Chapter 143: Quirrell's Adventure Begins
By the Black Lake.
A giant squid lay in the shallows, soaking up the warm sunlight.
Fred and George Weasley, with Lee Jordan, were prodding at its tentacles. The squid only gave them a lazy shake. It had no interest in the cheeky little creatures.
Harry passed along the lakeshore but had no mind to join in. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the burning pain in his scar. Nothing helped.
"Harry, you do not need to worry so much about the exams. Leonardo taught us loads. We are fine," Ron said, trying to comfort him.
Harry shook his head hard. "No. I am thinking about the Stone…"
Above them, a rush of owls swept toward the castle, each one bearing letters or parcels.
Harry looked up and guessed they must be from parents, writing to ask about the summer holidays.
He was not sure if the Dursleys would send a letter. The one who wrote to him most often was Hagrid.
Hagrid…
Hagrid!
"The dragon egg!" Harry gasped.
In his pain, he had caught hold of a thread of insight. He finally remembered what he had missed.
He leapt up and sprinted toward the gamekeeper's hut.
Ron and Hermione scrambled after him. "Slow down, Harry! What is so urgent?"
Harry ran hard, words tumbling out breathlessly. "The dragon egg. Hagrid loves dragons, but why did someone just give him an egg? It is too much of a coincidence."
They reached the hut and found Hagrid sitting outside with a flute, playing tunelessly.
"Hagrid, when you…"
After the conversation, Harry knew at once. Someone had learned how to get past Fluffy.
The Stone was in danger.
"I have to find Dumbledore."
"Ron, Hermione, one of you go and get Leonardo. Tell him what is happening. We need his help."
…
Late at night.
Most of the students, exhausted from play, had gone to bed.
The ancient castle had fallen silent.
Down one dim corridor walked Quirrell, in purple robes and his turban, footsteps soundless.
Dumbledore had been called away urgently to London that very day. The Ministry had some pressing matter for him.
And this, just after the end‑of‑year exams, was the one night when both students and staff were most off guard.
Quirrell knew this was his best chance. Voldemort had been urging him to act.
As he walked, he ran through the defences in his mind.
He had spent enormous effort and time coaxing enough intelligence from each of the professors.
All for this: a quick strike, seize the Stone, escape Hogwarts, and then—
Then let Voldemort, lodged within him, rise. Give him back his body. Set himself free.
Soon he reached a corridor on the fourth floor and stopped before a shabby wooden door.
He stood there, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths.
There was no way back.
Not since he had met Voldemort in the forests of Albania.
"Go, my faithful servant. Take the Stone for me…"
The whisper coiled through his mind, pressing him on.
Quirrell sighed without sound and drew a harp from inside his robes. A flick of his wand and it enlarged itself, strings plucking of their own accord, weaving out a lovely melody.
He watched the harp play and felt bitterly amused. That vicious three‑headed dog only needed music to fall asleep.
And the half‑giant Hagrid had been absurdly easy to pump for information. A few drinks and it all came pouring out.
Quirrell was a little sorry he had spent his entire savings on a dragon egg just to get that one piece of intelligence.
He waited. Once he heard the unmistakable sound of snoring, he opened the door and stepped in.
Fluffy was indeed asleep, all three heads drooping on the floor, drool pooling beneath them.
Quirrell tossed the harp aside, flicked his wand to shift the dog's bulk, and revealed the trapdoor beneath.
He lifted it and looked down. Snake‑like tendrils slowly writhed below.
Devil's Snare. Professor Sprout, as kind and decent as ever.
Quirrell did not bother to light the area or conjure flame. He simply jumped.
It was a ready‑made cushion. Why waste it?
He did not look carefully as he fell. He did not notice the round shapes nestled among the vines.
"Lumos."
Light flared. The Devil's Snare unwound from his limbs and let him drop to the ground.
Crack, crack, crack.
Quirrell's feet hit the floor. At the same time, he heard something hard strike the stone around him. Things that had fallen with him.
He aimed his wand at the ground. By its light, he saw them.
Round, yellow‑green cabbages scattered across the floor. More were tumbling out as the Snare contracted above him.
For a moment, he did not understand. His intelligence had not mentioned cabbages.
The first to hit the floor seemed to wake. A split opened in its surface. Two rows of pitch‑black teeth clattered together, gleaming with horrible menace.
Quirrell, a distinguished Ravenclaw graduate, was naturally quite good at Herbology. One look at those glistening black teeth was enough.
His heart stopped.
Chinese Chomping Cabbages.
He threw up a shield in haste, but it was neither thick nor strong enough.
The Cabbage chewed straight through and lunged for his left arm.
Rip.
Sleeve and a chunk of flesh were torn away. If Quirrell had not had practice dodging, he might have lost the hand entirely.
"Damn it! Why is it always the left hand?"
He fired off flame‑spells one after another. Fire was the best counter to Chomping Cabbages.
His response was correct. There were just rather a lot of them.
And the more fiercely the fire blazed, the faster the Devil's Snare recoiled, and the more Cabbages rained down from above.
By the end, Quirrell had cleared them all, but at the cost of his left hand, his right calf, and most of his robes, which hung in tatters.
He limped into the corridor and toward the next chamber.
He gritted his teeth through the pain, panting. "How could Professor Sprout do this? Hiding Chomping Cabbages in Devil's Snare?"
"Do not mind the pain of the body. The Stone is within reach…"
"Once I am restored, healing you will be nothing…"
Voldemort's whisper crept back into his mind. It grated on Quirrell, but he could say nothing.
"Next is Professor Flitwick's trial. He was once my Head of House. I know him.
"I trust what he said. His challenge will not be difficult."