Chapter 101: The Pen Case
Chapter 101: The Pen Case
Harry felt as if his heart had been plunged into icy lake water, slowly robbing his body of warmth. His stomach clenched, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, and he even felt like vomiting.
"So... Quirrell is..."
"...possessed by Voldemort," Weir completed the sentence. "To be precise, he has Voldemort attached to the back of his head."
The room filled with gasps, and Michael's face turned ashen. "Don't utter that name again, Weir," he said.
Weir responded helplessly, "If you're so scared of just a name, how did you manage to not tremble in front of Professor Quirrell?"
"That's different!" Michael argued. "Professor Quirrell is cowardly, but that man... he..."
Michael shuddered and fell silent, as if he was having difficulty breathing.
Weir looked around at the others, who were all visibly shaken. Even Hermione appeared extremely frightened.
"How curious," Weir thought. "They dared to face him but are afraid to even say his name?"
Harry, however, had no such reservations. He stated bluntly, "So Voldemort is trying to make a comeback, and he didn't just send two subordinates to steal the Philosopher's Stone... he came himself, hidden as a pendant at the back of Quirrell's head."
"Yes," Weir said, "imagine being wrapped in the stench of garlic all day and having to endure mischievous students pelting snowballs at your face. They thought they were attacking the timid Professor Quirrell, but they were actually hitting the face of..."
Weir trailed off, considering the feelings of most people in the room. His words made everyone feel a mix of fear and amusement, and even Harry couldn't help but laugh a little.
"But..." Harry said hesitantly, "why didn't Dumbledore let you tell me? I mean, I have the right to know the truth, don't I? Voldemort killed my parents!"
"Dumbledore was trying to protect you, Harry," Hermione explained. "He was worried that if you knew the truth, you'd go after the Dark Lord for revenge, and that would be too dangerous."
Harry was a forgiving person, and knowing that the headmaster's decision was made out of concern for him, his anger at being kept in the dark began to dissipate. But he still didn't understand, "Then why not capture him now? Why not take action while he's still unprepared? Surely we can stop Quirrell and Voldemort together before they escape?"
"I guess—well, it's just a guess—based on what Professor Dumbledore said..." Weir replied, "eleven years ago, that man did die, but for some reason, he didn't completely perish. He's like a ghost, unable to be imprisoned or killed. If we acted rashly, we'd likely only be able to get rid of Quirrell, and Voldemort would still escape."
"Stop saying that name, Weir," Michael whispered.
"Alright, alright," Weir continued, "the Dark Lord still has the ability to make a comeback, again and again. You never know when he might resurface. It's like knowing there's a venomous snake in your house, but you don't know where it is, and it could strike from the shadows at any moment. It's better to keep that snake in plain sight where you can watch it, isn't it?"
"But..." Harry asked, "isn't Dumbledore worried that Quirrell might actually steal the Philosopher's Stone and that Voldemort could regain his former power and even achieve immortality?"
"Will you stop mentioning that name?" Michael muttered. "Dumbledore knows everything, so he must have set up an intricate web of protections around the stone, just waiting for Quirrell to make his move! But that guy is too cautious; he's been stalling for so long without taking action."
"Perhaps he also realized it was a trap?" said Ryan suddenly. "But his longing for longevity made him linger near the bait, reluctant to give up... Maybe he's also waiting for a foolproof opportunity..."
"What would be considered a foolproof opportunity?" asked Theo.
"That would definitely be—" Harry clenched his fist, "—when Dumbledore leaves the school! Because Dumbledore is the only person he fears!"
...
In the following days, the young witches and wizards began to pay unprecedented attention to Dumbledore's schedule. If they saw the white-bearded wizard in the Great Hall during mealtimes, they would feel relieved for the rest of the day. If they didn't, they would immediately become anxious and go to great lengths to inquire about Dumbledore's whereabouts from the professors.
However, soon they had to divert most of their energy to another matter—the exam week had arrived.
In a sense, the terror of exams for students was on par with that of the Dark Lord, even for Hermione, who usually excelled academically.
Most of the exams at Hogwarts consisted of two parts: a written test and a practical one. The written exams were held in a large classroom that could accommodate the entire year group, and they had to use a new quill that had been enchanted to prevent cheating. The practical exams, on the other hand, varied greatly and were set by the professors teaching each subject. For example, Professor McGonagall required students to transfigure mice into exquisite snuffboxes.
For Weir, the content of all the exams was simple, and the practical exams were more like a personal showcase. From the satisfied smiles of the professors, it was clear that he would achieve excellent results.
The last exam was in History of Magic—ever since Weir had organized his History of Magic scroll, he had rarely spent time on this subject, only cramming the key points before the exam. After finishing the test, Weir estimated his accuracy to be over ninety percent, which was more than sufficient for him.
Today was also Thursday, the day Professor Moore taught him alchemy. After the exam, the students cheered at their newfound freedom, but Weir bid Michael farewell as usual and headed towards the Astronomy Tower.
Professor Moore was fiddling with a microscope when he saw Weir enter. "Look at this," he exclaimed, "how fascinating—Muggles use this machine to observe the minute structures of things, including the countless cells within the human body."
He enthusiastically taught Weir how to prepare slide specimens, adjust the light, and focus the lens. Weir didn't mention that he had learned this before and followed Professor Moore's instructions to observe worm eggs and moth wing sections before bringing up his recent progress in alchemy.
"I want to show you this—"
As Weir spoke, he took a box out of his bag. At that moment, he noticed that his friend's journal, which was placed next to it, was slightly warm. Weir paused briefly before closing his bag and placing the blue-gray box, no larger than a pencil case, on the table.
Professor Moore's eyes lit up. "Did you succeed so quickly?"
"I've only achieved preliminary results."
Weir opened the box, revealing several quills and ordinary pens inside, clearly visible at a glance, seemingly the only contents. He then closed the lid, tapped it with his wand, and the pen box seemed to flip, expand, extend, and stretch like the pages of a book...
A moment later, a wardrobe taller than a person stood in the center of the room.
Weir opened the door and smiled. "Professor, would you like to step inside and take a look?"
(End of Chapter)
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