Chapter 25: A Night with Quirrell, Part Two
"Before any of that," Ryan insisted, his voice gentle but firm, "I really must advise you, Professor, what you need right now is medical attention and rest. Even if you don't wish to see Professor Snape, Madam Pomfrey is an expert in healing magic." Ryan was genuinely worried that Quirrell might just keel over and die right there. His trembling was getting worse, a sudden intensification of pain that made it hard not to suspect that Grandpa Voldemort was flexing his spectral muscles.
Was it because Quirrell drank the potion I gave him? Did that anger Voldemort? Ryan had no idea what to do. His past experiences had not prepared him for dealing with a parasitic Dark Lord.
Quirrell shook his head, his heavy turban wobbling precariously. "N-no, it's not… s-so serious."
"Professor, if I recall correctly, ingredients like wormwood and unicorn tail hair have healing properties. You are clearly in need of treatment," Ryan pressed, refusing to let the subject drop. He was doing this for two reasons. First, to actually help the man. Second, he was gambling that after suffering a grievous injury, and then having Voldemort figuratively rub salt in the wound, Quirrell's loyalty might be wavering.
Perhaps at the beginning of their partnership, Voldemort had painted a grand vision for Quirrell, granting him enough power to rob Gringotts. But that power had been useless against Dumbledore. Voldemort had been forced to flee, and Quirrell himself had been badly hurt. Tonight's events, in Ryan's view, were the perfect opportunity to sow a seed of dissent.
In the dim light of the office, the two men locked eyes. Ryan's gaze was steady; Quirrell's darted about nervously.
"Oh, yes… I think… unicorn…?" Quirrell whispered.
"Professor?" Ryan hadn't quite caught what he'd said.
"I mean, a unicorn… is a beautiful… and powerful magical creature," Quirrell stammered.
Ryan had his answer. The disfigured Voldemort was indeed a parasite, a venomous snake coiled in Quirrell's turban, waiting for a chance to strike back at the world.
Suddenly, Quirrell spoke again. "Mr. Welles… could you trouble yourself to fetch… Madam Pomfrey? For some… Dittany?"
"Of course, Professor."
"Please… hurry. Thank you."
Ryan left the office, casting one last look at the trembling figure in the armchair. He felt his attempt at intervention had been working, but had been interrupted by Voldemort "counter-spelling" him. Quirrell's attitude had shifted too quickly; it had to be an order from his master.
Is Voldemort afraid that the more Quirrell talks, the more he'll reveal? Ryan didn't know, but he knew who to ask.
As Ryan's footsteps faded down the corridor, Quirrell curled into a ball in his chair. "Oh, Master, thank you. I do need treatment, so that I may better serve you." A look of horror crossed his face. "What! You were just trying to get rid of him?! You want me to drink the blood of a unicorn! No, Master, that would bring a terrible curse, a half-life!"
"No, no, your humble servant would never defy you! Your humble servant is forever loyal!"
"I am not lying, Master, I swear it!"
"AGGHHH!!!"
After a bloodcurdling scream, Quirrell, his limbs twisting at unnatural angles, threw on a heavy cloak and scurried strangely from his office, slinking off into the castle.
The Headmaster's Office.
Dumbledore and Flitwick were waiting. Dumbledore was reading a thick copy of Das Kapital, making notes with a quill. Flitwick was magically constructing models of atoms and molecules, attempting to simulate a nuclear fission reaction. The whole scene felt completely surreal.
"Ryan, you're back," Dumbledore said, closing his book. "What is the situation?"
Ryan recounted his conversation with Quirrell. "I believe Voldemort sent me away because he was afraid of saying too much."
"Widen your perspective, Ryan," Dumbledore advised. "Think about what Voldemort desires most right now, and then think about what you said to Quirrell."
"He wants to return to a physical form," Ryan said immediately. "That's why he's after the Philosopher's Stone."
"Quirinus is one of the guardians of the Stone," Dumbledore said. "He knows that the two greatest obstacles to his success are you and me. Your prophecies are an uncontrollable variable, so he must bide his time."
"And to prevent me from alerting you, or from setting a trap with the other professors," Ryan added, the pieces clicking into place, "he must wait for a time when both of us are away from Hogwarts."
"Indeed." Dumbledore stood and walked to the window, his gaze fixed on the Forbidden Forest. "So, until he can make his move, what must Voldemort do?"
"He needs to sustain himself, to maintain what little power he has left," Ryan reasoned. "He sent Quirrell to the Room of Requirement because he must have hidden something there, something that could stabilize his form!" As soon as the thought formed, Ryan understood Dumbledore's true meaning.
"Voldemort wants Quirrell to drink the blood of a unicorn!"
The atomic structure Flitwick had been creating instantly collapsed. His face was a mask of fury. "Albus, we have to stop him, now!"
"I am as unwilling as you are to see him force one of my students to do this, Filius. But for this, we will need the help of our resident Forbidden Forest expert." Dumbledore raised his wand. "Let's go. I hope that tonight, we can save a pure, innocent life, and perhaps a soul that is not yet beyond redemption."
He led the way, and the three of them were soon at Hagrid's hut.
"Hagrid, wake up!" Ryan knocked on the door.
"Ryan? What are ya doin' here so late? And Dumbledore, and Professor Flitwick!" Hagrid's bushy head poked out from the door. Seeing who it was, he quickly opened it wide. "Come in, come in."
"Hagrid," Dumbledore said, his tone urgent, "do you know where the unicorns gather in the forest? We need you to take us there. It's an emergency. We can explain on the way."
Hearing the seriousness in Dumbledore's voice, Hagrid immediately grabbed his giant crossbow from behind the door. "Follow me." He charged into the forest. On the way, Dumbledore explained that a Dark Wizard was in the forest, hunting a unicorn for its blood.
"Merlin's beard! It's got to be You-Know-Who, then!" Hagrid exclaimed.
"Why do you say that?" Ryan was starting to think Hagrid was the real Seer.
"I can't imagine any other Dark Wizard doin' somethin' so evil."
With Hagrid and his crossbow in the lead, they plunged into the dark woods. Ryan followed close behind, with Dumbledore and Flitwick flanking him from the rear, forming a protective triangle.
In a team fight, you protect the support class… The feeling was intensely familiar. Ryan recognized his role and drew his wand to buff his teammates.
"Protego!"
He cast his signature Triple-cast Shield Charm on Hagrid and Flitwick. It went off without a hitch. The spell took significantly more energy to cast on the half-giant, an amount that was inversely proportional to Flitwick's tiny stature. But when he tried to cast the shield on Dumbledore, the spell simply… failed. It didn't fizzle out from a lack of power; it just vanished.
"An excellent Shield Charm, and a fine piece of triple-casting," Dumbledore's calm voice came from beside him. "I believe we will need some light."
Ryan, though puzzled by the spell's failure, complied. "Lumos Maxima!"
A cluster of glowing orbs erupted from the tip of his wand, circling the four of them. The light had a faint, purifying quality, a gift from his external power-source pin, which warmed the air and pushed back the oppressive darkness. Some of the light even seemed to seep into Hagrid's crossbow, imbuing the arrows with a faint magical aura.
"Brilliant, Ryan!" Hagrid boomed.
"Truly remarkable," Dumbledore said, his eyes resting on Ryan's black-and-gold pin. "You are, without a doubt, one of the most gifted students Hogwarts has seen in a century."