Chapter 137: The Bloody Incident Caused by Indian Milk Tea
"You should understand," Lord Voldemort said coldly, "that in Albus Dumbledore's heart, there is only Harry Potter. No matter how outstanding you are, in the end you will only exist to pave the way for him."
"...I'm sorry."
A struggle appeared on Russell's face. After a long pause, he shook his head.
"If I refuse," he asked carefully, "will you kill me here?"
"Of course not, child." Voldemort shook his head. "I would simply expose your use of Dark Magic and send you to Azkaban. After I regain my body, I would personally bring you out."
His lips curled.
"But by then, your status would not be nearly as high as if you pledged loyalty today."
Russell's expression twisted as though he were in deep conflict. In truth, he felt nothing at all.
"In that case… I have only one answer."
His face shifted through hesitation, fear, resolve—until finally he seemed to make up his mind.
"I pledge my loyalty to you."
Without warning, he snatched Quirinus Quirrell's wand and brought his knee crashing down on it, snapping it cleanly in two.
"My lord," he said, lowering his head slightly.
"My wand—!" Quirrell let out a miserable cry.
Voldemort burst into wild laughter. He didn't mind that Russell's "submission" lacked the proper humility; the declaration itself was enough.
"Good. Rest assured, I will not treat you poorly. Once you have investigated matters for me, I will teach you the magic of flight."
"Thank you, my lord."
Russell then hesitated again.
"But… I truly am no match for that three-headed dog."
"No need to worry. No need to rush," Voldemort replied lazily. "Leave it to Quirrell."
His voice grew faint as he closed his eyes, weariness creeping in.
"You may go. When I require you, Quirrell will notify you."
"As you command."
Russell nodded and turned to leave.
Only after the door shut did Quirrell's body sag weakly to the floor. His life force was draining faster by the day.
The only consolation was that Russell now appeared to be on their side.
"In the future," Voldemort's voice echoed inside Quirrell's mind, "you may have Russell teach first- and even second-year classes as your assistant. Otherwise, your vitality will continue to diminish."
"But my wand…" Quirrell stared miserably at the broken halves in his hands.
"Steal another from Hogsmeade," Voldemort said dismissively. "What matters now is discovering the weakness of that three-headed dog."
"But in my current condition, how could I possibly handle such a creature?" Quirrell's bitterness deepened.
"Do not concern yourself. I have a plan."
A figure surfaced in Voldemort's mind.
Creatures like that were the sort only one person would adore—Rubeus Hagrid. If the beast belonged to Hagrid, then Hagrid would surely know its weakness.
And as for how to extract that information…
Voldemort already had an idea.
---
Russell stepped out of the office and glanced back at the closed door.
He couldn't help but sigh.
Voldemort truly had terrible taste in subordinates. The capable ones were all rotting in Azkaban—leaving him surrounded by incompetents.
Thinking about Quirrell—and later Wormtail, also known as Peter Pettigrew—Russell couldn't help but shake his head. Of course, Pettigrew was unlikely to appear again now.
And yet here Voldemort was, reduced to relying on a mere second-year student.
How far the mighty had fallen.
Then again, Voldemort himself had come from nothing. Though he was the last descendant of the Gaunt family, he had grown up in an orphanage with no real guidance. After becoming the Dark Lord, he relied solely on fear and brute force.
No wonder he had so few truly loyal followers—most of them were nothing more than opportunistic fence-sitters.
---
"Are you really going to do this?" Parvati Patil asked quietly, clearly unconvinced.
She and Lavender Brown were sitting in the library, flipping through books about milk tea preparation.
"Of course! Didn't you always say Indian milk tea tastes amazing?" Lavender nodded earnestly. "If you have a dream, you have to try, right?"
"And I have a reason! Last time I practiced spells in the common room, he helped me. This is just my way of thanking him."
"Then why drag me into this?" Parvati sighed. "Couldn't you just read the book yourself?"
"Well… some ingredients aren't available here." Lavender glanced around nervously to make sure Madam Pince wasn't nearby before lowering her voice.
"You mean—you're going to use authentic Indian ingredients?"
"Of course! Otherwise it's just ordinary milk tea!"
"Please, Parvati," Lavender clasped her hands and shook them pleadingly.
"Fine, fine. For the sake of being roommates, I'll help," Parvati sighed. Having a love-struck roommate—was that a blessing or a curse?
---
The owl delivery was astonishingly fast. Within a week, all the ingredients arrived.
Crushed Darjeeling black tea from India. Fresh whole milk from sacred Indian cattle. Fresh ginger slices. Cardamom pods. Cinnamon sticks. Cloves. Black peppercorns. Star anise. Nutmeg powder. Fennel seeds.
Even the white sugar had been airlifted from India.
They had also imported a stainless steel deep pot, a strainer, and a long-handled ladle.
"And this is…?" Lavender asked, lifting a large bottle of murky pale-yellow liquid with floating debris inside.
Parvati looked solemn. "The soul of handcrafted Indian milk tea—water from the Holy River."
Lavender's expression turned indescribable. "Now I'm actually a little scared."
---
After much fumbling and experimentation, they finally stood before a pot of richly fragrant milk tea.
"Parvati, try it! Tell me how it tastes!" Lavender said eagerly.
Parvati poured herself a cup and took a cautious sip.
"Mmm. Strong milk aroma. The foam lingers beautifully. It's good—very successful."
"Really? Let me try!"
Lavender tasted it too.
"Alright," Parvati said, preparing to leave. "Now it's up to you."
"Wait! You can't abandon me now!" Lavender pleaded pitifully.
"You want me to go with you for this too?"
In the end, Parvati relented.
---
At dinner time, the two girls entered the Great Hall, carrying the milk tea like a ticking time bomb.
They immediately spotted Russell sitting at the Ravenclaw table, calmly eating oatmeal.
"Go on, go!" Parvati whispered urgently.
Taking a deep breath, Lavender approached.
"Senior Fisone… hello."
She placed the milk tea in front of him.
"Thank you for helping me with that spell last time. I learned a lot. As a thank-you gift, I made this Indian milk tea myself—with Parvati's guidance. All the ingredients were imported from India. Completely authentic."
Then she fled before Russell could even react.
"Oho, Russell," Cedric teased, waggling his eyebrows. "Seems you're quite popular."
"If you had an Order of Merlin like I do, Cedric, you'd be even more popular," Russell replied smoothly.
"Of course I would—"
He yelped suddenly as Cho viciously pinched his waist.
---
Just as Lavender was nervously waiting to see Russell's reaction—
A sudden, violent cramp twisted her stomach.
"Ah—ow—!"
She collapsed to the floor, clutching her abdomen. Seamus nearly jumped out of his skin.
At the same time, Parvati felt a milder but noticeable pain in her own stomach.
"Are you alright? I'll take you to the hospital wing!" Seamus volunteered heroically.
He pulled out his wand—
—and several Gryffindors lunged to stop him.
"Seamus! No! Don't!"
They barely managed to restrain him.
Everyone knew that any spell uttered by Seamus Finnigan had a high probability of turning into an explosion. If he had cast Levitation just now, Lavender might not have survived the attempt.
"What happened?" Russell walked over, curiosity piqued. After all, wizards were no less fond of drama than anyone else.
"I—I don't know!" Parvati panicked. "I really don't!"
"Did you eat something bad?" Hermione asked, concerned despite herself. Lavender's symptoms looked suspiciously like food poisoning.
Parvati froze.
"Wait… we did taste the milk tea first."
Russell's expression changed instantly.
"The same Indian milk tea you just gave me?"