Flying Eagle Delivers a Letter (Seeking Votes, Seeking Follow-ups)

He looked toward Harry, his eyes questioning.

Harry nodded: "It was Quirrell, and Voldemort."

Hagrid began to shiver, his eyes filled with terror.

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore set his cup down.

Harry raised a hand, touching the scar on his forehead: "When he cast the Avada Kedavra at me, it hurt right here."

"I also heard, and even saw, many things."

A flash of surprise crossed Dumbledore's eyes.

"My parents' voices, another Avada Kedavra, a red-haired figure from behind—it must have been what happened that night," Harry continued. "Perhaps you should know something about this?"

Dumbledore offered comfort: "Perhaps it was merely a resemblance, triggering memories of something..."

"Dumbledore!" Harry cut him off, his tone sharpening. "You have spoken with me twice now; are you still treating me like a fool?"

"Perhaps you should head to the Gryffindor common room and tell the little wizards the fairy-tale adventure stories you've concocted to lull them to sleep. You are truly skilled at deceiving children."

"I am not here to listen to lies; I need a reason."

"This is clearly not normal."

Harry had experienced a life-review once—it was during his seventh contract, where he had to kill a Crab Spider for a village. When it came time to pay his fee, the villagers turned on him, surrounding him with over twenty men. In the panic, he was stabbed viciously by a pitchfork.

It was then he finally understood why Geralt always said, "A pitchfork is the most dangerous weapon."

Fortunately, he had escaped quickly.

That experience, aside from making him a bit wiser, taught him one thing: a life-review before death is never this directed.

Dumbledore remained silent.

"Don't tell me it's because of that curse; I don't think Voldemort loves me," Harry sneered.

Dumbledore shook his head: "Harry, I do have a theory, but it is only a theory. Give me time to confirm it, will you?"

Harry did not press further and changed the subject: "What is the use of Unicorn blood?"

"That thing... it hardly seems like something that should come from a Unicorn. It is evil, ominous, and makes one's skin crawl."

Dumbledore explained: "Unicorn blood typically has the effect of extending one's lifespan, but... it must be given willingly."

"If it is taken by force, the blood becomes imbued with a curse. The one who drinks it will live a half-life, a cursed existence."

"Voldemort is already living a half-life," Harry mocked.

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses: "Beyond that, it has another little-known effect—it can create a vessel."

Harry paused.

"Of course, it is a temporary body cursed by Dark Magic," Dumbledore added.

"The stronger the curse, the more powerful the vessel?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore nodded: "For a Dark wizard, that is the case."

Harry realized why Quirrell had used that method; he was torturing the creature, seeking to extract blood filled with the deepest resentment and the most potent curse.

"It seems Voldemort is even weaker than I thought," Harry shook his head and chuckled. "Headmaster Dumbledore, I believe now is the perfect time for you to strike."

Dumbledore's eyes were profound: "Why is that?"

"He is weak, isn't he?" Harry stared at him intently. "And the one you worry about, Professor Quirrell—Voldemort's control over him may not be as deep as you think."

"During the fight just now, Voldemort could only babble from who knows where..."

Dumbledore said: "Do not forget our agreement."

"I have already fought him," Harry replied bluntly. "I didn't feel any magic protecting me."

"That is not enough, Harry. He did not strike personally," Dumbledore refused with a shake of his head. "You must face him one more time."

Harry sneered: "Do you expect me to stand still and take an Avada Kedavra from him?"

"It is not like that," Dumbledore said gently. "But you truly need to face him once more, for the final time."

Harry's tone was indifferent: "With you around, that fellow won't have the guts to steal the Sorcerer's Stone. Just now in the Forbidden Forest, when I signaled, he was terrified that you would pursue him."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully: "If I must leave Hogwarts, I will have Hedwig send you a letter."

Harry's gaze sharpened.

So that's what this means...

He is dead set on making me face that thing?

"I am not only the Headmaster of Hogwarts, but also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. There are many matters I must attend to," Dumbledore explained. "At times, I am forced to leave to handle other affairs."

"Including staying up at night to secretly drink syrup alone?" Harry asked pointedly.

Dumbledore smiled slightly: "It is a bedtime treat."

Harry stood up: "Then I shall head back."

"Wait, shouldn't you explain to me why you were appearing in the Forbidden Forest at night?" Dumbledore called out to stop him. "At the start of the term, I specifically said that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits."

Harry didn't even look back, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll go to Professor McGonagall for detention tomorrow. Deduct whatever points you like."

The next day.

Harry took the initiative to go to Professor McGonagall to accept his detention.

This caught Professor McGonagall off guard. She would usually welcome such an act from Harry—no professor would refuse to give extra guidance to an outstanding young wizard. But once she learned it was because he had snuck into the Forbidden Forest at night, she couldn't bring herself to be happy. She gave Harry two months of detention in one go, lasting almost until the final exams.

Professor McGonagall had a massive headache.

She was increasingly appreciative of the Weasley twins; although they were rowdy, at least they made a scene.

Unlike Harry, who was quiet and unassuming, one never knew how many earth-shattering things he was getting up to behind the scenes.

If Harry hadn't turned himself in, she wouldn't have even noticed!

Harry's time immediately became tight. Professor McGonagall pulled out second-year second-semester material to keep him occupied, and she showed no mercy with homework either; Harry had to write just as much as every other young wizard.

The Little Lions looked at Professor McGonagall with eyes full of warmth.

Who said their Head of House was rigid and stern? She understood them perfectly, didn't she? Knowing that the whole year group couldn't all copy Hermione's essays, she immediately dumped a Harry on them.

Then, the situation was exposed during the second class.

Harry's essay used viewpoints from second-year Transfiguration, and when Ron copied it, he couldn't distinguish them—he wasn't like Hermione, who actually used Harry's essay as a reference; he just blindly... changed the words to ones he deemed appropriate.

He made mistakes roughly like this: Harry wrote, "Xiao Ming performed a beautiful two-and-a-half-turn aerial," and Ron changed it to, "Xiao Ming performed a beautiful seventeen-and-a-half-day aerial."

This taught the Gryffindor Little Lions a lesson.

For Transfiguration, those who understood the subject went to copy Harry's homework, while those who didn't understand much went to copy Hermione's.

Busy to this extent, Harry still insisted on going to the Forbidden Forest at least once a week to search for traces of the Bicorn, right up until the final exams arrived. The closest he ever got to the Bicorn was discovering its droppings—but they were already bone-dry, at least a month old.

He marked the Bicorn's activity range on his map.

His guess was correct.

This creature did indeed have designs on the Unicorns; its tracks were very close to the territory of the Unicorn herd, yet sometimes it would run very far away, to the other end, to hunt for food.

Many times, Harry felt he was very close to the Bicorn, but he still came up empty-handed after a whole night.

He wasn't anxious.

Hunting was just like that; one had to have patience to catch the prey.

Final exams left many young wizards frazzled—Gryffindor, however, was the best-performing house. Although their written exams were a mess, their practical execution earned the praise of the professors.

By the Black Lake, Hermione was pestering Harry, tirelessly going over the answers again and again.

"Hermione, the exams are already over." Ron covered his face, looking miserable. "Spare me and Harry, let us not think about these things anymore."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "No, this is important."

Just as she was speaking, Hedwig flew in from the sky, landed on Harry's shoulder, and extended her leg, which had a note tied to it.

Harry untied it and opened it to see a scrawled, flamboyant script: "Harry, I have to go to London today on business; I won't be back until tonight."

"London?" Hermione paused. "Whose letter is that?"

Harry crumpled it into a ball, shoved it into his pocket, and stood up. "Dumbledore."

Hermione rose to follow him. "Why would he tell you that?"

"I have an agreement with him." Harry explained as he walked toward the castle. "Because Dumbledore is here, Quirrell has never dared to steal the Sorcerer's Stone."

"After he leaves, Quirrell will definitely try to steal it, and I am going to stop him."

Hermione and Ron paused in their tracks, and only after Harry had left them two paces behind did they react, jogging to catch up to his stride.

"He's crazy?" Hermione exclaimed, incredulous. "You're only a first-year student!"

Ron muttered, "Harry has already graduated, and he's likely the top student in the school."

"Even if he were a second-year, it shouldn't be you stopping him." Hermione waved her hand, her tone anxious. "Ron, shut up, I know Harry's situation better than you do."

Ron, who had just opened his mouth halfway, obediently snapped it shut, tight as a drum.

Harry shook his head. "I also think it's a bit absurd, but this was Dumbledore's suggestion. He told me to trust him; the greatest white wizard should have some credibility, right?"

"Can I go with you?" Ron pulled out his wand.

Hermione didn't speak, but the look she gave Harry was full of anticipation.

"No." Harry refused decisively.

Ron looked disappointed. "Why? I'm a first-year student too."

"Quirrell is possessed by Voldemort." As they walked into the castle, Harry lowered his voice. "It's too dangerous for you to come."

Voldemort...

The name made Ron shiver involuntarily.

Hermione also stumbled, nearly falling over.

"He's crazy, he's truly crazy." Hermione shook her head like a rattle. "Sending you to deal with the Dark Lord—what is he thinking?"

"Wait for me to return, and I'll explain everything to you." Upon reaching the entrance hall, Harry stopped and gave Hermione a nudge toward the direction of the dungeons. "Hermione, go find Professor Snape."

"Ron, you go find Professor McGonagall."

He pulled the Invisibility Cloak from the Sorting Hat, draped it over his shoulders, and walked toward the fourth-floor corridor—the door marked as off-limits had been left ajar.

Someone had already been unable to wait and had broken inside.

There will be another chapter tonight, around eight o'clock.

Begging for recommendations, monthly tickets, and follow-up reads~

Begging for everything~