Chapter 195 — People Who Love Harry
Time: 6:45 a.m.
Location: The penultimate chamber of the Restricted Section on Hogwarts' fourth floor.
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"Now, it should be time for us to act," Snape said in an even voice, though the whitened knuckles on his wand hand betrayed his tension.
"No, not us—just me," Dumbledore replied, gesturing toward the door shrouded in purple fire, signaling for Snape to withdraw.
"Tom believes you're his double agent. That deception is still valuable."
Seeing Snape unmoving, Dumbledore added, "You need to leave."
Snape's black eyes narrowed. "Fine. But if I find that boy has lost even a single hair—" his voice dropped into a dark promise—"you'll see exactly what a truly unrestrained dark wizard looks like."
With a final, unreadable look, Snape turned sharply, his black cloak billowing as he stepped through the purple flames without a single protective spell.
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On the other side, Voldemort's wand tip pressed against Quirrell's throat, almost piercing the skin.
"Harry Potter… tell me your decision."
"I'll give you something extra—a piece of news. You still have a living relative. Someone who truly cares for you." Voldemort's voice was coldly calm.
Harry's eyes widened despite himself.
"Sirius Black," Voldemort continued. "And no—he is not my servant."
"On the contrary, there is another man who was honored with the First Class of the Order of Merlin." Voldemort paused, as though rummaging through his memory.
Harry's grip on his wand tightened. "Who is he?"
"Name's not important. Rat-like fellow… I forget the exact name. You can check for yourself once you leave here." Voldemort's lip curled. "Now—hold out your left hand. Keep your wand on me if you like. You'll feel safer."
Harry hesitated—then a voice cut through the air, making both him and Voldemort freeze.
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"An Unbreakable Vow, Tom?" Dumbledore's tone was almost conversational, as if commenting on the weather.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore."
"Professor!" Harry's relief was palpable.
"It seems I'll have to leave now," Voldemort said softly. "You are stronger than I expected. Even Grindelwald could not stop you."
"Leave? Do you truly think you can?" Harry snapped, wand trained on him.
"Why not? Otherwise, why do you think your dear professor has been absent so long?" Voldemort sneered. "He was here long before you knew. Just like poor Sirius—locked away in Azkaban without trial, while the great Dumbledore looked the other way."
"Yes, Tom," Dumbledore replied evenly. "If you wish to escape, we can't truly stop you… but you've overplayed your hand. When Harry's magic struck you earlier, that was the moment to flee. Now, Quirrell's body—still marked by Harry's spell—has become your prison."
Even as he spoke, a faint golden halo shimmered into being around Voldemort.
Voldemort gave a small sigh. "So be it."
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Suddenly, Quirrell's consciousness flared back.
"Master—help!"
His body swelled grotesquely, deep cracks splitting across his skin—not blood, but dense black vapor seeping out.
BOOM!
Quirrell's body exploded in a burst of choking mist. Thin serpents of shadow writhed away in all directions.
Dumbledore's wand flashed—the golden halo weaving into a fine net of light that made Harry's hair stand on end. The net caught most of the vapor, but several strands slipped through and vanished.
When the smoke cleared, not a single trace of Quirrell's body remained.
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"Professor… did Voldemort escape?" Harry asked quietly.
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes. In the realm of Dark Magic, Tom has gone further than anyone before him. He's not truly alive—so he cannot be killed outright. Capturing him, as I attempted just now, may be the best we can hope for at present."
"Though Quirrell's body was trapped by the residue of your magic, Tom has no care for his servants' lives. He simply wrung every drop of vitality from Quirrell and fled once he'd regained strength. He will seek another host—or some other path—to return."
Harry clenched his fists. "So all I did was… delay him."
"Delays matter," Dumbledore said firmly. "Delay him long enough, and he may never reclaim his full power."
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Harry hesitated, then asked, "What about Sirius? Was that true?"
Dumbledore's expression shifted—uncharacteristically troubled. "I've had my doubts. But Sirius refuses to cooperate. He insists—over and over—that he betrayed your parents, and has refused every attempt I've made to reopen his case."
"Why?" Harry pressed.
Dumbledore didn't answer immediately.
Alexander, who had been silent until now, let out a soft sound of disgust. Sirius had options. As the last heir of the Black family and a former member of the Order of the Phoenix, he could have fought the charges. But believing Peter Pettigrew was dead, he embraced his guilt, entered Azkaban willingly, and refused all resistance.
Even when Dumbledore tried to read his memories, Sirius's overwhelming guilt and self-destructive resolve made it impossible.
It was only years later—after spotting Pettigrew alive in a newspaper—that Sirius broke out. Had he not seen that, he might have remained in prison until the Death Eaters' eventual mass escape… and possibly died at Voldemort's hands soon after.
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