Thursday's Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
Quirrell was surprised that no one had come to give him trouble.
Vincent, who seemed lost in his own thoughts, didn't count.
Neither did Seamus, who always picked fights with him.
Even Draco wasn't causing trouble.
The more abnormal things seemed, the more cautious he became.
Yet even though the lesson had only been a dull introduction to merpeople, none of the three asked a single question before class ended.
"They're simply utterly disappointed in you, Quirinus—"
Back in his office, Quirrell clenched his hands.
Before he completed the grand plan of resurrection, he could endure many things.
"My Lord, do you think Dumbledore will still keep the Sorcerer's Stone on the fourth floor?"
"Even if it's there, it must be a fake—"
Voldemort naturally knew it was a trap.
But Quirrell was somewhat confused.
"Fool, he wants to train Harry Potter!
Such a tired old trick can only fool children—"
Quirrell tremblingly unwound the long turban around his head.
The large face on the back of his head no longer had pustules, but one half of it looked sunken and shriveled.
One large eye and one small eye, one concave cheek and one protruding cheek.
"My Lord, let me heal you."
Quirrell raised Voldemort's thirteen-inch Yew wand with a phoenix feather core.
His body now had slightly higher resistance to magic, so ordinary spells could barely produce the desired effect.
Besides, Hogwarts Castle had a mechanism for detecting Dark Magic, so he could only heal the ruined half of the back of his head bit by bit.
"Quirinus, you need a new wand—"
Voldemort was quite dissatisfied with such slow progress.
"Please be patient, my Lord."
Since the day before yesterday, a spell had automatically activated at the castle gates every night.