Dumbledore had another theory. A method capable of granting a wizard such a degree of immortality could only stem from the darkest of magics.
Among them, the method for creating Horcruxes had already been retrieved from the Restricted Section and was now in his possession. But there was no evidence yet to confirm this theory. A legendary wizard like himself hadn't lost his will to survive—there were countless ways to preserve one's life, perhaps even a last-ditch method conjured in the face of death's reluctance.
If it truly was a Horcrux, Harry might return empty-handed.
Before Voldemort's true death could be confirmed, they would need to test Harry's hypothesis.
Dumbledore hoped that the peaceful life at Hogwarts might change him.
That's how it had worked for Dumbledore himself. Once, he too had been an ambitious man, intent on using his prodigious magical power to subjugate the entire Muggle world.
Many of Grindelwald's ideas had originated with Dumbledore.
Just as the plan to destroy the Earth had been Zoffy's.
It was only after a great upheaval that he tamed the beast within, honing his spirit at Hogwarts until the man he once was had all but vanished.
He thought this was for the best. Perhaps, in time, Harry could become like him.
But today, someone was likely to die. Things had reached a point where stopping Harry—preventing him from killing—would seem strange.
"Quirrell and Tom are probably on the fourth floor by now… though they've likely gone further down," Dumbledore offered as a hint.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Thanks, Professor…"
"Saves me the trouble of searching. Those two have some guts, sneaking into Hogwarts to steal your stuff."
Inner monologue: "I've had my eye on that thing for so long, and I still haven't dared pull off a heist. Guess I'm too upright for that."
Dumbledore smiled. "I'm not just the Headmaster of Hogwarts. I'm also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards. I often have to leave the school to attend to business. Today was supposed to be one of those days.
But I've noticed Quirrell's been restless lately. Perhaps he's eager to leave Hogwarts…
So I decided to stay. After all, no one's going to hold me accountable if I skip a meeting."
"Bloody hell," Harry said. "Poor Quirrell, played like a fiddle. I'm off."
In truth, Harry wasn't so different from Dumbledore. While Dumbledore kept tabs on Quirrell, Harry had placed a Light Mark on him back at the Leaky Cauldron.
"Want to bring your friends along? Some of those traps might require more minds than one," Dumbledore suggested.
"No need," Harry replied, shaking his head. "My power's enough."
While Harry acknowledged his intelligence had its limits, his strength compensated for the boundaries of human intellect. In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, he'd made mistakes but always managed to break through in the end. That was his true superpower.
"Besides, they're actual first-year students. What were you thinking, suggesting I drag them along tonight?"
"I just thought you could trust others… My mistake. You're special, Harry, and I didn't consider their age," Dumbledore said, backing off. He could see Harry was resolute, a man not easily swayed.
Leaving the Headmaster's office, Harry hurried toward the fourth-floor restricted area.
As he'd told Dumbledore, he didn't inform Ron or Hermione. Tonight was for killing—best not to involve children.
When Harry wasn't driven by bloodlust, he instinctively knew his limits.
But when the killing intent took hold, his methods could be brutal.
The corridors were unguarded tonight; Filch seemed to be off duty.
The door on the fourth floor was slightly ajar, a thin gap revealing someone had already entered.
As the door creaked open, a low, ferocious bark echoed in Harry's ears.
The massive dog rose, its three noses twitching wildly in his direction, sniffing, attempting to intimidate him.
For a fleeting moment, Harry exuded a chilling killing intent.
Fluffy whimpered.
It froze, knowing that any movement might mean death.
Guarding this spot was just for show. It wasn't some critical mission—just a few hundred galleons' worth of bones a month. Why risk its life?
Harry noticed a harp at Fluffy's feet, likely left by Quirrell.
Hagrid had told him Fluffy liked to fall asleep to music.
He shot Fluffy a glance. You dare fall asleep for real?
Go!
Harry gave the dog a swift kick to the rear. It yelped, leaping aside and revealing the trapdoor beneath.
Fluffy dragged the harp back to its side, pretending to be lulled to sleep by its music.
It was faking now, though it had been genuinely asleep before.
Harry ignored it, climbing over the dog and peering through the trapdoor.
The drop was pitch-black, impossible to see.
His vision sharpened instantly, revealing the bottom. Soft vines?
This trap was almost laughable.
Fluffy was more formidable. If it fought seriously, its three heads and robust vitality could pose a real threat to an adult wizard, causing quite a ruckus.
Harry jumped, landing softly—though a hard landing wouldn't have fazed him.
The vines below were likely Devil's Snare, a plant that automatically ensnared wizards, like some tentacled monster wrapping around a magical girl.
First-year lessons had covered it: they feared fire.
A less attentive student like Ron, with average spellwork, might struggle here. Hermione would manage fine.
But before Harry could cast a flame, the vines recoiled on their own.
No surprise there. When Harry unleashed his power, charisma, and killing intent, creatures lacking sufficient willpower couldn't even muster an attack.
This was true dominance, akin to divine authority.
Ahead lay a stone corridor, the only path forward.
Harry activated his superhuman hearing. Faint rustling and clinking sounds echoed from ahead.
The flapping of wings?
What kind of ostentatious nonsense was this?
At the corridor's end was a brightly lit room with a high, arched ceiling.
Countless gem-like birds fluttered about, their wings glinting as they darted through the air.
Across the room stood a heavy wooden door.
"Clever magic," Harry muttered, "but lacking in firepower."
The winged creatures were actually enchanted keys. The proper solution was to use the nearby broomstick or some flying spell to catch the right key and unlock the door.
But while Harry was a peerless Quidditch player, he wasn't about to waste time on such trivialities.
He knew the Unlocking Charm.
"Alohomora!"
No effect. The protective enchantments were formidable, layered upon each other, likely the work of a professor, not far off from Gringotts-level wards.
Harry could use his charisma to bend some rules and unravel the layers, but purely magical unlocking would take too long.
Fortunately, he knew a more effective, brute-force Unlocking Charm.
"Maxima Alohomora!"
Boom!
The deafening sound startled Quirrell, who was some distance ahead.
"Master, hurry, hurry! Someone's coming… Dumbledore's not here today, so I'm guessing it's Harry. If Harry Potter catches us, we're done for!" Quirrell wailed, tormented by pain, deeply regretting his decision to align with Voldemort.
"You're too weak!" Voldemort snapped. "Potter, Potter! I've got your back. What's he got that's scarier than me? Once we get the Philosopher's Stone, what's Harry Potter to me?"