Harry felt as if his heart had been plunged into icy lake water, slowly draining the warmth from his body. His stomach tightened, and a bitter taste filled his mouth—he even felt a little like throwing up.
"So... Quirrell is... is..."
"Voldemort," Wade reminded him. "To be precise, he's possessed by Voldemort."
The room was filled with the sound of sharp intakes of breath. Michael said with a pale face: "Stop saying that name, Wade."
Wade sighed. "If you're too afraid to even say a name, how do you manage not to tremble in front of Professor Quirrell?"
"That's different!" Michael retorted. "Professor Quirrell is a coward, but him... he..."
Michael shuddered, falling silent as though it had become difficult to breathe.
Wade looked at the others, noticing that they all wore similar expressions of fear—even Hermione seemed deeply frightened.
How strange, Wade thought. They dare to face the person himself, but they're afraid to say his name?
Harry, however, had no such reservations. He bluntly said, "So Voldemort isn't just sending two lackeys to steal the Philosopher's Stone for him... he's actually come himself..."
"Yes—he slipped in attached to Quirrell, hiding on the back of his head," Wade said.
"Surrounded by the smell of garlic all day, and even having to put up with certain mischievous students throwing snowballs at his face. Think about it, they thought they were attacking cowardly Quirrell, but they were actually hitting... uh... the Dark Lord's face."
Taking the others' feelings into account, Wade refrained from saying Voldemort's name again. His words, though, had a mix of fear and humor in them, and the group found themselves both spooked and amused.
Even Harry couldn't help but smile a little.
"But..." Harry hesitated. "Why didn't Dumbledore want you to tell me? I mean, I have a right to know the truth, don't I? Voldemort killed my parents!"
"Dumbledore was trying to protect you, Harry," Hermione explained. "He probably worried that if you knew the truth, you might... go after the Dark Lord for revenge, and that would be too dangerous."
Harry was a forgiving person, and when he heard that the Headmaster was acting out of concern for him, the anger from being kept in the dark gradually faded.
But he still didn't understand: "Then why don't we just capture that guy now? While he's unprepared, we could all act together—can Quirrell and Voldemort really escape?"
"I guess—well, this is just a guess—based on what Dumbledore has said..." Wade explained.
"That person did die eleven years ago, but for some reason, he didn't completely die. He's in a sort of ghostly state—he can't be imprisoned, and he can't be killed. If we act rashly, we might only capture Quirrell, but Voldemort would still escape—"
"Don't say that name, Wade," Michael whispered.
"...Alright," Wade continued. "The Dark Lord could still make a comeback—a second time, a third time... You'd never know when he might show up again..."
Someone shuddered silently.
"It's like knowing there's a poisonous snake in your house, but you don't know where it is. It could slither out from the shadows and bite you at any time. Wouldn't you feel more at ease if you kept that snake in plain sight?"
"But... isn't Dumbledore worried that Quirrell might really steal the Philosopher's Stone, and then Voldemort could regain his former power—or even become immortal?" Harry asked.
"I said don't say that name," Michael grumbled. "Since Dumbledore knows everything, he's probably already set up a trap where the Stone is hidden, just waiting for Quirrell to try and steal it.
But that guy's been too cautious, hesitating for so long without making a move."
"Maybe he's realized it's a trap?" Ryan suddenly suggested. "But his desire for immortality keeps him hovering near the bait, unwilling to give it up... Maybe he's waiting for a foolproof chance..."
"And what would a foolproof chance be?" Theo asked.
"It would definitely be—" Harry clenched his fists. "When Dumbledore leaves the school! Because Dumbledore is the only one he's afraid of!"
...
In the days that followed, the young wizards became more focused on Dumbledore's whereabouts than ever before.
If they saw the white-bearded wizard in the Great Hall during meals, they felt at ease for the rest of the day. But if they didn't see him, they'd immediately grow anxious, trying all kinds of ways to ask the professors if Dumbledore had gone out.
However, soon they had to divert most of their attention to another matter—exam week had arrived.
For the students, in a way, the fear of exams was on par with the Dark Lord himself. Even Hermione, who usually excelled, was not immune to this.
At Hogwarts, most subjects had exams split into written and practical sections. The written tests took place in a large hall that could accommodate all students from the year, and they had to use special anti-cheating quills.
The practical exams varied widely depending on the professor, such as Professor McGonagall requiring students to transfigure a rat into an elegant snuffbox.
For Wade, all the exams were simple, and the practical portions felt more like personal showcases. Judging by the satisfied smiles of the professors, he was sure he'd have an excellent report card.
The last exam was History of Magic—since Wade had organized his History of Magic notes, he spent little time on this subject, only cramming some key points before the test. After finishing the exam, he was confident that he'd scored over 90%, which was good enough for him.
It was also Thursday, the day Professor Murray gave him his Alchemy lessons. After the exam, the students cheered about their newfound freedom, while Wade waved to Michael and headed to the Astronomy Tower, as usual.
Professor Murray was tinkering with a microscope when Wade walked in. He admired, "Look at this—how fascinating! Muggles use this device to observe tiny structures, including the millions of cells inside the human body."
He enthusiastically taught Wade how to prepare slide specimens, adjust the light, and focus. Wade didn't mention that he had already learned this before.
He followed the professor's instructions, observing worm eggs and moth wing slices, before discussing his recent progress in Alchemy.
"I'd like you to take a look at this," Wade said, pulling out a small box from his bag.
At that moment, he noticed his Book of friends beside him warming up slightly. Pausing for a moment, he closed his bag and placed the small blue-gray box, the size of a pencil case, on the table.
Professor Murray's eyes lit up. "You succeeded this quickly?"
"I've only made some preliminary progress."
Wade opened the box, revealing several quills and a regular pen inside. At first glance, it seemed like that was all. Then, he closed the lid and tapped it with his wand. The box flipped, expanded, stretched, and unfolded like pages of a book...
Moments later, a wardrobe, taller than a person, stood in the middle of the room.
Wade pulled the door open and smiled. "Professor, perhaps you'd like to take a look inside?"
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