After breakfast, Henry returned to his office, watered the Dittany, picked up his notebook and lesson plans, and headed for the library to read for a bit.
It had been raining for days. The cat spent far more time grooming itself, and its outdoor expeditions had plummeted, so the scratches on Henry's desk had multiplied. Thankfully, the cat was currently coiled on his bed, licking its back and gazing imperiously at the long tail of the Spectral Rat poking out from the cat bed.
"I'm going out," Henry announced to them.
The cat let out a long, displeased yowl, as if Henry had just stepped on its tail. The rat's tail twitched and vanished. A moment later, its pointy little head poked out of the cat bed's entrance, swiveling left and right on high alert.
"It's not my fault you don't like going out in the rain. Besides, it looks like a sunny day today." Henry eyed the claws emerging from the cat's paw. "No, that's my bed. You have your own cat tree… Fine."
He shut the door and left, deciding he would fix whatever furniture the cat destroyed in its fury when he got back.
The library was deathly quiet. Henry nodded to Madam Pince, walked softly to the Restricted Section, found a secluded corner, and set his things down.
Dumbledore had given him a very long reading list. Some books were categorized under Alchemy, others under Magical Rituals, but every single one was material related to the Wraith Chicken resurrection experiment.
On top of that, Professor Burbage had mentioned a few Muggle Studies books that sounded interesting, but the library didn't have them yet. Henry planned to hunt for them at Flourish and Blotts when he had the chance.
Henry crouched before a shelf, his gaze sweeping over The Medieval Pyre and Fiendfyre and The Image of Medieval Magical Creatures in Poetry. He pulled out Medieval Sorcery (Volume I) and flipped through a few pages. A chill ran down his spine. The pages were warm and soft, the corners etched with faint, purplish-red lines like tiny blood vessels. He skimmed the author's name, confirmed this was absolutely not on Dumbledore's list, and shoved it back onto the shelf.
He steered clear of Volumes II and III of Medieval Sorcery and scanned the rows, muttering titles under his breath. "Guide to Medieval Sorcery… Guide to Sorcery… Guide to Sorcery…"
A faint tapping sound came from beside him. Henry looked up to see Severus Snape peering down at him, his expression inscrutable. His finger tapped against a small, pitch-black book on a nearby shelf.
"Good morning, Professor Snape," Henry said, using the bookshelf to push himself up. "Oh, you found it. Excellent. Thank you."
He opened the hardcover book wrapped in black cloth, and a foul, unforgettable odor wafted out. Snape crossed his arms and watched.
Henry frowned, drew his wand, and cast a Muggle-Repelling Charm on the book. The stench vanished. He leafed through it, finding a chapter titled "Necromancy and the Dance of the Dead."
"Have a pleasant day," he said with a nod to Snape, ready to return to his seat. The book wasn't too thick. Perhaps after finishing the relevant chapter, he could skim the rest.
"Our esteemed Headmaster," Snape ground out from behind him, teeth clenched, "has a message for you."
Henry turned, puzzled. "What is it?"
He couldn't think of any message Dumbledore would need Snape to deliver, especially since he'd just gotten a note by owl yesterday. Fawkes still seemed deeply unwilling to carry letters for Henry. In a way, that was a good thing. As the weather grew colder, the Dittany Neville had given him needed to conserve more energy for the winter.
A strange, simmering anger burned in Snape's eyes. His voice was icy, squeezed through gritted teeth. "He wishes you to be informed that the unicorn blood simulation experiments… are suspended."
"Why?" Henry asked. "I know you're very busy, of course, but I thought you wanted—"
"Because the efficacy of unicorn blood is inseparable from its curse," Snape said, his tone brittle.
"Oh…" Henry said, still confused as to why Dumbledore needed to tell him this. The Wraith Chicken experiments were progressing smoothly. Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel, and Henry had already determined that as long as the curse-caster was a living person, the specific type of blood wasn't crucial. Intent and emotion mattered more.
But Snape refused to say more. He gave Henry a curt nod and made to leave.
"Sorry, wait," Henry said, his mind racing.
Snape's eyebrows, which had just relaxed slightly, knitted back together.
"What?" he asked coldly.
"Professor Dumbledore wants me to help you?" Henry asked slowly. "Is that the idea?"
Snape answered smoothly, "How would I dare presume what the greatest wizard of our age is thinking?"
Henry sighed. "Alright, Snape, no need to be so guarded. If Professor Dumbledore wants me involved, I'll do it. I really do owe him quite a bit." He thought for a moment and added, "And I promise not to trash your office again."
Snape glared at him, snarling, "If you dare—if you even mention that incident again—"
"Don't pretend you bear no responsibility, Snape," Henry said, turning and walking back to his seat. "You haven't apologized, so don't expect one from me. If you want to call it a draw, be my guest." He started packing his things and took a deep breath. "Alright, what do I need to do? I'm guessing it's not playing hide-and-seek with unicorns in the Forbidden Forest?"
Snape's expression darkened again. He said reluctantly, "I believe… the Headmaster wishes to see you. Us."
"That's right, Henry," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "When Severus told me he'd encountered some… complications with curses related to a 'half-life' state, I immediately thought of you. Who else could it be?"
An image flashed through Henry's mind—a figure wearing a turban. Quirinus Quirrell. A firsthand expert on the curse. The perfect candidate. Of course, while asking about his experience with the unicorn's curse, one could also inquire as to where Voldemort had gone.
"What do you need me to do, sir?" Henry asked. "Aside from teaching three years, you know, I also have preparations to make for the Wraith Chicken experiment."
"In Potions, Severus is the expert," Dumbledore said. "I merely hope that if he requires your assistance, Henry, you might think twice before refusing him. Research into simulating unicorn blood could give us a very, very significant advantage in future conflicts. Greater even than a room full of Dittany essence."
Henry caught an undertone in his words. "Has You-Know-Who done something else, sir?"
"Do not," Snape hissed, "say his name."
"We cannot be certain yet," Dumbledore said gravely. "Nicolas tells me the attempts to scry the Philosopher's Stone are increasing. I believe he means to warn me, but we cannot be sure if this restlessness is due to the curse on Quirrell… or if the desire for the alchemy of gold and endless life is simply growing stronger in everyone."
"Right. I sincerely hope He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named leaves people alone this term," Henry grumbled. "I thought all this was supposed to have been settled eleven years ago."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "He is unlikely to approach Hogwarts for some time, so your term should be safe, Henry. But while he hides in some corner of the world, we must gather our strength as we wait. For he will certainly try to return."
Henry sighed. "Is there anything else we can do?"
"Of course, there are other avenues to explore," Snape said dryly. "Perhaps someone could write the Dark Lord a letter, politely requesting he remain quietly beside Quirrell and await death. I'm sure he'd be delighted to oblige."
Henry laughed. "Worth a shot. What if he's grown so weak he's forgotten to ward himself against owl post?"
They talked in Dumbledore's office for a while, discussing possible methods Voldemort might use to return. Both Dumbledore and Snape were certain Voldemort would never be satisfied with Quirrell's body ("The Dark Lord would view his current state as an abomination"). But they had searched through every method of bodily reconstitution, and none seemed satisfactory.
"For instance, let's see… this one would allow him to possess any frog without killing it," Dumbledore said. "It's an excellent escape plan—catching every frog before a soul transfer would be terribly difficult—but it doesn't seem like an option he'd favor. We suspect he would want, at minimum, hands capable of holding a wand."
A massive piece of parchment was spread across his desk, nearly covering it. It was densely covered with notes on various magics. Half of one side was completely crossed out, with a note in purple ink beside it: "Not resurrection, never died—Henry Anthony."
Henry also spotted "Not Time-Turner—Alastor Moody" in a corner, along with strange annotations like "Stone?" or "Not dragon blood."
The remaining text and diagrams were peppered with notes in various ink colors. Near a fold, it read "Not cloak." Next to a peculiar geometric shape: "Not Flobberworm mucus—Severus Snape."
"But a wand-wielding gorilla doesn't seem right either," Snape said flatly. "The Dark Lord is exceptionally intelligent, exceptionally powerful… If he finds a vessel he can tolerate, he would likely scorn the unicorn's curse and survive on its blood. But there have been no reports of unicorn poaching anywhere in Europe."
"Severus is somewhat concerned that Quirrell may have mastered the potion to simulate unicorn blood," Dumbledore explained to Henry. "We've both noted you had some… academic exchanges with Quirrell last term."
"No, Dumbledore, I am not concerned," Snape said, his black eyes glinting coldly. "He spent too much time weeping and trembling. Little time remained for potions research."
Dumbledore nodded calmly. "Of course, Severus. You are the expert in this matter."
Henry and Snape descended the spiral staircase, the gargoyle leaping back into place behind them. For once, the sky had cleared. The corridors were deserted; the students were likely enjoying the brief, precious sunshine.
"Would you prefer to discuss this in your office or mine?" Henry asked.
Before Snape could answer, a cheerful hand landed on Henry's shoulder.
"Henry!" Gilderoy Lockhart boomed. "You'll love this news. To ensure Hogwarts students receive a more well-rounded education, I've decided to start a club!"
"That sounds… wonderful," Henry said with difficulty.
"That sounds wonderful," Snape parroted dryly. "If you would excuse us for a moment, Professor Lockhart…"
"Don't rush off, Henry! You'll like this idea too, Professor Snape." Lockhart kept an arm around Henry and winked playfully at Snape, whose expression grew even more sour. "I've always believed students must be prepared at all times! I'm founding 'Lockhart's Lovelock Club,' where I'll share tips on interpersonal relations. Honestly, you could use it, Professor Snape." He leaned back slightly, appraising Henry. "As for you, Henry, you should smile more brightly. Like this!" He flashed a standard, dazzling grin.
"Oh, I don't think my teeth are quite so… display-worthy," Henry said tactfully.
Lockhart encouraged him with boundless enthusiasm. "Don't be shy, Henry! Of course you can't do it as well as I can, but the effort is what counts!"
Henry bared his teeth at him in a grin, thinking of Norbert's fangs.
"A bit over the top," Lockhart said kindly, "but you just need practice, Henry. Remember: talent, practice, and willpower. All three are essential!"
Henry nodded vaguely. "Right, right. If you don't mind…"
By then, Lockhart was already critiquing Snape's wardrobe.
"Tut, tut, Professor Snape, your robes are far too long," Lockhart said, spreading his arms to showcase his own perfectly tailored, pale green silk robes. "That won't make a good impression, will it? Still, if you want to lock someone's heart, you'd best attend my club meeting next Sunday."
Snape stood with his arms crossed, his brows furrowed tighter than they had been during the discussion about Voldemort.
Lockhart misread his expression. "Don't worry! The student session is on Saturday. Sunday is exclusively for professors… Four to six in the afternoon, in the staff room. Most professors have been invited—there are an astonishing number of single staff members at Hogwarts!"
"Have you considered starting a Dueling Club, Professor Lockhart?" Snape asked impatiently. "I would be deeply honored to share a stage with such a celebrated adventurer."
Lockhart wagged a finger. "Perhaps another time, Professor Snape. I wouldn't want to injure our Potions Master. That would be terribly impolite. Besides, I'm already responsible for seven years of Defense Against the Dark Arts. If I had to take on Potions as well—I suppose I could teach them a few little potions of my own invention—I'd have no time left to reply to my fan mail!"
He reminded them one last time of the club's time and place, then swept away, robes billowing.
"I'll remember it," Henry called after him, then turned to Snape. "Professor Snape, would you by any chance be free next Sunday, from four to six in the afternoon, to discuss unicorn blood curses and such?"
Snape said coolly, "Of course, Professor Anthony."
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