In the end, Regulus Black still didn't turn that bottle of "Fruit of the Captive" juice into a small protective charm or anything of the sort.
After all, even though it was the fruit of a rare magical plant, it wasn't a magical item with special properties.
Although, a charm made from it would've had extreme attributes.
It was just like how Voldemort searched for suitable items to make Horcruxes—not everything was fit to become a magical artifact. Sure, anything could be used, like Portkeys, which are often made from random junk the Ministry picks up off the ground. But those are low-grade magical tools.
For people like Regulus Black and Voldemort, using trash to make magical items would be considered utterly lacking in taste. Each magical artifact is the crystallization of the creator's effort—who would want their hard work to be made from garbage?
It was yet another ordinary, uneventful day. However, just as the day's lessons were about to end, a request from Dumbledore caused a ripple at the Hogwarts staff table.
After dinner, when the students were being led back to their dorms by their prefects, the four Heads of House, along with Quirrell and Regulus Black, were asked to stay behind by Dumbledore.
"Dumbledore! I doubt you have any appetite left to eat more food, so just say what you need to say."
Snape wore an expression of disgust. He would give the Headmaster some respect in front of students, but now that they were gone—respect? Ha! No need. Every professor here knew how the two interacted.
Back when Lily died, Snape had held Dumbledore partially responsible.
"Regulus recommended Quirrell to serve as Harry Potter's special tutor. He needs to teach young Harry a few spells."
With a single sentence, Dumbledore threw Regulus Black under the bus—it was like putting a target on his back for ridicule!
Snape immediately turned and glared at Regulus with hostility, as if he might tear him apart if he didn't offer a reasonable explanation.
If you're going to play dirty, old man, don't blame me for not playing nice either.
Regulus Black remained as graceful as ever, ignoring Snape's piercing gaze. He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
"It was you, Headmaster, who said the four Heads of House were already overloaded with duties, so you asked me to take on the role of special tutor. But I reminded you that I'm not a professor, just a teaching assistant. That's why I recommended the most suitable candidate—Professor Quirrell from the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. I believe there's no problem with him teaching Harry a few basic spells."
As he spoke, he even gave Quirrell a pat on the shoulder. This caused the already timid and nervous man to flinch in alarm, then force a sheepish smile.
Snape had already felt uneasy seeing Regulus and Quirrell stay behind. Upon hearing that Quirrell was to tutor Harry privately, he nearly jumped to object.
In Snape's mind, Quirrell was too dangerous. Although he couldn't quite put his finger on why, he was certain of the threat. Letting Quirrell be alone with Harry for private tutoring? Absolutely not!
"I object. I don't even know why Potter needs special instruction to begin with. Dumbledore, don't you think your favoritism toward him is getting out of hand?"
Since he couldn't directly voice his suspicions about Quirrell, Snape had no choice but to pin the blame back on Dumbledore.
"Besides, if it's just to teach Potter a few simple spells, any upper-year student would suffice."
Snape stood up from the table, his anger practically radiating like black tendrils whipping through the air.
The Heads of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sat trembling—this clearly had nothing to do with them!
Even Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor and slightly more involved in the matter, didn't dare to interrupt. Though she knew she'd have to ask Dumbledore later why Harry was receiving individual instruction, and why a specific professor was appointed.
"Professor Snape, please trust my judgment. Professor Quirrell is the best choice."
Regulus Black very much wanted to witness the meeting between Voldemort and Harry Potter. As for explaining afterward why Quirrell had been under Voldemort's control—well, he'd have to come up with a suitable excuse.
Snape glared at Regulus furiously, but it did nothing to shake the man's cheerful anticipation of the show to come.
"This matter is settled, then. Professor Quirrell will provide Harry Potter with some individual tutoring—but Regulus, you are to accompany them during each session."
Dumbledore wasn't about to let Regulus Black off the hook either, especially since this whole situation had been his doing.
"Dumbledore, I'm just a teaching assistant."
"You'll have the chance to become a professor eventually. So it's perfectly reasonable to accumulate some teaching experience in the meantime."
And just like that, the blame was tossed right back onto Regulus Black.
Dumbledore was in an exceptionally good mood—his aged face blooming like a chrysanthemum.
Snape had nothing more to say in protest. Although he didn't like Regulus Black, that was nothing compared to the danger Quirrell posed. Now that Harry Potter was to receive private tutoring from Quirrell, the situation was certainly risky—but with the addition of our dear assistant, there was a strange sense of balance to it.
Besides, as long as Snape had free time, he could always drop by to check on them. He was sure Professor Quirrell wouldn't object to having an extra observer.
Having settled his thoughts, Professor Snape let out a cold snort in the direction of the two before turning and walking away.
The other three Heads of House left the Great Hall with Dumbledore, leaving only Quirrell and Regulus Black behind.
"Apologies, Professor Quirrell. It was supposed to be my responsibility, yet I dragged you into it, and in the end, I couldn't even get rid of the burden myself."
Regulus Black raised his hand to stop Quirrell, who was trying to leave. Opportunities to tease Voldemort up close were rare—plus, he wasn't finished talking.
"How about this—I'll need your class schedule. When both you and Harry Potter are free, I'll bring him to you."
In truth, no teacher—whether at Hogwarts or in the Muggle world—has much free time.
There are classes to teach, homework to grade, and personal time for rest. Even if it's just one-on-one instruction for Harry Potter, the time has to be coordinated properly. Otherwise, everything would descend into chaos.
"Y-Yes... okay. But I need to know what I'll be teaching. Dumbledore didn't mention it earlier."
At this point, only Regulus Black and Quirrell remained in the vast Great Hall. Though brightly lit, the space had an unnatural chill to it—one that the two perceived differently.
What Quirrell felt was unclear, but for Regulus Black, it was certainly due to being alone with Quirrell—because that was no different from being alone with Voldemort.
Still, until the truth was exposed, everything had to remain hidden beneath the surface. That applied to Regulus, and equally to Quirrell and Voldemort.
"Spells to suppress sound and scent. Night vision spells. Illusion spells that make others overlook a single movement."
If he stayed any longer, he might not be able to stop himself from drawing his wand. With a dark expression, Regulus Black patted Quirrell on the shoulder again, then turned and left the hall.
"Master... what should I do? Should I use this opportunity to eliminate Harry Potter?"
Quirrell spoke the words that no professor should say, his face twisted with an expression that was impossible to read—pain or repression, it was unclear.
"Harry Potter must die by my hand. You just do your part."
Grayish-black mist began to seep from the back of Quirrell's turban, and his expression twisted even more, as though his life force was being drained.
"The last unicorn... that Black boy stole it from me. That's made me even weaker lately. You'd best start thinking about how to capture another one."
The black mist condensed into a skull-like face, which slowly morphed into a blurry human visage.
"As for Harry Potter—getting the chance to personally teach him... how could I possibly pass that up?"
Suddenly, all the lights went out, plunging the hall into darkness. Quirrell felt his way out into the shadows, and the dark mist seemed to blend seamlessly into the surroundings.
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