Quirrell had barely gotten the words out when a pain like being cut by a thousand blades tore through his body.
Voldemort's voice was ice-cold.
"I ask you to kill a first-year student, and you start hemming and hawing."
"Quirrell, have I been so forgiving of your failures that you've forgotten your place and think you can bargain with me?"
He let out a low, mirthless laugh.
"You only need to think about how to kill Theodore Ashbourne. I, on the other hand, have to think about far more than that."
"Don't you dare tell me you can't handle this little task. The next time I wake up, if he's still alive… this will not blow over so easily."
With that, Voldemort sank back into slumber.
Quirrell's expression twisted into pure misery.
He suddenly regretted everything.
When he'd first gotten the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, he'd been so full of pride. A tenured position at Hogwarts—how glorious was that?
Why, exactly, had he taken leave of his senses and gone searching for Voldemort?
Starting a venture carries risk. Investments must be made with caution…
And this was what he'd invested in.
Look at him now. What kind of life is this supposed to be?!
After the bitterness ebbed, Quirrell still had no choice but to force himself to think about how to deal with Theodore.
If he didn't, knowing Voldemort's temper, the next time his master woke, Quirrell was going to suffer far more than three Cruciatus Curses.
Two weeks had passed since the explosion of the troll-dung Dungbomb.
The stench lingering over Hogwarts had finally, finally faded.
But wherever Theodore walked, countless portraits and suits of armour watched him like hawks, tracking his every move, terrified he'd do something outrageous again.
Whenever Theodore tried to find a chance to sneak up behind Quirrell and "tap" the back of his head again, some portrait would cough loudly and issue a warning.
"Theodore Ashbourne, Headmaster Dumbledore has issued a warning—stay away from poor Professor Quirrell."
Theodore could only sigh, wearing an expression of pure innocence.
Dumbledore, honestly—why guard against him like he was some kind of walking calamity?
He was just a small, weak, helpless first-year Gryffindor. What could he possibly do that was heinous?
With security that tight, Theodore could only shelve his plan to lob a pot of biting cabbages at Voldemort's face—for now.
Fortunately, the merit he'd gained from those last few encounters had been extremely thick.
Even without further "farming" Voldemort, over these two weeks he'd picked up a bit more from doing good deeds. Another day or two and he'd have enough.
Then he could start another round of talent fusion.
By then, his strength would definitely undergo another qualitative leap!
Of course, aside from hoarding merit and waiting on fusions, Theodore hadn't exactly been idle.
Right after class, he headed straight up the tower to the owlery.
The moment he stepped in, a flurry of cheerful wingbeats filled the air, as if the owls were welcoming him.
Theodore pulled some jerky from his robe and passed it around for them to nibble on.
Then he walked over to a familiar cage.
"Brother Roberts, we meet again. Have a strip of jerky first."
Inside the cage was none other than his old friend, the owl Roberts, with whom he'd formed a life-and-death bond.
[You reunite with the Spirit Crane after a long separation. These days, you meet often in the Jade Void Palace, drinking together daily in great delight.]
Roberts tilted its head back and tore the jerky into small chunks, swallowing with obvious satisfaction.
Ever since that first time at Theodore's residence, it had been obsessed with this particular snack.
It had thought Theodore had forgotten about it, but lately he'd been visiting the owlery every day, always bringing tasty jerky—Roberts was honestly very moved.
A few days ago, it had even sampled a strange powder from Theodore.
The feeling had been unforgettable—its strength had surged, and its feathers now shone brighter and sleeker than ever.
The problem was that the stuff was strong. For days afterward Roberts had felt uncomfortably full, and it didn't dare beg Theodore for more.
After taking some time to deepen their bond, Theodore smiled.
"A bit of jerky every day, and occasional shavings off a top-grade Feihu Pill… owls are actually pretty easy to raise."
"At this rate, it won't be long before we reach a life-and-death bond. Then I can finally get that Sun and Moon Essence talent."
Only then did he move on to another cage and fix his gaze on Hermes, his expression going a little strange.
The already-powerful Hermes was now noticeably larger than before.
Each feather gleamed with a metallic sheen, black as ink and sharp-looking. Its beak had grown longer and more pointed, like a honed blade catching the light.
It was as if Hermes had been reborn.
All of this was thanks to the Iron-Beaked Divine Eagle Cultivation Method Theodore had acquired earlier.
Over these past days, he'd been using that method on Hermes.
He'd originally thought Hermes might struggle to meet the method's requirements, but perhaps due to its sturdy physique, excellent bloodline, and innate magic, its compatibility with the Iron-Beaked method, while not on par with true primordial divine eagles, was still far beyond ordinary birds.
And top-grade Feihu Pills were considerably stronger than the ordinary ones described in the manual, further boosting the effect.
On Hermes, the method worked spectacularly well.
Now, as Theodore looked at Hermes, his eyes shone with anticipation.
Strange blood-red lines shimmered faintly along Hermes's body in his sight.
These were the restriction patterns of the Iron-Beaked Divine Eagle—a magic weapon that, when fully formed, would bear twelve layers of restrictions. Once all twelve were complete, even ordinary deities would risk being pecked bloody.
For now, Theodore had only been engraving the first layer on Hermes, and the process had gone smoothly.
Today, that first restriction was finally nearing completion.
Once it was done, Hermes would have taken the crucial first step toward becoming an Iron-Beaked Divine Eagle.
Not only would its speed and power increase in daily use, but when Theodore needed it, he would be able to activate the restriction like an actual magic weapon, causing Hermes's speed to spike to truly terrifying levels.
This would be the first magic weapon Theodore had obtained since arriving in the wizarding world.
One restriction or twelve, low-grade or not—a magic weapon is a magic weapon.
At the thought, Theodore felt his heart lurch with excitement.
Hermes, too, sensed its looming transformation. Its eyes burned with longing as it let out a sharp cry toward Theodore, full of determination.
Theodore took a deep breath and drew a complete top-grade Feihu Pill from his robes.
Hermes wasted no time—one snap of its beak, and the pill was gone.
Moments later, potent medicinal power roared through its body.
The crimson lines along its feathers blazed brighter, the missing sections filling in at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Simultaneously, Theodore slit his fingertip and let golden-tinged blood drip onto the restriction lines, one drop at a time.
In his heart, the connection between him and Hermes deepened, a sense of shared intent growing stronger and stronger.
After roughly ten minutes, a high, exultant screech split the air of the owlery.
A grey-black shadow shot out of the tower like thunder, slicing through the clouds, streaking across the sky with astonishing speed all the way to the distant horizon—then wheeled and arrowed back, coming to rest obediently on Theodore's shoulder.
Theodore looked at Hermes—at the iron-hard feathers, the predatory gleam—and felt pure, unfiltered joy.
"First restriction layer—complete!"
"From today onward, I finally have a magic weapon!"
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read 60 chapters ahead on P@treon → patreon.com/StrawHatStudios