Chapter 24: A Night with Quirrell, Part One
Dumbledore handed Ryan a slip of parchment. On it was written the official notice of his detention, requesting that Professor Quirrell arrange the details.
"I'm off to see Professor Quirrell, then. I hope everything goes smoothly," Ryan said, bidding the two professors farewell.
As they watched him go, Dumbledore turned to Flitwick. "Filius, sometimes I feel a great sense of guilt. It makes me question the very foundations of our educational system at Hogwarts."
"Have we truly failed?"
"Perhaps… not?" Flitwick managed, his expression a strange mixture of sorrow and bewilderment.
The two returned to the Great Hall. When questioned by the other professors, they vaguely explained that an intruder had entered the castle in search of a hidden treasure. The professors involved in the protection of the Philosopher's Stone immediately connected the dots.
"Quirinus isn't here tonight," Professor McGonagall said with a worried frown. "Could the intruder have injured him?"
The other two Heads of House looked on with concern.
"Filius and I did not see Quirinus," Dumbledore said evasively. "He is likely preoccupied with other matters."
Professor Flitwick simply pretended he hadn't heard, pouring himself a large mug of Butterbeer as if he had just discovered its delightful flavor for the very first time.
After dinner, the students dispersed, and the professors returned to their offices. Flitwick, however, followed Dumbledore back to his.
The moment the door closed, Flitwick's demeanor became grim. "Albus, you shouldn't have let Ryan go to Quirinus."
"We must have faith in our students, Filius, mustn't we?" Dumbledore replied softly.
"Albus, on that night, You-Know-Who lost all his power and was forced into a pathetic, shadow-like existence," Flitwick said, his voice tense. "That's what you told everyone. But what is his condition now?"
"Filius," Dumbledore said, his own voice heavy with sadness, "I should have known you would have figured it out. From the moment you started calling him 'You-Know-Who' in front of Ryan, I knew. You were worried that Voldemort could still sense those who spoke his name. Otherwise, you would have used it yourself."
He met Flitwick's gaze. "Do not worry. On that night, he truly did lose the vast majority of his power. He can no longer sense his name being spoken." Dumbledore gave a small, sad smile. "To deduce the truth from such limited clues… that is the mark of a true Ravenclaw. I imagine Ryan is coming to the same conclusion as we speak."
"So, it truly is Voldemort?" Flitwick whispered.
"It's the only logical conclusion," Dumbledore said, the moonlight from the window glinting off his spectacles. "Quirinus, for all his academic brilliance, does not have the power to rob Gringotts, much less escape from me within Hogwarts. In this castle, only one person has such power."
"Then you should never have sent Ryan to face him!" Flitwick exclaimed, his voice rising in alarm. "Ryan is only a fifth-year!"
"It is only Voldemort," Dumbledore said, his own voice turning sharp and steely. "What Ryan intends to face in his future is far more terrifying than a mere Dark Lord. You must have suspected this."
Flitwick made a small, choked sound.
Dumbledore pressed on. "And I do not believe that a Voldemort who must cling to another wizard's body for survival poses a threat to Ryan. Especially since a forced Apparition within Hogwarts would have caused irreversible damage to both him and Quirinus, even for the Heir of Slytherin."
"But Ryan doesn't know that Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin," Flitwick protested weakly.
.....
All the evidence points to a partnership between Quirrell and Voldemort, Ryan thought, watching the Defense Against the Dark Arts office from the other end of the corridor. But Quirrell on his own absolutely could not have escaped Dumbledore, not even with Voldemort's guidance.
Combined with the intel showing only a single shadowy figure, Ryan had good reason to suspect that Quirinus Quirrell now had a classic protagonist-style power-up: the ghost of a powerful old master living in his head.
First, Voldemort had been defeated once before.
Second, Voldemort was now in a state of possession.
Third, in his prime, Voldemort had been one of the most powerful wizards in the world.
With these three criteria met, how could Voldemort not be a "ghostly master"? All Ryan had to do now was test Quirrell's views on non-human magical creatures. If his views weren't dismissive, it would confirm that the "he" in Dumbledore's statement—"he wouldn't even consider the magic of magical creatures"—was indeed Voldemort, and that Quirrell was the "protagonist."
He strode forward, his wand now secured to his wrist for a quick draw, and knocked on the office door. "Professor Quirrell? It's Ryan Welles. The Headmaster sent me for my detention. Here's his note."
A weak, stuttering voice answered from within, sounding as if it might give out at any moment. "Wh-wh-why c-come to… m-me?"
"The Headmaster said I missed your class without an excuse and has assigned me detention with you."
"N-no… n-no need. I… I'm sure y-you were… t-truly b-busy. I… I'll speak w-with the H-Headmaster."
Ryan could already tell that something was wrong. This stutter was different from his usual one. The voice was weak and reedy, as if Quirrell were forcing the words out with his last ounce of strength. He was clearly seriously injured. "Professor," he asked, feigning concern, "are you feeling unwell? Should I get Professor Snape? He's a Potions Master."
There was a moment of silence from within the office, then Quirrell's voice shrieked, like a cat being doused with water, "No need! It's just a minor ailment!" He hadn't stuttered at all.
Ryan almost lost his composure. After all the evidence, this reaction was like Quirrell sticking a giant neon sign on his head that read "VOLDEMORT INSIDE." Voldemort really doesn't trust Snape, does he? I wonder if they had a falling out back in the day…
Ryan pressed on. "If you don't want to trouble Professor Snape, perhaps I could come in and see if I can help? It would be a perfectly valid reason for you to waive my detention, wouldn't it?" Before Quirrell could respond, he added, "And as we're both Ravenclaws, I should really call you 'senior.' We're practically family."
The only response was a violent coughing fit from inside the room. As a good student and junior concerned for his professor's well-being, Ryan did the only logical thing: he threw open the door and rushed in, yelling, "Professor, Professor, are you all right?! I'll take you to the hospital wing right now!"
He burst into the office and saw Quirrell, his face deathly pale in the dim lamplight, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. He was slumped in a plush, high-backed armchair, his face a mask of pure terror. Ryan couldn't tell if it was from pain or from the fear of being punished by "Grandpa Voldemort." A strange sense of empathy washed over him—not of right or wrong, but of a shared identity as a wizard, and the unease of seeing another wizard's life being so completely controlled by another.
Quirrell saw the look of pity on Ryan's face. His own pale features went slack, his eyes dazed and unfocused.
Ryan pulled a Calming Draught from his ring and offered it to him. "It won't heal you, but it does have some pain-relieving properties. I hope it helps."
"Oh… oh, th-thank you…" Quirrell took the potion and, after a moment's hesitation, actually drank it. "I suppose… w-we could… j-just talk. As… d-detention."
"Of course, Professor," Ryan said smoothly. "I would be happy to."