Chapter 189: The Disappeared Quirrell
Ron Weasley was a boy with an unusually peculiar thought process.
Call him foolish if you want, but he was great at chess, knew all the wizarding world's slang and superstitions, and could do well in any subject—if he just applied himself seriously. Most of the time, however, he acted more like a Hufflepuff—or, as Hagrid might say, a "big softie."
That said, Ron also had a knack for drumming up popularity, spinning stories, dodging blame, and steering conversations away from things he didn't like. His brain truly worked in mysterious ways. Even Ryan couldn't figure him out sometimes—let alone Harry, who stood beside him, baffled.
After all, what kind of person gets excited at the possibility that Voldemort might be making a return?
Death Eaters? No. Ron Weasley? Absolutely.
Thankfully, Ron wasn't one to hide his thoughts. He quickly explained his strange logic:
"If it really is You-Know-Who and he's after the Philosopher's Stone, then I've got an excuse if anything happens. Dumbledore set this whole thing up! All we have to do is sneak a look at the fourth floor—no danger, just recon. And maybe—just maybe—Mum and Dad will praise me for it!" Ron whispered, his eyes gleaming.
Harry stayed calm despite the nonsense. "No. We don't go rushing in."
He rubbed his scar. "Let's find Draco first. Then we'll keep an eye on Quirrell. If he's not in the castle, we'll check the corridor quickly and get out. No direct confrontation."
"Got it," Ron nodded. "But Harry—if your scar really does warn you about danger—will you grow a third eye on your forehead someday?"
Harry rolled his eyes and rubbed his scar again—this time, not from pain, but from wondering whether he should really be dragging Ron into this.
After locating Draco, who was lounging under a tree with Crabbe, Goyle, and a girl who looked like a poodle, Harry and Ron approached. Draco quickly left his group and met them halfway.
"Draco, who is that girl?" Harry nudged Draco with his elbow. "She keeps staring at me like she wants to bite me."
"That's Pansy," Draco said. "We met at a party when we were kids. She's in our year and house."
"Cute, isn't she?"
Harry blinked. "Cute? With all due respect—she looks like a poodle."
Draco scowled. "You clearly have no taste. She is cute."
Ron cut in, uninterested. "Stop talking about girls, Malfoy. Harry—what about your scar?"
At the mention of the scar, Draco's expression changed immediately. He remembered all too well their last encounter with Fluffy in the fourth-floor corridor. Since then, he'd become superstitious—avoiding a seventh-year's big black dog as though it were a grim omen.
Ron had even praised Draco's instincts. According to Ron, ominous signs shouldn't be ignored. Just ask his uncle Billy—he saw one, and twenty-four hours later, dead.
"It's not a prophecy," Harry clarified. "It's the same pain I felt when we met that shadowy figure in the Forbidden Forest. I'm sure it was Voldemort. This scar was left by him. Only he can make it react like this."
Draco, pale, tried to stay in denial. "It could've just been a poacher."
"Poacher? Really?" Harry shot back. "You know that's not true."
Ron tried to calm things down. "Harry, relax. As long as Dumbledore's here, the Philosopher's Stone is safe. Hagrid said so. And Quirrell—if he knows what happened to that unicorn and doesn't act suspicious, then there's nothing we need to worry about."
Still, they decided to investigate—just in case. Draco agreed to scout out Quirrell's office and the staff room, while Harry and Ron went to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak.
A short while later, they regrouped on the fifth floor. Draco's expression told them everything.
"Quirrell's not in the castle," he said breathlessly. "And I overheard Professor McGonagall say Dumbledore's gone to London. Filch is also out, sent on some errand. Doesn't all this feel too coincidental?"
"I understand now," Harry said solemnly. "It's just me. It always comes down to me."
"You're not going alone," Draco snapped, grabbing Harry—now under the cloak—before he could sneak off.
"You were planning to go alone, weren't you?" Ron cried. "You can't just leave us behind like that!"
"I can be your human shield if it comes to that!" Ron added, puffing up his chest.
Seeing the looks on his friends' faces, Harry relented. "Fine. We'll all go. But we're just checking, that's all."
He took off the cloak and laid it out so all three could slip underneath.
"It's still daylight," Harry said. "In my dream, I saw another wizard inside that room—at night. If we move now, we may catch Quirrell before he arrives."
"Just a quick look," Draco agreed. "Then we tell Hagrid and send a message to Dumbledore."
Harry sighed, "It's not that I'm afraid… I just didn't want to get you involved."
Ron patted him on the shoulder. "Well, tough luck. You've got friends now."
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