Chapter 74: Unicorn Blood?
A new week began. Aside from experimenting with new ideas from his organized notes, Ethan spent the rest of his time studying flying spells.
Since returning from the holidays, Quirrell had looked increasingly unwell, his face growing paler by the day.
During the first week of school, Quirrell didn't ask him to stay after class. Ethan wasn't sure if this was because the professor could no longer spare the extra time.
After Tuesday's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Ethan stayed behind, partly to ask Quirrell questions and partly to check on his health.
He was somewhat anxious because he hadn't yet learned how to fly.
The magic was incredibly complex. Even the parts Ethan understood drew on principles from the Levitation Charm, broomsticks, and flying carpets, not to mention the knowledge Voldemort had unearthed from ancient texts.
"Professor, are you all right? You look terrible." Ethan was genuinely concerned about Quirrell's health. He was afraid the professor would die before he could finish teaching him.
"I-I'm fine, j-just not feeling very well." Two conspicuous red patches stood out on Quirrell's face, looking somewhat eerie against his pale complexion. He seemed quite moved by Ethan's concern.
"Then get some rest. I'll take these materials and study them on my own for now, and come to you if I have questions." Having finished his questions, Ethan left a parchment with the questions written on it, then gathered the materials and left, planning to review them before asking for further clarification.
After he left, Voldemort spoke angrily in his mind, Unicorn! Go to the Forbidden Forest and drink unicorn blood!
Voldemort's voice dropped lower.
"Master, I... I'll think about it again."
"Fool!" Voldemort was furious, but this time he didn't punish Quirrell because doing so would only hasten the drain of life force from the host that sustained him.
"Ah... ah..." Quirrell covered his face and wept.
Over the following month, Ethan visited Quirrell frequently. In addition to staying after every class to ask questions, he would bring the professor problems that came up at other times.
Although Quirrell looked terrible, he always forced himself to perk up and answer. Even when he didn't know something, he would have an answer ready by their next meeting.
"Professor, why don't you go see Madam Pomfrey? Your complexion keeps getting worse." Finally, after a class in mid-February, Ethan couldn't keep quiet any longer.
Lately, Quirrell kept losing consciousness mid-sentence, as if slipping into a sudden coma. It had happened twice in just half an hour.
"Fine, I'm fine." Quirrell waved a hand, without trying to hide his condition, and pulled out a tube of silvery-white liquid. He drank it down.
About two minutes later, his color had improved, and he no longer seemed on the verge of collapse.
"Take care of yourself." Seeing Quirrell in such a state, he gave up trying to persuade him further. At the same time, he had his suspicions, but he kept them to himself, turning them over in his mind.
After Friday's Potions class, he asked Snape, "Professor, besides unicorn blood, are there any other silvery potions that can restore vitality?"
Snape looked at him intently. "No. Where did you hear that? That line of thinking is dangerous.
"Unicorn blood is an excellent potion ingredient, but only when given willingly. Take it by force, and you will be cursed.
"You will be left with nothing but a half-dead existence."
"No, no, I just came across it by chance. I have no intention of doing such a thing."
"Professor, I have another question. Are there many unicorns that willingly give their blood?" Thinking of the numerous test tubes filled with silver blood in Quirrell's drawer, he wanted to know how long he could last.
Snape raised a finger. "Very few. Only about a quart of curse-free unicorn blood circulates worldwide each year. After all, convincing them to donate voluntarily isn't a simple task."
"Okay, Professor. I understand."
Later that afternoon, following Care of Magical Creatures class, he asked Professor Kettleburn again whether any creatures other than unicorns had silver blood.
Kettleburn considered for a moment. "Well, as far as I know, there aren't any. Of course, I could be wrong. In my experience, only unicorns have silver blood."
"Okay, thank you, Professor."
Ethan had now asked two professors to confirm his suspicion.
I remember that Quirrell's unicorn killings in the Forbidden Forest happened after the dragon was born. Now that I think about it, Quirrell couldn't have lasted much longer. He'd been using store-bought unicorn blood, but once those rare, curse-free supplies ran out, he'd have to hunt unicorns in the Forbidden Forest.
No, I have to speed up. Before Old Voldy reveals his true form, I need to extract as much valuable knowledge from him as possible, then cut ties completely to avoid being implicated.
With his mind made up, Ethan hurried to the library, planning to find some books that would help him connect the dots and speed up his learning.
The days of serious study passed quickly, and in the blink of an eye, it was late February.
"What's going on?" Draco woke up when something fell on his face.
His eyes still squeezed shut, he fumbled for the cloth-like object, batted it aside, and rubbed his eyes open.
"What happened to my curtain?!" The curtain that should have been hanging intact was now shredded, with only a few scraps still clinging to the metal frame.
As soon as he got out of bed, he saw Ethan floating, surrounded by an invisible current of air that whipped his hair wildly.
Ethan's bed had collapsed, and the curtains were even more torn than Draco's. The thing that had landed on his face must have been a piece of Ethan's curtain.
"Ethan! Ethan! Wake up!" Draco took a step forward but hit a wall of pressure that stopped him cold.
The invisible current was still expanding, and Ethan wouldn't wake. Helpless, Draco quickly shook Crabby and Goyle awake, though they were already buried under scraps of Ethan's curtain and still groggy.
"You two, watch the door. I'll go find Professor Snape."
Still in his pajamas, Draco didn't give the curfew a second thought. He bolted from the common room and sprinted toward Snape's office.