for him to grow up; as an adult, Harry might surpass even Dumbledore. By then, Voldemort could no longer outmaneuver him.
Dumbledore was old but long-lived, as most powerful wizards were. If Harry matured, he could dominate for another hundred years, and Voldemort had no desire to remain under someone else's shadow for so long.
Harry sensed the malice from Quirrell, yet it didn't affect his appetite. He ate as much as possible—free food here was a rare privilege.
He noted Quirrell's courage. Despite not feeling particularly powerful himself, Quirrell didn't choose Gryffindor. Yet the turban covering his head seemed to contain some potent magical artifact, conceivably possessing at least one point of magic.
Harry's own magical strength was only two points—not low for a warrior in the Song of Ice and Fire, but not exceptional in this world. He could roughly gauge whether someone had magical power but not its precise level.
As everyone ate, Harry displayed his strength and stamina. The plates emptied quickly, leaving the table spotless. Moments later, puddings appeared: ice cream, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding… Harry selected a treacle tart. Meanwhile, conversation turned toward family backgrounds.
Harry observed many half-blood wizards. In this era, most seemed unconcerned with blood purity. Ron's family had already been mentioned on the train. Neville was pure-blood, while Hermione came from a Muggle household.
Hermione, likely due to her previous top ranking in a Muggle school, worried about falling behind. She discussed homework with older students, eager to maintain her position.
Harry then asked about Professor Snape, about whom special attention was advised. Gryffindors claimed he was an old pervert but offered no concrete details—just exaggerations and obvious falsehoods. Harry nodded silently, intrigued. What kind of man was Snape? Why such complex feelings toward him? Were Gryffindors' rumors true? Harry preferred discovering truth for himself rather than relying on popular perception.
Finally, dinner concluded. Plates cleared, Dumbledore rose once more, and silence fell over the Great Hall.
"Now that everyone has eaten and drunk their fill," he began, "I have a few words to share at the start of the term."
"First-year students, the forest on school grounds is forbidden to all. Older students should also heed this warning."
Dumbledore's bright eyes swept toward the Weasley twins. Harry noticed—they were likely repeat offenders. Despite their youth, they already attracted the Principal's attention. Harry liked their personalities; such talents could prove invaluable.
"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, asked me to remind everyone not to use magic in the corridors between classes," Dumbledore continued.
Next came some Quidditch announcements, which Harry barely registered. Finally, he addressed a more intriguing danger: "Anyone who does not wish to suffer a painful death, please avoid the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor."
Harry burst into laughter. Few others joined him.
"Why aren't you laughing?" he whispered to Percy.
Percy explained that Dumbledore forbade dangerous places for a reason. The Forbidden Forest held countless beasts, and the corridor on the fourth floor was similarly perilous, though its dangers were mysterious.
Harry shrugged. "Isn't it just some dangerous areas we shouldn't enter? Why take it so seriously?"