Chapter 110: Wednesday's Roommates
To convince Dumbledore, Quirrell even straightened his back and jogged around twice at a brisk pace.
"Well then, Quirinus," Dumbledore said gently. "Would you like Madam Pomfrey to take a look at you?"
"No, no need," Quirrell waved his hands hurriedly. "I'll be fine with some rest."
Seeing that Quirrell didn't appear to be in immediate danger, the professors gradually dispersed. Soon, only Snape and Dumbledore remained in the Great Hall.
"Why did you keep him?" Snape demanded darkly. "You and I both know vampires don't use magic like that. He's clearly been cursed by some form of Dark Magic."
In the past, Snape might have let it go—but this year was different. Lily's child had arrived at Hogwarts. He could not allow anyone dangerous to threaten him.
"You'll understand in time," Dumbledore said softly, shaking his head without elaborating.
"You'll regret this, Dumbledore…" Snape growled, barely restraining his anger. In that moment, he looked very much like a lion poised to strike.
"Severus," Dumbledore replied sharply, his gaze hardening, "I am the Headmaster."
(T/N: Yeah yeah I know 😜)
He could feel it—Voldemort was close to returning.
Time was running out.
But Snape didn't care about that. He slammed his palm against the table, then turned and stormed away, resolving to keep a close watch on Quirrell from now on.
---
"Cough—cough—cough!"
After parting ways with the other professors, Quirrell collapsed the moment he entered his office, hacking violently as he tore off his turban.
He had lied earlier.
It wasn't a curse from vampires—it was an injury inflicted by Voldemort using an exceptionally vicious form of Dark Magic, anchored through the Hufflepuff Cup.
The spell clung to his body like bone-burrowing parasites, embedding itself deep within his organs. It gnawed at him continuously, corroding his flesh while siphoning away his life force.
Part of what he had vomited earlier had been decayed internal tissue.
If Voldemort were still at the height of his power, such magic could be undone with a flick of his hand. But now, reduced to clinging to the back of Quirrell's head, he lacked the strength to purge it completely.
All he could do was guide Quirrell in brewing potions to slow the spell's progress.
Even that was failing—the potions were growing less effective by the day.
"Master…" Quirrell gasped, desperation overtaking caution. "Isn't Snape a Potions Master? Why not have him brew the potions for me?"
"Fool," Voldemort hissed weakly. "And how do you know where his loyalties lie now?"
His voice was faint. In the Great Hall earlier, the heat alone had nearly overwhelmed him.
Voldemort now shared Quirrell's senses, but Quirrell's body was in terrible condition. His weakened physical state severely reduced the effectiveness of magic— even simple spells like the Freezing Charm wore off far earlier than they should have.
"M–Master… what should we do now?" Quirrell asked nervously, fully aware of how foolish his earlier suggestion had been.
"We can't continue like this," Voldemort said coldly. "There is a way for me to regain vitality—by consuming fresh blood. Go to the Forbidden Forest tonight. If I remember correctly, there's an entire herd of unicorns living there."
"Yes, Master. I'll hunt unicorns tonight," Quirrell replied at once.
"Quirrell, in your current state, you're no match for a unicorn," Voldemort interrupted. "Start with something else. An Acromantula would be a far better choice."
He suddenly remembered Hagrid—the man he had framed and driven out of Hogwarts.
"Don't rush it. Take your time," Voldemort's voice grew fainter.
Quirrell wrapped the turban back around his head.
---
The Slytherin dormitories lay deep beneath Hogwarts, within the dungeons. Thick stone walls and dark green drapes surrounded the space, the dominant colors being deep green and silver, lending the room an ancient, secretive air.
The dormitory windows faced the Black Lake. Water plants swayed gently with the current, and now and then, lake creatures glided past the glass, creating a cold yet tranquil atmosphere.
Carved wooden beds filled the room, each covered with green velvet bedding. The walls were adorned with silver ornaments and the serpent crest of Slytherin.
Standing by the window, Wednesday watched the creatures in the Black Lake, her mood lifting noticeably.
The Slytherin dorm was a three-person room. Her roommates were Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis.
"Addams, are you interested in the Black Lake?" Tracey asked as she walked over.
She had chin-length dark brown hair with a slight natural wave, healthy wheat-colored skin, and a bright, cheerful smile. Her amber eyes sparkled, and her pajamas—decorated with a cat—matched her lively demeanor.
"No. I'm interested in the things that live inside it," Wednesday replied calmly, placing her hand against the glass.
At that moment, a massive shadow surged through the lake and slapped against the window.
Tracey jumped in fright.
It was an enormous tentacle—its suction cups clearly visible against the glass.
"Good thing the glass is sturdy," Tracey muttered. "Otherwise, we'd all drown."
"Honestly, Tracey, that's kind of funny," Daphne laughed, closing her book as she walked over.
Daphne had smooth, dark-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, pale skin, and refined features with a classical elegance. Her clear light-green eyes and tall, slender frame made her stand nearly half a head taller than Wednesday.
"Look what I brought," Daphne said proudly, holding up a bundle of gray-green aquatic plants that resembled wet seaweed.
"Gillyweed. If the window breaks, we eat this. Gills will grow on our necks, webbing between our fingers and toes—we'll be able to breathe and swim underwater."
"I have to admit, you came prepared," Tracey said admiringly.
---
"You two… knew each other before?" Wednesday asked.
"Of course. Pure-blood families throw parties all the time," Daphne replied. "Most Slytherins already know each other."
Wednesday nodded thoughtfully.
"Wednesday—may I call you that?" Daphne asked.
"Yes."
"Me too!" Tracey chimed in immediately.
"Oh, by the way," Tracey added suddenly as the three sat on their beds sharing snacks, "you're pretty close with that Ravenclaw boy—Fythorne, right?"
"Yes. He's my neighbor," Wednesday replied.
"Just a neighbor?" Tracey grinned mischievously, cracking sunflower seeds—snacks Cho Chang had given Wednesday on the train.
"These are really good," she said, tossing a bag to Daphne.
"Don't answer just yet," Daphne cut in.
"Even though Fythorne is a Muggle-born, his talent makes people overlook that—even some pure-blood girls who aren't extremists. Not to mention, he has a third-class Order of Merlin."
"And he's handsome," Daphne added calmly. "Some older Slytherin girls were practically staring holes into him."
"Exactly!" Tracey jumped in. "Girls from other houses are watching him too—especially Penelope, the Ravenclaw prefect. I saw her trying to talk to him earlier, but she got interrupted."
"By Louise Prince," Daphne said. "Snape's niece. That's a serious rival."
"Wednesday, you really should seize the opportunity," Tracey said solemnly.
Wednesday glanced at them calmly.
"You two seem very experienced. I assume you both have boyfriends?"
Daphne and Tracey exchanged looks—then both lowered their heads in defeat.
A faint smile tugged at Wednesday's lips.
Fatal blow.
"Alright. I'm going to sleep. Good night."
She fell straight back onto her bed, arms crossed, eyes closed.
The others followed suit, turning off the lights.
After they fell asleep, the zipper on Wednesday's suitcase slowly slid open.
A severed hand crawled out silently and perched beside her pillow.
---
"Good morning, Wednesday. Sleep well?"
Russell was a bit late waking up after chatting too long with his roommates the night before. He ran into Wednesday on her way to breakfast and entered the Great Hall with her.
Instead of heading to the Slytherin table, Wednesday sat beside Russell.
"Pretty well," she said after a moment. She'd slept deeply—probably from exhaustion.
"How are your roommates?" Russell asked. "Easy to get along with?"
"They're fine," she replied.
"Just… a bit gossipy."
"That's a relief," Russell laughed. "I was worried you'd end up like I did last year—stuck with an unbearable roommate. Luckily, he transferred."
"Good morning. Why didn't you go to your usual spot today?" Cedric asked as he entered with Cho Chang, sitting at the Ravenclaw table.
"Your usual spot?" Cho Chang teased. "Do you boys have secrets?"
"Shh," Russell gestured quickly at Cedric.
"Secrets make men more charming."
Vermouth: Please pay the copyright fee.
"Give me a break," Cho Chang rolled her eyes.
"Cho," Russell said suddenly, an idea forming, "did you finish that douzhi you brought?"
"Of course not. Why—do you want more?" she asked, puzzled.
She'd opened a bag in the dorm last night and nearly knocked out her roommates with the smell. They refused to try it, so she drank it herself.
"No," Russell said, smiling.
"I just have a… small use for it."
He raised his fingers in a gesture guaranteed to offend Koreans.
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