Hearing Quirrell's name, Ciel showed a strange expression. In the original story, Quirrell died from touching Harry, triggering the protective magic on Harry's body. He barely displayed any of his magical abilities, and even Voldemort fled in panic.
He hadn't expected Quirrell to still be alive this time. It seemed Voldemort's transformation of him had been quite extensive.
But even if he could survive, why did he insist on seeing Ciel? Thoughts swirled in his mind. After a moment, he shook his head at Dumbledore.
"Headmaster, I don't want to see him."
What benefit would meeting Quirrell bring? To mock a former enemy? He had no interest in that, and the meeting carried risks. What if Quirrell had learnt some mutually destructive magic from Voldemort and decided to drag him down in front of Dumbledore?
The magical world had precedents for such things. Even Voldemort could capsize in the gutter. Why should he be different?
Even if it was a one-in-ten-thousand chance, he couldn't accept such a death. So the most reasonable course was to refuse.
Hearing his answer, Dumbledore wasn't surprised. This little badger had indeed shown remarkable calm and caution in their few interactions, far beyond his years. Perhaps this was exactly what had enabled his tide-turning performance in the Forbidden Forest trial.
Dumbledore didn't give him any empty words now. Whether to gain his cooperation in obtaining intelligence from Quirrell or to thank him for his tide-turning rescue of everyone, sufficient compensation was essential. His previous Patronus Charm wasn't nearly enough for such magnitude.
So Dumbledore spoke: "Don't worry. I can swear he won't have any spellcasting ability. I'll guarantee your safety throughout. Moreover, " Dumbledore said seriously, his blue eyes looking at Ciel with sincerity, "I can promise you three things. As long as they don't violate my principles, I'll do my utmost to accomplish anything."
Hearing this, his gaze finally flickered. Dumbledore's offer was undeniably sincere. Having the wizard closest to mythical level help with three matters?
Given Dumbledore's strength and connections in the magical world, this promise carried tremendous weight. It might even move masters at Nicolas Flamel's level.
With such benefits, plus Dumbledore's guarantee of safety, Quirrell was worth meeting. So he nodded slightly.
Only then did Dumbledore breathe easier, quickly leading him from the hospital wing through the corridors. Soon, at a staircase, Dumbledore waved his wand, and an unfamiliar staircase he had never seen moved over, carrying them down into the castle's depths.
Noticing his surprised expression, Dumbledore explained, "The castle's secrets aren't limited to what you students have discovered. A thousand years ago, the four founders established Hogwarts during a dark, bloody era to protect young wizards and preserve magical knowledge.
'But they also prepared for war if Hogwarts was discovered. The school wasn't just a place of learning then—it was a fortress. Though many defences have vanished over the centuries, some remain. Only the headmaster has authority to access them.'
As Dumbledore spoke, the staircase carried them deeper than the Potions classroom. The air grew oppressive, heavy with echoes of ancient conflict.
He was even more amazed to discover that on his system panel, nearly all his magic-related abilities seemed suppressed, their lustre much dimmer than before.
Dumbledore spoke timely: "Don't worry. Where we're going is a prison from a thousand years ago for holding spies who infiltrated Hogwarts. There, the four founders left extremely powerful magic that prevents imprisoned subjects from casting any magic or similar abilities. In a sense, even Azkaban isn't more impregnable than this Hogwarts cell."
He narrowed his eyes. He wasn't particularly surprised that Hogwarts had a prison. After all, caretaker Filch had confidently mentioned that Hogwarts retained many detention rooms with various punishment devices for students. One more impregnable cell wasn't unusual.
What surprised him was this historical content absent from History of Magic textbooks. A thousand years ago, there were spies infiltrating Hogwarts? Using magic or magic-like abilities?
He was puzzled. "Headmaster, didn't the four founders establish Hogwarts to protect young wizards from witch-hunting Muggles? The enemies should have been Muggles. How could they infiltrate Hogwarts as spies?"
Dumbledore shook his head gently: "Wizards' enemies weren't only Muggles. If only Muggles, despite their numbers, a Confundus Charm or other protective magic would suffice to maintain wizard settlements in Muggle towns."
"Or more extremely, desperate wizards could have used Imperius Curses to control Muggle kings, creating wizard havens. Why go to such trouble, requiring founders as powerful as the four to build Hogwarts castle?"
At this, Dumbledore's expression darkened: "Among the magical world's enemies then, besides Muggles, there were indeed wizards who betrayed and defected for various reasons. But compared to the four founders, they were mere clowns, insignificant."
"The enemies that made the founders wary, that the magical world couldn't resist despite various methods, seem to have been others entirely. But history left no related records. Even I cannot know."
His heart sank slightly. Before leaving, Lady Hufflepuff's will had repeatedly warned him that the International Statute of Secrecy must not be overturned, or the magical world would face its end. Did those enemies from a thousand years ago still exist?
But soon, he stopped dwelling on this, following Dumbledore through narrow corridors lit by torches but still dim, until they reached a heavy door made of unknown metal.
A familiar figure emerged with greasy hair and black robes, emanating a gloomy aura. It was Snape.
As he emerged, thick, pungent potion odours flowed from the door gap, mixed with a spine-chilling rotting stench like a living corpse.
Dumbledore looked at Snape, who shook his head: "He tampered with the transformation. His magic power did increase, but even without such injuries, he'd have only two or three months to live. He never intended him to truly survive. Even with potions sustaining him, he could expire anytime. Ask whatever you need quickly."
Hearing Snape's words, Dumbledore showed regret: "Quirinus Quirrell was truly a gifted genius. He should have had a bright future, but sadly, he chose the wrong path. Allying with Voldemort, even gaining power, comes with unimaginable costs."
Snape seemed stung, his face growing darker, fists clenching. Dumbledore realised his slip, showing an awkward, apologetic expression before quickly leading Ciel into the cell.
Upon entering, the sight immediately made his pupils contract. Bound by metal chains was a monster resembling rotting mud, emanating putrid decay throughout. Without countless tubes connected to its body, injecting life-sustaining potions, he had no doubt it would perish within moments.
The only thing connecting this monster to Quirinus Quirrell was the human face on its head.
Now, hearing Dumbledore and him enter, Quirrell lifted his head with difficulty. In this dying state, Voldemort's Quintaped transformation seemed to have lost much influence, allowing this outstanding Ravenclaw genius to reclaim some human reason and wisdom.
He looked at Ciel, voice faint: "Never imagined my carefully planned scheme would be ruined by a young wizard with such poor talent. You suspected me from early on, didn't you?"
Ciel remained silent, neither confirming nor denying, showing no smugness or mockery. He simply stood behind Dumbledore, alert and gripping his wand, seemingly ready for Quirrell's dying counterattack.
Quirrell sighed quietly: "Such a cautious little badger."
Then he smiled bitterly: "Don't worry. Bound by these chains, even if I were whole, I couldn't cast magic. Moreover, with Dumbledore beside you, probably no one in the magical world could harm you in his presence."
Regardless of Quirrell's words, he remained unmoved. Dumbledore showed approval before sternly addressing Quirrell: "Quirrell, you wanted to see Ciel, now you have. It's time to reveal everything you know. Perhaps this might slightly redeem your sins."
Quirrell laughed instead: "No, I'm not seeking redemption. I simply want to prove one thing: even facing the Dark Lord, I didn't lose completely. He could take my life, but I glimpsed his secrets."
Then Quirrell coughed violently. Just as Dumbledore worried he might cough himself to death, Quirrell hoarsely said: "His darkness exceeds your imagination. Dumbledore, I've never seen such a fragmented soul. Only one magic could ravage a soul to this extent; you must know what that is."
Hearing Quirrell's revelation, Dumbledore looked thoughtful, as if a long-held suspicion was finally confirmed. Beside him, Ciel heard Dumbledore murmuring: "So it is... Horcruxes. Just don't know how many he made."
Despite knowing what this meant, he showed no emotional fluctuation, with no interest in getting involved. How to deal with Voldemort was Dumbledore's concern. He was just a first-year student who wanted to peacefully tend his plants.
Let Dumbledore assign the Horcrux destruction mission to the saviour. Keep him out of it at all costs.
Now Quirrell seemed to lose interest in these matters, no longer looking at Dumbledore but at him: "Earlier you told me you'd read my troll paper. Was that true or false? Do you truly recognise my theories?"
Simultaneously, Quirrell's gaze grew brighter: "When setting up in the Forbidden Forest, I wanted to control some trolls. These thick-skinned fellows can be quite troublesome in numbers. But I found no trolls in the Forbidden Forest. And there were traces of troll worship. Is this related to you?"
By now, Quirrell's gaze showed abnormal fervor, as if seeing his long-sought goal: "You met the troll priest, didn't you? I wasn't wrong, troll priests truly exist!"
Ciel remained silent, but his eyes inevitably showed some admiration. Quirrell hadn't guessed the complete truth but came very close. To deduce from these fragments that a troll priest existed among the Forbidden Forest troll community, Quirrell's mind was indeed brilliant.
Now, seemingly because his theories were verified, Quirrell became extremely excited, laughing loudly: "Ha, haha! I knew it, I knew it! Those fools who criticized me lack such vision. I was right!"
Dumbledore shook his head regretfully: "Quirrell, you could have verified your discoveries, made your mark in the magical world, even earned a place in magical history. But everything was destroyed by your wrong choices. You'll be pilloried, infamous forever."
Quirrell's laughter gradually quieted, his face showing self-mockery. "Yes. Looking back at my life, I played a good hand badly. This year at Hogwarts, I was pathetic. The Dark Lord used me as a chess piece, a shell to manipulate at will. And you, the White Lord, used me as a whetstone for your foolish saviour games.'
"How many months did I stutter, pretending to be meek? Can't remember. Playing the fool daily, enduring that garlic stench—I've had enough." Quirrell paused, his gaze burning like flames. "This final outcome? I don't regret it."
He held his head high. "I am Quirinus Quirrell. Ravenclaw's most gifted student in decades. Even falling, even as a villain, I wanted to make a spectacular impact. I refuse to die as a cowering, stuttering fool!"
Quirrell laughed with wild satisfaction, but his life force rapidly faded with the sound. Dumbledore frowned, his voice cold: "Quirrell, you're too proud. Pride led to your downfall. But you cannot die yet. You must face Wizengamot trial and judgement before leaving this world."
Quirrell curled his lips mockingly, head high with pride: "Trial? Punishment? Dragging this rotting body before the Wizengamot court, being lectured by a group of sanctimonious, incompetent trash? I can already see their disgusting faces. No one in this world has the right to judge me."
At this moment, Dumbledore seemed to sense something, quickly waving his wand to stop Quirrell's action. But it was too late.
Unable to use magic, Quirrell could still struggle with this nearly rotten flesh. Mustering final strength, he broke free from the potion tubes, then held his head high and crashed against the nearby wall.
Like a wounded lone eagle violently striking a cliff. Instantly, his last flickering life extinguished.
Witnessing this, even Dumbledore was stunned. Long after, he sighed: "Why such suffering?"
Then Dumbledore remembered something, seeing Ciel looking somewhat dazed, quickly covering his eyes: "Child, don't look at this. This isn't for you to see. Let's go back, get some rest, and have hot tea in Hufflepuff. Everything's over."
Now, what left him dazed wasn't the bloody, tragic scene before him, but just as Dumbledore's attention was drawn to Quirrell's actions, weak mental fluctuations flowed into his mind.
This sensation was exactly like the troll communication spell Quirrell had created, which he had once practised. He prepared to use Occlumency to expel these mental fluctuations but discovered they weren't "possession", mental attacks, or curses but an unfinished paper.
Quirrell's faint voice sounded: "Consider this my gift to you. Repayment for helping verify my troll priest theories."
"Finally," Quirrell's voice rapidly faded: "Beware. That person... holds grudges."