Professor Quirrell's Bargain
Professor Quirrell walked toward the Headmaster's office with careful steps, his hands trembling—not from fear this time, but from anticipation.
Before coming, he had taken precautions.
In Knockturn Alley, under the cover of shadow and desperation, Quirrell had robbed several unsuspecting wizards of their coin and reagents. With that money, he acquired the rare ingredients Voldemort demanded and brewed a concealment potion—a crude but effective draught meant to suppress magical signatures.
He drank it before entering Hogwarts.
For the first time in months, Voldemort's aura vanished completely from detection.
The gargoyle stepped aside.
Quirrell entered.
"Good afternoon, Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore greeted calmly, quill resting beside a stack of letters—complaints.
"G–good afternoon, H–Headmaster," Quirrell stuttered, bowing slightly.
Dumbledore gestured to a chair.
"We need to discuss your teaching."
Quirrell swallowed and quickly spoke, rehearsed words tumbling out.
"I–it's fear, Headmaster. A vampire. I b–believe it is hunting me. The f–fear makes it hard to teach properly."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly—but he listened.
"I am… making a potion," Quirrell continued hurriedly.
"One that will h–hide my presence completely. If I succeed, I can teach without f–fear. But I am missing one ingredient."
Dumbledore folded his hands.
"And that is?"
"P–phoenix tears."
Silence stretched.
Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, then stood and walked toward Fawkes' perch. The phoenix tilted its head knowingly.
After a moment, Dumbledore returned with a small crystal vial.
"Five drops," Dumbledore said evenly.
"No more."
Quirrell's eyes shone with gratitude.
"Th–thank you, Headmaster! I swear, this will solve everything!"
He bowed repeatedly and hurried out.
Voldemort Drinks the Tears
Back in his office, Quirrell locked the door and trembled.
"My Lord," he whispered.
A face emerged from the back of his head, eyes burning.
"Give it to me."
Quirrell uncorked the vial.
Voldemort drank the phoenix tears.
Power surged.
Not strength—but vitality.
The decay slowed. The pain dulled. His mind sharpened.
"…Good," Voldemort hissed. "This buys us time."
Quirrell felt relief—then bitterness.
"That… Hufflepuff brat. And those students," Quirrell muttered. "Because of them, I was humiliated."
Voldemort laughed softly.
"Do not concern yourself with pride," he said coldly.
"Bring me the Philosopher's Stone, and I will give you riches, power, and status beyond your dreams."
Quirrell's breath hitched.
"Yes, my Lord. I will not fail."
Voldemort did not care whether Quirrell lived or died—only that the Stone was delivered.
Dumbledore Responds
The next morning, notices appeared across Hogwarts.
Dumbledore's response was measured, calm, and firm.
Professor Quirrell's curriculum would be closely supervised Practical Defense clubs would be permitted under faculty oversight Any further complaints would result in immediate review
Professor Sprout read the notice and sighed.
"At least he listened," she murmured.
Firebolt Investors Panic—and Rejoice
In the wizarding business world, chaos erupted.
The Firebolt company was drowning in debt, its revolutionary broom still years from release.
Then the news hit.
Lucien Aurelius Peverell Lionhardt now owns 70% of Firebolt shares.
Silence.
Then—
Relief.
"He has that backing?"
"The Lionhardt family?"
"Then Firebolt survives."
Meetings were called. Plans rewritten.
For the first time, Firebolt's future looked certain.
Lucien Tests Alchemy Mastery
In a quiet unused classroom, Lucien worked alone.
He brewed.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
Perfect.
Potions refined themselves under his hands—efficiency increased, waste eliminated, reactions stabilized without wandwork.
"…So this is mastery," he murmured.
One glance told him what needed adjusting.
Alchemy was no longer trial and error.
It was intuition.
Giratina's Warning
That night, in the pocket dimension, Giratina approached Lucien.
"The castle," the godlike being rumbled.
"It is cursed. A repeating decay."
Lucien nodded calmly.
"I know."
Giratina tilted its head.
"Shall I remove it?"
"No," Lucien replied.
"Not yet. Let it run its course. Some things must reveal themselves first."
Giratina bowed.
"…As you command."
Lucien looked up at the night sky of his dimension, expression unreadable.
Hogwarts was changing.
And soon—
it would be forced to face what it had been hiding all along.