The more than ten days Harry spent lying in the hospital wing were the most comfortable and leisurely days he had ever had, eating and sleeping every day until he had even gained a little weight.
Harry even felt a bit like staying in the hospital wing and not leaving.
Then Madam Pomfrey shooed him out of the ward.
Well, if he couldn't stay, then he couldn't.
Harry pouted and slowly made his way back to the common room, where the young witches and wizards gathered there warmly welcomed him out of the hospital.
Ron came over and stuffed a chicken leg into Harry's hand, winking as he said, "You missed dinner, so I brought you something to eat."
"Thanks," Harry said, taking the chicken leg and pie from Ron, then plopping down into a chair by the fireplace.
Coming out of the hospital wing meant, for Harry, that his holiday was over.
At one in the morning, Harry squirmed a few times under his covers and got up, filled with a gloomy resentment.
He ruffled his hair a couple of times and slipped out of the Gryffindor common room like a ghost, heading straight for the fourth floor.
After moving the three-headed dog off the trapdoor, Harry jumped down and landed in a tangle of soft plants.
With a sullen expression, he waved his wand, and black flames shot from its tip, instantly burning away the Devil's Snare that covered the floor below.
Ahead was a door with a large lock, and above it, winged keys hovered in a fluttering swarm.
Ignoring the broom in the corner, Harry blasted the door open with force, then shattered the chessboard behind it, tossed aside the snoring troll in the next room, and finally extinguished the last wall of fire.
He stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, staring expressionlessly at the empty glass.
After a moment, Harry frowned in irritation and reluctantly withdrew part of his soul barrier, allowing the magic of the Mirror of Erised to reach toward his soul.
An image of him appeared in the mirror, surrounded by people, and he smiled, raising a hand to push a red gemstone out from the mirror's surface.
Harry caught the small stone, weighed it in his hand, and held it up for a closer look.
The more he looked, the brighter Harry's eyes became.
The amount of magic contained in this stone was immense; though not as much as his own, it was still considerable.
If this type of stone could be mass-produced, then spell guns could also be mass-produced, and with the stone properly installed, the Killing Curse gun could achieve unlimited ammunition and even multiple projectile paths.
And it wouldn't stop at the Killing Curse; the Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse, Blasting Curses, and so on could all be weaponized, independent of wizard casting.
Perhaps it was time to start considering spell-based artillery shells.
"Good stuff," Harry said happily, pocketing the small stone, planning to take it back so the research team could figure out how to replicate it in large quantities.
He then looked at the Mirror of Erised; after retrieving the item inside, Harry closed his soul firewall again, leaving the mirror blank.
"I show not your future, but your desire," Harry murmured, lightly touching the mirror's surface as he read the golden inscription above it.
"How dull," he scoffed. "Who would be fooled by such insubstantial fantasies?"
Harry returned to his dormitory in high spirits.
By then, Quirrell and his master were still unaware that their target had already been taken, with Quirrell wandering the Forbidden Forest, trailing a young unicorn and trying to ease his body's decay with its blood.
The small, golden unicorn panicked, its survival instincts giving it unprecedented strength as it bolted, hooves pounding, and dove straight into the unicorn herd's territory.
"Enough… stop…"
A hoarse voice came from the back of his head, and Quirrell came to an abrupt halt, replying respectfully, "Master, shall we not continue pursuing?"
"Fool…" the voice hissed. "Ahead is the unicorns' habitat… you cannot get through."
"There will be other opportunities… return for now…"
Quirrell gripped his wand tightly, reluctant to give up, as the changes in his body terrified him, but he also knew that unicorns were highly powerful magical creatures, and drawing blood from them in their own territory was an impossible fantasy.
"Acquire the Sorcerer's Stone…" the voice spoke again, sensing Quirrell's fear, a hint of seduction in its tone. "When the Dark Lord returns, you shall have everything…"
Quirrell's expression grew fervent, and he answered dutifully, "Yes, my master!"
Early the next morning, Harry received a message from Agatha: [At 2:32 a.m., Quirrell and Voldemort failed to kill a young unicorn, appeared near the unicorn herd's territory, did not go deeper, and returned to the castle.]
Harry opened the Marauder's Map of Hogwarts and located the Forbidden Forest, pinpointing the area marked as the unicorn herd's territory.
That was already considered deep within the Forbidden Forest.
The fifth time.
Harry tapped the screen thoughtfully, then pouted. It was just a young one, and they still couldn't catch it. What a pair of incompetents.
He tapped away on his phone, composing a message: [Inform me immediately if Quirrell makes another move.]
He pocketed his phone and turned to head toward the Great Hall.
A new day of classes began.
Harry and Draco met face-to-face at the entrance to the Potions classroom.
They stared at each other expressionlessly for a moment, then simultaneously took a big step forward, rushing toward the doorway.
Draco raised his hand in annoyance, pushing against Harry's face, shoving him aside with all his might. "Move it, Potter! I was here first!"
Harry fought back just as hard, pressing against Draco's platinum-blond head and shoving him away. "Who can prove you were here first? The door? Go on, call it, see if it'll testify for you!"
"Damn Scarhead!" Draco shrieked, stomping his foot. "Stop messing with my head!"
Harry ignored him. "I'll mess with it if I want!"
With that, he put his strength into it, messing up Draco's perfectly slicked-down, hair-gelled hair into a bird's nest, while adding, "As if I even care about touching it."
"With all that gel in your hair, I'm the one getting my hands dirty. You should worry about going bald young!"
"Who's going bald!" Draco was seeing red with anger. "Blasted Potter! I'm telling my father!"
"Is telling your father all you can do?" Harry jeered loudly as the two began grappling.
Then, one of them tripped, and they tumbled together, rolling past the doorway and into the classroom.
When Harry was laid up in bed, Draco had secretly visited him, and Harry knew it.
He had actually wanted to talk civilly with Draco.
But somehow, the moment he heard that platinum-blond little heir speak in his arrogant drawl, Harry's hands started itching, especially when he saw that lifted chin.
He really wanted to slam that platinum-blond head with a dunk.
But that obviously wouldn't do.
Harry could have used magic to deal with Draco, but it hadn't crossed his mind; all he could think about was a physical brawl.
Slytherin and Gryffindor students crowded at the doorway, staring at each other in rare harmony.
Ron and Hermione stood wide-eyed, watching the situation spiral until, in an instant, Draco and Harry had rolled, disheveled, to the foot of the teacher's podium.
They finally snapped out of it.
Hermione clutched her chest, looking like she might faint. "Stop! Stop! What are you doing? Class is about to start!"
All this over who entered first?
How childish could they be!
Ron, on the other hand, was wide-eyed with excitement, rolling up his sleeves and jumping in. "I'm with you, mate!"
Hermione was practically screaming. "Ronald Weasley!"
She hurried after him, trying to stop Ron from joining the brawl.
Crabbe and Goyle stood at the classroom entrance, exchanging confused glances, then stuffed their cupcakes into their mouths, rolled up their sleeves, and charged in with fierce expressions, ready to back up Draco.
"Merlin…" Pansy and Daphne stood frozen.
Pansy muttered, "This is just so ungraceful…"
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