Chapter 101: Pen Box
Harry felt as though his heart had been plunged into a frozen lake, slowly leaching away the warmth from his body. His stomach clenched, a bitter taste flooded his mouth, and he even felt the urge to vomit.
"So... Quirrell... he's... he's...?"
"Voldemort," Wade reminded. "To be precise, he's possessing Quirrell."
A collective intake of breath echoed through the room. Michael turned ashen, whispering, "Don’t say that name, Wade."
Wade sighed. "If you’re too afraid to even speak his name, how did you manage not to tremble in front of Professor Quirrell?"
"How could it be the same?" Michael shot back. "Professor Quirrell’s weak—pathetic, even. But him... him... he’s..."
Michael shuddered, then fell silent, his breathing ragged, as if struggling for air.
Wade glanced around. Everyone else wore the same haunted expression—frozen in dread. Even Hermione looked terrified.
—How strange, Wade thought.
—They’ve faced him directly, yet they won’t speak his name?
Harry, however, had no such hesitation. He spoke plainly. "So Voldemort wants to rise again—not just sending two lackeys to steal the Philosopher’s Stone... he’s here himself. He’s come in person..."
"Indeed," Wade said. "In the form of a pendant, quietly slipping into the school behind Quirrell’s head. Imagine it—constantly surrounded by the stench of garlic, enduring prankish students throwing snowballs at his face. They think they’re mocking a cowardly Quirrell... but in reality, they’re pummeling The Dark Lord’s face."
Wade held back the name, mindful of the group’s unease. His words stirred a mix of horror and reluctant amusement. Even Harry couldn’t suppress a small chuckle.
"But..." Harry frowned, troubled. "Why didn’t Dumbledore tell us? I mean, I have a right to know, don’t I? Voldemort killed my parents!"
"Dumbledore protected you, Harry," Hermione explained. "He was afraid that if you knew the truth, you’d go looking for The Dark Lord… and that would be far too dangerous."
Harry was a kind-hearted soul. Knowing the Headmaster had acted out of concern, his anger at being kept in the dark gradually faded. But he still couldn’t let go of the question: "Then why not just capture him now? While he’s off guard? We could take them both down—Quirrell and Voldemort. They couldn’t possibly escape!"
"I think—just guessing, based on things Professor Dumbledore said..." Wade began, "...that ten years ago, the man did die. But for some reason, he didn’t truly perish. He exists in a state between life and death—like a ghost. He can’t be imprisoned, nor can he be killed. If we tried to act now, we’d only end up with Quirrell’s body left behind. Voldemort would slip away again..."
"Stop saying that name, Wade," Michael muttered.
"...Fine," Wade continued. "The Dark Lord still has the ability to rise again—once, twice, even more. You never know when he’ll reappear..."
A silent shiver ran through the group.
"It’s like knowing a venomous serpent is hiding in your home, but you don’t know where it is. It could strike at any moment, slithering from the shadows. In that case, wouldn’t it be better to keep the serpent right in front of your eyes? At least then you’d know where it is... and you’d feel safer?"
"But... Dumbledore must be worried, right?" Harry pressed. "What if Quirrell actually steals the Philosopher’s Stone? What if Voldemort regains his full power—and even achieves immortality?"
"—For the love of Merlin, don’t say that name!" Michael muttered, almost inaudibly. "If Dumbledore knows everything, he’s already set up a trap around the Stone. He’s been waiting for Quirrell to make a move. But the fool’s too cautious—dragging his feet this whole time."
"Maybe he realized it was a trap?" Liam suddenly spoke up. "But the desire for immortality keeps pulling him back, like a moth to a flame. He can’t let go of the bait... maybe he’s waiting for the perfect moment."
"What would that perfect moment even be?" Theo asked.
"That’s simple," Harry clenched his fists. "When Dumbledore leaves the school. Because Dumbledore is the only one he truly fears."
...
In the days that followed, the young wizards began obsessing over Dumbledore’s whereabouts like never before. If the white-bearded wizard appeared in the Great Hall for dinner, the next day felt safe and steady. But if he was absent, panic would set in immediately. They’d frantically question the professors, searching for any sign that he’d left.
Yet soon, they had to shift their focus—Exam Week had arrived.
For students, exams were, in a way, just as terrifying as facing The Dark Lord himself—even Hermione, who usually excelled academically.
Most subjects at Hogwarts split their assessments into two parts: Written Examinations and Practical Assessments. The written exams took place in a vast hall capable of holding the entire year group. Students used specially enchanted feather quills, each inscribed with an Anti-Cheating Charm. The practicals, however, varied wildly depending on the professor. McGonagall, for instance, had them transform a mouse into an exquisite snuffbox.
For Wade, the entire exam process was effortless. The practicals were little more than personal showcases. From the professors’ pleased smiles, it was clear he’d earn a flawless transcript.
The final exam was History of Magic. Since Wade had already compiled his Magic History Scroll, he rarely attended class—only cramming the key points the night before. After finishing the paper, he confirmed his accuracy rate was over ninety percent. That was more than enough for him.
Today was Thursday—the day Professor Mor taught Alchemy. Once the exams ended, students erupted in cheers of relief. But Wade simply nodded to Michael and, as always, headed toward the Astronomy Tower.
Professor Mor was adjusting a microscope. Seeing Wade enter, he smiled. "Look at this—how extraordinary. Muggles use this device to observe the tiniest structures in the world, down to the countless cells within the human body."
He eagerly showed Wade how to prepare a glass slide specimen, how to adjust the light and focus. Wade didn’t mention he’d already learned this before. Instead, he followed Professor Mor’s steps, observing a worm egg and a moth wing section through the lens, then brought up his recent progress in alchemy.
"I’d like you to see this," Wade said, reaching into his backpack.
At that moment, he noticed the Book of Friends beside him growing slightly warm. Wade paused, then closed the bag. He placed the small, blue-gray box—no larger than a pen case—onto the table.
Professor Mor’s eyes lit up. "You’ve already succeeded?"
"Just a preliminary result," Wade said. He opened the box. Inside were a few feather quills and ordinary ink pens—barely visible, and seemingly all that was there.
He closed it again, then tapped it with his wand. The box unfolded like pages of a book, expanding, stretching, unfolding—
And in moments, a towering closet stood in the center of the room.
Wade pulled open the door and grinned. "Professor, perhaps you’d like to take a look inside?"
(End of Chapter)
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