Professor Quirrell, still focused on cursing Harry's broom, hadn't yet grasped how dire the situation was.
Only when heat seared his scalp did he realize something was wrong. He reached up, yelped as flames scorched his skin, and began frantically batting at the fire.
The worst of it was that his master was currently lodged in the back of his head.
Even as the fire burned his flesh, he dared not remove his turban.
"Fool! Use Aguamenti!"
Voldemort, roused from slumber by the danger, snapped angrily at Quirrell.
So much for subtlety—though Arthur couldn't help wondering why, in the original story, Snape had bothered stamping around instead of simply doing this.
With the commotion over, Harry's broom returned to normal. Moments later, he caught the Golden Snitch—in his mouth, no less—ending the match.
When Madam Hooch declared Gryffindor the winner, the little lions erupted in cheers. The Slytherins, on the other hand, looked positively sour.
Draco Malfoy, who'd been gloating at Harry's broom fiasco seconds earlier, now sat sulking, cheeks puffed like an angry kitten. He vowed to fix this—next year, he'd have Father make a generous "donation" to the team. With his godfather Snape in charge, he was sure to get a place, and then he'd wipe the smirk off Potter's face himself.
"Don't tell Harry the truth about Quirrell," Arthur warned Hermione afterward.
"Why not?" she asked, puzzled.
"Because we know Professor Snape would never actually hurt Harry. So no matter how much Harry suspects him, he'll never be in real danger chasing that lead. But Quirrell? He really does want Harry dead. If Harry starts digging too close to him, he might not live long enough to figure it out."
Hermione frowned, then nodded slowly.
"Fine… but can I look into it instead?"
Arthur sighed. "Would you stop if I said no?"
That fiery Gryffindor streak was in full bloom now. At least she'd asked first. He'd let her dig—he could keep her safe. Besides, soon enough, he planned to deal with Voldemort himself. He still wanted the knowledge Tom Riddle had about restoring a body…
After the match, Harry rushed up with Ron in tow.
"Arthur, Hermione! I'm sure it was Snape hexing my broom. That's why it went wild!"
Arthur and Hermione exchanged glances, then both nodded solemnly.
Yes, yes—Snape the red herring.
Buoyed by their agreement, Harry went to Hagrid with his suspicions, only to learn instead about the three-headed guard dog and a certain Nicolas Flamel…
That night, Arthur strolled the corridors, cat-Hermione tucked under his arm.
"So, how are you going to start investigating Quirrell?" he asked as they headed for the forbidden third-floor corridor.
"I don't know… maybe with whatever that three-headed dog is guarding?" she admitted.
"Good idea. You could also try looking into Nicolas Flamel."
Hermione peered up at him. "You already know something, don't you?"
"Mm-hmm. I know it all. But wouldn't it be more fun if you discovered the truth yourself? After all, the journey matters as much as the destination."
His smug expression made her want to swipe at him with her paw.
At the door, she transformed back and whispered, "Alohomora!" The lock clicked open.
Arthur chuckled. Without Hermione, how had Harry and the others managed to get in originally?
Inside lay Fluffy—massive as a truck cab, three heads resting on huge paws, guarding the trapdoor.
To Arthur, it just looked like an oversized pit bull with two bonus heads. He couldn't help wondering: if it had three mouths, did it also have three stomachs? And what if each one preferred different food?
"It's huge… I've never seen a dog this big," Hermione whispered.
"Alright, we've seen the dog. Let's go grab a midnight snack," Arthur said casually.
Back in the corridor, Hermione hesitated. "Aren't we going to check the trapdoor?"
"Of course not. If that thing's protecting something valuable, there'll be more than one obstacle. Who knows what else is waiting? Another troll, maybe. Think you could stand the stench again?"
He added pointedly, "And if we're caught, Gryffindor will lose house points—and detention."
At that, Hermione shuddered, then grabbed his hand and hurried away. Whether it was the memory of the troll or the thought of detention, she clearly wanted nothing more to do with it.
Elsewhere, in the Lands Between—Caria Manor.
"At last. The Sword of Night and Flame."
Arthur gazed at the weapon lying in its chest. One of only nine legendary armaments in the realm, it carried the skills Flame Strike and Comet Azur. The latter wasn't literal—it was closer to a sorcerer's ultimate spell, a torrent of magic crashing forward.
The real Comet Azur required a visit to its namesake primeval sorcerer in Mt. Gelmir. For now, this sword would do nicely, adding variety to his arsenal. If he had to fling meteor spells one more time, he might bore himself to death.
He'd thought about asking Master Sellen for more magic, but she insisted he carve his own path—only teaching him foundations. No wonder she'd never given him pre-made alchemical recipes either.
The guardian of Caria Manor was Royal Knight Loretta—or at least, her spirit. The true knight had departed with the Albinaurics out of pity for their plight, leading them toward a sanctuary. By now she likely served as sentinel of Miquella's Haligtree.
Like the Tree Sentinels, Loretta fought mounted. In mounted combat, Arthur had no edge. Worse, her signature sorcery—Loretta's Greatbow. A massive conjured arrow she could even charge.
And that wasn't all. She also wielded Caria's Retaliation, forming a halo of magical swords that launched at anything approaching. Try to close distance, and the blades would drive you back—leaving her free to complete the Greatbow. For melee fighters, it was a nightmare. Even Arthur's meteor spells might not land cleanly on such a swift rider.
That explained why he'd lingered in the manor so long. But now, armed with the Sword of Night and Flame, things would be different. Its torrent skill had both power and range. And a real mage—sword in hand or not—never fought up close. Unless, of course, the sword was Moonveil.
At Loretta's arena, he wasted no time. Spirit summons at his side, meteor staff in his left, Night-and-Flame sword in his right. He alternated torrents with rock hurling, dodging her lance thrusts, retreating with Bloodhound Step whenever she cast.
Within minutes, her spirit crumbled, leaving behind the sorcery Loretta's Greatbow.
With Caria Manor cleared, the path west opened—to the three towers known as the Carian Sisters. At the highest stood Ranni's Rise, home of the witch herself.
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