"Completely eliminate prejudice? How do you do that?"
Dana's rhetorical question made Quirrell very pleased. He replied:
"It's not exactly eliminating it, but making people afraid to be prejudiced against you—you're a smart child. You should understand that as long as you are strong enough, any prejudice will disappear in front of you."
—Just like Voldemort. Under his reign of terror, who would dare to speak ill of him in his presence?
Dana quietly waited for Quirrell to continue. What he really wanted to say was probably coming next:
"Do you want to become powerful, Dana?"
Dana nodded.
Quirrell continued, his tone smooth:
"I know a great being who can make you incredibly powerful! With your talent, if you follow him, you could even become as strong as Dumbledore!"
The true motive was finally revealed.
Dana smiled and asked calmly:
"There's no such thing as a free lunch. So, what do I need to give in return?"
Quirrell looked into Dana's eyes—those lake-green eyes he couldn't read.
"You only need to swear to follow that great being and never betray him."
"Is there a ritual involved?"
"Of course. Some small rituals are necessary."
Dana stood up:
"I am very grateful for Professor Quirrell's kindness, but this matter is significant. I'd like to consider it carefully."
"Of course, child, caution is a virtue," Quirrell said, his eyes narrowing into slits. "But you'd best not speak of our conversation to a third party. If others find out, perhaps some of your little secrets will be exposed."
Dana, who had been walking toward the door, paused. He turned back and asked:
"Little secrets?"
Quirrell's expression radiated confidence and control.
"That's right—little secrets. I can tell you've taken lives—not just one. It's something familiar to those who understand dark magic. You see, I do teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, after all."
Dana had never heard of any dark wizard being able to sense how many people another had killed. Dumbledore hadn't noticed, so how could Quirrell? Only someone truly immersed in dark magic, someone like Voldemort, might be able to tell.
He had no intention of joining the Death Eaters and becoming Voldemort's lackey.
Nor did he want to expose himself too early and cut off his escape routes.
His thoughts spun rapidly, but within seconds, his mind was calm again. Dana smiled and said:
"Professor, I'll consider it seriously. I'll give you a satisfactory answer before the end of the semester."
"That would be wonderful, Dana. But don't delay too long—after all, the sooner you decide, the sooner you become powerful."
In the days that followed, Dana acted as if nothing had happened.
He attended classes during the day and tutored others in the evening.
It was as though Quirrell's threat had no effect on him.
Until suddenly—Gryffindor lost two hundred points. The hourglass's gems dropped them to the bottom of the house rankings.
What was meant to happen still did—Rubeus Hagrid had been illegally raising a dragon. When Norbert the dragon grew too large to stay in Hagrid's hut, Harry, Hermione, and Ron handed him over to Ron's brother, Charlie Weasley.
That night, after they delivered Norbert and left the Astronomy Tower, they forgot the Invisibility Cloak in their excitement and were caught red-handed by Filch. Earlier, Neville had been wandering the castle looking for them and got caught by Professor McGonagall. Draco Malfoy, meanwhile, was the one who tattled.
So, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville—and Malfoy—were all sentenced to detention, to patrol the Forbidden Forest.
Dana had been waiting for this.
As Filch led the misbehaving students out of the castle and toward Hagrid's hut, no one noticed the owl that silently descended from Gryffindor Tower and followed them in the sky.
Soon after, Hagrid led Harry, Ron, and Hermione into the forest, while Fang guided Neville and Draco. They were tracking a unicorn's blood trail.
Malfoy played a prank that frightened Neville into firing a red flare, forcing Hagrid to regroup them. He took Neville and left Harry with Draco.
Then, Harry and Draco found the unicorn.
Even in death, the unicorn was radiant—its mane glowed silver, casting an otherworldly light.
Then came the rustling in the bushes. A hooded figure crawled out like a predator and sank its teeth into the unicorn's neck.
The sound of blood being drained was horrifying in the quiet forest.
Malfoy screamed and ran. Fang followed. Only Harry remained.
The figure looked up, and Harry's scar flared with pain. He staggered back.
The hooded figure lunged—
So far, everything was playing out like the original story. Next, the centaur Firenze was supposed to appear and save Harry.
But someone had rewritten the script.
Before Firenze arrived, a thick beam of green light blasted from behind Harry, striking the shadow directly.
"AHHHHH—!"
The scream was bone-chilling. Harry collapsed on the spot.
The green light tore through the figure, continued through the trees, and toppled one with a thunderous crash.
The shadow stilled—but a plume of black mist erupted from it. A shrill, infuriated voice hissed:
"Who is it?! Who ruined my work?!"
The mist shot toward the source of the spell—but there was nothing there.
Only a small owl sitting in a tree.
"Who is it? Who dares hide? With magic that strong—you're no nobody! SHOW YOURSELF!"
But the only reply was the owl's innocent coo:
"Hoo?"
The black mist hovered in place, unwilling to leave—until a column of red light shot into the sky, followed by a burst of phoenix flame. Fawkes had arrived.
The mist shuddered, turned southeast, and vanished into the night.
The owl blinked, shook itself, and let out another mocking "Hoo," before flying back to the Gryffindor Tower.
Next to the unicorn's body, Hagrid knelt, mourning the creature's death. Ron, Hermione, and Neville gathered around the unconscious Harry.
Dumbledore stood nearby, frowning at the hooded body on the ground, deep in thought.
"RIP!"
Professor McGonagall arrived, examined Harry quickly, then turned to Dumbledore.
"Albus, what happened?"
Dumbledore spoke slowly:
"Someone was stealing unicorn blood. Harry discovered them, and then fainted. The thief was killed. Firenze told me moments ago that a powerful Killing Curse was used."
Professor McGonagall scowled and turned over the corpse.
The hood fell back, revealing a pale bald man. Quirinus Quirrell, blood smeared across his mouth.
"It's Quirrell," she said grimly, glancing at the fallen tree. "But who cast the curse?"
Dumbledore sighed deeply.
Quirrell was dead.
What would they do about Defense Against the Dark Arts now?
And what of the obstacle course he had so carefully designed?
End of the Chapter.
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