Chapter 20
"Damn it, Potter—how can you look so… disgustingly fresh after that bloody Transfiguration exam?" Draco Malfoy grumbled at me, dropping his head onto the wooden desk and making no effort to change position. "McKitty tortured me for twenty minutes. This isn't good enough, that looks sloppy… nothing ever suits her."
"She was trying to drag you up to an Outstanding, that's why she piled on extra tasks—and you kept trying to transfigure some nonsense. Is it really surprising you suffered?" I replied with light mockery, feeling my own fatigue too. The endless chain of exams wasn't exactly hard, but it still ate energy like crazy.
"Easy for you to say… You even looked cheerful after Potions, despite your practically guaranteed failure," Draco continued complaining weakly, more or less expressing the mood of our whole group. Only Daphne and Pansy looked a bit more composed—but that was mostly because they tried to keep themselves under control in any situation. Noble-blood "young lady" upbringing had its effects.
"I went to Snape with zero hope from the start, and I got a task that was disgustingly unpleasant… So halfway through I just stopped shredding my nerves and did what I could," I waved Draco off, closing my eyes for a moment. "I'm more worried about Defense. Or rather, Professor Quirrell. He's been strange lately."
"More twitchy than usual, covered in garlic from head to toe, glaring at everyone like a rabid wolf," Daphne immediately understood, nodding enthusiastically. "And we still have to take our exam with him…"
"You think that stutterer is going to fail people?" Pansy frowned. She'd already… damaged her own report card, messing up at least Herbology and Transfiguration. Transfiguration, in particular, was the Achilles' heel of most Hogwarts students. Almost like physics in an ordinary school.
"My worry is he'll snap completely before the exam even starts," I cut in, realizing my topic had drifted. Quirrell's likely behavior during an exam wasn't what concerned me. "It feels like he's been in the library too often lately. What if he got influenced by something from the Restricted Section?"
"Mmm. I've heard the Restricted Section has a lot of… not very safe books," Pansy nodded thoughtfully, carefully ignoring Draco, who looked like he was slowly falling asleep on the desk. "But it's hard to believe a professor could actually get caught by one… Still, he really has been visiting the Restricted Section a lot."
"It's probably the curse on the position. Another Defense professor won't last more than a year," Draco snorted, still playing the role of a dying swan. "But if he really is losing his mind because of some cursed book—that's dangerous. We should tell the Head of House."
"Not a bad idea. I'll complain to Flitwick too. Let them check Quirrell properly—because I don't really want to take an exam from a mad professor," I nodded with a little enthusiasm, secretly pleased at how easily Draco had arrived at exactly the solution I needed. His dependence on adult authority could be very useful.
Because… my plan to lie low and not draw attention had failed. Lately I'd been feeling Quirrell's hostile attention far too often, catching his darting gaze and noticing his increasingly nervous behavior. He looked like a beginner criminal clutching a stolen pistol in shaking hands, ready to rob a bank any second.
And that behavior was, in a sense, understandable—except for one detail. The worst symptoms of that panic appeared precisely when he focused on me. I had watched that possessed bastard closely, so I had no doubt in my conclusions.
It seemed the theft of the Philosopher's Stone wasn't going according to plan. Because of that, Quirrell—or the Dark Lord parasite inside him—was nervous, even openly panicking, and for some reason he now saw me either as a problem or as a key to solving his problems.
I had even felt mental pressure on my mind in his presence not long ago, which screamed insanity and hostile intent. If he was already using mental magic on an eleven-year-old boy, risking one careless shove that could drive the child insane and expose himself—then that said plenty. Quirrell was on the edge, and clearly ready to do anything for his goal.
Still, the Dark Lord—or his puppet—either didn't dare to hit my mind too hard yet, or couldn't. I wasn't a great mentalist. In half a year I'd achieved a lot, but "a lot" was still only within the limits of a talented beginner. I hadn't gone beyond the basics, which meant I couldn't be certain. There was a real risk Quirrell had already rummaged in my mind properly and I simply hadn't noticed.
The risk wasn't huge. My too-strong reactions to his "mental attention" usually stopped him from doing anything abrupt. Mental pressure on children could have unpredictable results, and the Dark Lord clearly didn't want to drive me mad in the middle of class. And outside of lessons, I never stayed alone.
That had protected me for a while—but at some point Quirrell's instability was bound to outweigh his caution. After that, my whole strategy would stop working. Which was why I wanted to draw other professors' attention to the possessed wizard walking around right under their noses.
Ideally, I should have done it a week or two earlier, when the warning signs first began ringing at the edge of my mind. But the end of lessons and the start of exams had given me a false sense of safety—like the Dark Lord simply wouldn't be able to reach me outside class. I still hoped for that… even though it was clearly foolish.
After leaving the Slytherins and casually attaching myself to older Ravenclaws heading toward our common room, I didn't suspect that this ordinary walk through the castle could turn into a real catastrophe. There was still plenty of time before curfew, plenty of students roaming the corridors, and two sixth-years—there were only four sixth-years in our House, so meeting these two was luck—were decent protection in the worst case.
The safest way for me to move through the castle… and yet, as I'd feared deep down, it wasn't enough.
"Joseph, Clyde… don't you think—" I started awkwardly, feeling a directed, malicious intent brush my senses. I didn't understand where it was coming from or why—
"What is it, Potter?" one of the older boys glanced at me lazily. Clyde, for some reason, had decided I suffered from topographical idiocy and couldn't navigate the castle at all, so I clung to groups out of fear. Lately, quite a few people seemed to think that…
"Where… are all the students? Weren't there some Gryffindors walking ahead of us?" I asked tightly, continuing to scan the corridor with an uneasy look. That sticky, disgusting attention felt worse by the second.
"Huh? They turned off toward the moving staircases, I think," Joseph shrugged, following my gaze and glancing around too. It didn't help him. A spell shot out of nowhere and slammed into him, knocking him aside instantly. One of the best students in our House—an inherited wizard who took school seriously—was dropped in a heartbeat.
"You have a v-very good int-tuition, Mr. P-potter! Does your ch-chosen status really help you f-feel him?" a familiar voice reached me, and another spell flew at my last defender. Quirrell cast silently, barely moving his wand.
A clear sign of impressive skill. Even Flitwick might not manage something like that—and if he did, it wouldn't look nearly so effortless.
"P-Professor Quirrell! What are you doing!?" Clyde Greer stammered, fear and panic making him start to stutter too. He didn't dare to attack the professor back, even though he could have. The possessed wizard eased off his pressure for a moment and walked calmly toward me, shrugging an already deactivated invisibility cloak from his shoulders. Not a very good one, I had to note…
"I am simply carrying out my master's will," Quirrell answered—surprisingly steady and confident—then resumed his attack.
But I wasn't going to stand and watch anymore. I yanked my wand from its holster and pulled my own invisibility cloak out of my bag.
I had barely used my main Christmas gift, but for the last few weeks I'd still carried it everywhere, having planned my actions long ago in case an attack came. I couldn't pretend my preparation and paranoia saved me completely—fear and a sharp spike of panic wrecked my precision—but…
I still managed to throw the invisibility cloak over myself, and then cast two fairly difficult spells in quick succession. Nothing offensive. I couldn't even use Protego quickly or reliably yet. Shield Charms were fourth-year magic, and I hadn't had enough practice time.
Instead, expecting trouble, I'd focused on ways to draw attention and call for help. And that was exactly what I did—first casting a voice amplification charm, then a resonance charm so that—
"Help! Professor Quirrell has gone mad and is attacking students! Fourth floor, corridor between the east tower and the old storerooms! I repeat—" I shouted like a madman into my wand as if it were a microphone, instantly vanishing beneath the cloak and letting my voice echo through the castle.
The stunt made my own ears ring, stabbing pain into my eardrums. I'd also properly deafened Clyde, making it harder for him to resist the Dark Lord, but…
I got what I needed. That cry for help couldn't be smothered even with concealment charms, at least not the basic kind.
Now all I had to do was survive and hold out until help arrived. Luckily, my invisibility cloak gave me a chance to escape… and I hadn't spent a full year in the school's sports club for nothing.
Fast legs don't get captured by the Dark Lord.
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